Good or great?

From a mother's day card Keith gave me a while ago.....

"Good moms let you lick the beaters..."


"Great moms turn off the mixer first."



Wow. I must be so awesome. :)

A bunch of random stuff

I survived another five days of Keith being out of town. Whew! But seriously, enough is enough and that is never happening again. Really.

After Keith's last 10 days away, I practically made him sign in blood that he wouldn't leave me home alone with baby and toddler. He agreed and we planned to take a family trip to Pittsburgh for another conference Keith had to attend last weekend. Although, as time got closer, I realized what a stupid idea that would be. Even though we would be "together", Keith still had to be at the conference. And that would leave me stuck in a single room with 2 beds and a tv and no toys, swings, treats, cribs, etc. So I realized how much MORE miserable that would be and I stayed home alone. Again. But this time--seriously--no more.

We are still potty training. I'm pretty happy that I didn't back out on my deadline and he's been wearing big kid pants ever since. He's got the peeing down (didn't I say this was a bunch of random stuff?) but he still hides in the corner on the 'other'. Frustrating. But he's got a nice little collection of new trains going on. He's filled up several sticker charts and has earned a train of his choosing with each one. The stakes have gotten way higher if he poops in the potty but so far, he's not buying it. This potty training thing is getting expensive!

And like I said folks, random.

The house is getting sorta close to putting up on the market. There's always just a few (and then some) things left to get done before we'll put a for sale sign up. It's really hard to get much accomplished with the littles during the day. I guess I should quit blogging and start working.

And speaking of the littles....our littlest is getting bigger every day! She is SUCH a sweetie. So pleasant and happy and a great sleeper. She sleeps 12-13 hours at night and usually gives me an 8 hour stretch between feedings. Awesome. She smiles and coos all day long. I love her so much I can't stand it!

Here's a few (random!) pics of the happy girl--



Chillin' in the bumbo


I have a feeling this face will be used on me a lot in the future....

The End of the Accidental "Artist"

I took apart my studio yesterday. It began it's humble life as a workshop but fate dealt it a cruel twist that led to its demise.



When Andrea and I returned from Southeast Asia, we rented a little place in an old mansion on 13th East near the University of Utah. We needed furniture. A quick trip to Fred Meyer and later RC Willey revealed that the Cambodians were onto something with the floor mats, which for 10 bucks serve as a bed, dinette set, desk, sofa, coffee table, and yoga mat. After our Bishop came to visit us and he nearly ripped the seat of his suit sitting on the floor, I resolved to return from my Siamese daydream and get some real American furniture. Preferring to save my hard earned cash for an upcoming trip to climb volcanoes in Ecuador, I knew I would have to improvise rather than purchase said furniture.



Our first couch was three logs, which were cut-offs of beams going into a house I was building in Park City. They were all different heights so my first furniture project looked like an old wharf piling minus the damp seagulls. Now our bishop, if he ever came pack might get a little pine gum back there, but at least he would be off the floor. Things got a little better in the Utah years but not much. Pine remained the material of choice and my hand held Skil saw seemed to do as well as any table saw. This era was defined by the woodworking that I learned from my dad: "The cheapest way is the best way but don't spare the epoxy!"



Once established in Philadelphia we no longer needed much furniture, as our first home here was only big enough for Andrea, myself and two small canoes. Now incorrectly considering myself to be some sort of academic, I started to read books about furniture making. Being bored with studying feet all the time, I made a tiny workbench for the apartment and taught myself to hand cut dovetails. Coincidentally an art gallery that I walked past going to and from school sold works by old masters George Nakashima and Wharton Esherick. Another exhibited contemporary studio furniture that blew my mind. We also lived close enough to walk to the annual Philadelphia furniture show, which is arguably one of the best shows around for artistic woodwork. By the end of the year Andrea decided to move us to a bigger place now that my tiny workbench meant that she had to live out on the porch.



Our new house had a large empty basement that I took over as my workshop. Another benefit of the new house in suburban Philadelphia is that expensive hardwoods grow like weeds and neighbors were constantly dragging logs of walnut, dogwood, and curly maple to the curb to be hauled off to a landfill. I routinely cruised the 'hood on my bike for potential table legs or stretchers in the form of black cherry yard trash. Slowly our three-bedroom home filled with some nice pieces inspired by real artist woodworkers and some things that were clearly experiments gone wrong but too useful to throw away. I tried to create an aesthetic in which my furniture was both beautiful and useful. I will probably never be able to go back to pine after the sweet smell of fresh cut cherry defined the early experience in that basement workshop.



Every neighborhood has at least one, that nosy lady without enough of her own business to satiate herself. Ours just happened to be on the board for the local art show. Every time I was in the backyard or garage finishing some furniture she happened by and stayed to talk. Eventually she forced her way inside to see more of my woodwork. "You really need to be in The Lansdowne Art Show,” she too frequently remarked. I finally caved in more to get her off my back than anything. Somehow I imagined that it would be more like a county fair where the artists bring in items for display rather than to aggressively market them. Incorrectly I assumed that most artists worked more for the love of making beauty and making some sort of statement rather than just the Benjamin’s. Boy, was I wrong.



My first art show was very awkward. Not really knowing what to expect Andrea and I took cues from the others near by and hurriedly came up with prices for the items we had brought. Our prices were in no way reflective of the cost to make plus the time or any other sane formula to value things. We just picked a number that we hoped was too high for anyone to pay without seeming ridiculous. Every piece was something that we were using currently in our home. It was a private yard sale where we really did not want to sell anything. I was confused when the first several people asked for my business card. I'm not a businessman; I'm an artist I kept thinking to myself. I admit that I was very flattered and did have a great time with the entire town ogling my stuff.



Towards the end of the show two of my pieces sold for $1500. No one was more surprised than I. I did not recognize it then, but this was the beginning of the end. I got lost in the artist woodworker gig I had going. It was tons of fun in the beginning just to see how far I could make it go. My good friends Chuck and Tara helped out by giving me tons of support in addition to real assistance with things such as a logo and business cards. It was like free money in the early days. I had fun making the furniture, and then I got paid for it. Andrea and I quickly categorized this windfall as "fun money" and used it for toys and vacations. I thought I had the greatest thing going.




Black Cherry when cut with sharp blades smells sweet and there is nothing like it in the world. If those sharp blades start to dull or are pushed too fast, they produce heat which begins to burn the sap. It's like when the delicious smell of baking cookies becomes a horrific stench if they are burned. That's how my workshop started to smell. I was rushing to get production up. Jobs that used to be pleasurable became annoyingly mundane. I started using my beautiful hand tools less and my power tools more. While hand tools are much slower, they are also much quieter and produce less mess. Using hand tools is like a peaceful meditation where power tools are jarringly noisy. It's the difference between a bicycle ride through the country in a fresh spring breeze and a commute through west Philly on a muggy day during rush hour without AC.



I kept plugging away as the things I made became less artistic but more profitable. I focused on production and making things that I knew the customers wanted rather than what I felt was both beautiful and useful. I wasted an entire Christmas season sanding infernal cutting boards that gift givers would not stop buying. No Christmas cheer for me that year, just the taste of burned walnut in the back of my throat for about 2 months. I began to loathe time in the shop. I just wanted to get outside where I belonged. I wanted to go back to those volcanoes in Ecuador and throw all of my tools into the crater. Luckily I got an easy out... With residency finishing up this spring I boxed all of my tools up really tight (you know for the move...) I have even convinced Andrea that we should rent for the first year or more in Kentucky (read: no workshop in a rental!) I have convinced her that this is a sound financial decision but all I really want is to be free of the "studio." She keeps trying to remind me how much I love woodworking but we all know she just wants a few knockoff Nakashima conoid chairs for the dining room...



I do enjoy the smell of fresh cut cherry shavings coming out of a razor-sharp hand plane to give focus to a quiet meditation in a silent workshop. I love seeing my wife rock our children to sleep in a chair I made myself. I like being able to share things I have made with friends and family. I might even uncrate the tools in Kentucky after I climb a few 5.12s. What I will not do is masquerade as an artist while trying to sell junk to fools with too much cash. No “studio” in my future…

Cheeks

"Yeah, I got squishy cheeks. Wanna make something of it???"




Leah weighed 14 pounds, 4 oz at her 2-month checkup. Over the 95%!! That's cool though...we LOVE squishy cheeks!!!

Keith's Big Has-Been Ho-Down

I don't blog because I live a meaningless existence (at least in the short term). Nobody wants to read how I got up and left home in the dark before anyone was awake, worked, then got home after most everyone was asleep (repeated 365x yearly.) I recently got a glimpse of the better life that I used to live and my hope for the future.

Definition from Urban Dictionary: Ho down- A ho down is a ceremony in which drunken hicks run around clapping, yelling, sloshing hard liquor and banging the #%&! out of their siblings.

I flew into Vegas on a Friday night. Friday night flights into Vegas are always interesting. The excitement of the passengers hangs in the air like the smell of their pre casino alcohol binge. I'm not a small dude anymore but was smashed up against the window by a lesbian couple that made me look like a lightweight. It's important to feel light before a big rock climb so while I was smashed, I at least felt lucky for it.

Picked up the rental car and zipped back to retrieve Layne and Dave, my brothers-in-law. Then it was straight out into the star filled sky and empty desert. I had never paid to camp at the Red Rocks as I always just drove to the end of a dirt road and camped in a grove of joshua trees. My old grove of joshua trees was razed to put in a Starbucks that is now three miles from the edge of town so we pulled into the campground and paid $10 per night for site #1.

The concern was that the temps would be a little low for comfortable climbing. This fear was further emphasized as we rounded the corner on Saturday morning to see snow hanging low, very low on all of the ledges on Mt. Wilson. Our plan was to try to stay in the sun on south facing walls. My second unfounded fear was of crowds. Saturday on south facing Windy Peak with one of the longest and thus crowd deterring approaches in the Red Rocks sounded perfect.

When I was 14 or so I read a "how to climb" book published by the Sierra Club that stated that it was important to enjoy the approach as well as the climb in order to savor the entire experience. Then, and for most of my climbing career on a long uphill bushwhack, I often reflected on how that passage was so much idealistic garbage. This time as I sucked air and struggled for breath and to avoid cactus, I again thought about that passage and realized how much I was enjoying the approach. I still am not going to send any money to the club.

I greedily took the first lead. It looked easy and fun but ended up being hard. I had to pull a little roof, I was scared and loving it. I (again greedily) tried to combine the first two pitches but got scared and went back down to the obvious belay terrace. That was where the first cactus event occurred.

The best seat on this sun-warmed slab of Aztec sandstone just happened to be next to a nice little prickly pear. I belayed Dave up and warned him of the dangerous cactus as he sat down. It was a mistake that I regretted later to laugh at him when he brushed his leg past it and got jabbed by a few of its razor sharp needles. I rationalized to him that at least I had warned him but he clearly held a bit of a grudge. The pitches up to the last one then unfolded as we followed a big corner that evolved into a big roof to traverse under for the crux. It was starting to get cold in the shade.

The last pitch was mine and it tended to ramble with various alternatives towards the top. We left our guidebook and topo in the car and were relying on a written description to get up the route. I was cold and my feet were in excruciating pain from my rock shoes so I was trying to hurry. Dave was shouting out the description as I sprinted for the sunlit rock that was the top. I pulled a small roof and to my horror a HUGE cactus blocked all hope of upward progress. Cold, the screaming of the proper digital nerves in my toes, and the impending forearm pump helped me to think perhaps I could just scrape past the left side of this monster. It didn't work. My entire right thigh still hurts and Andrea is still using tweezers to pull out the spines I can't reach. Not in a position to stand around, (my feet hurt worse than the cactus spines at this point) I finished the pitch in poor style and crashed into a warm cozy alcove to belay L&D up.


The descent was classic Red Rocks style with a short traverse to a steep gully that dumped us right out at the base of the route. By now I was getting really sore. My leg muscles, feet, and bristling right thigh all competed for bandwidth in the pain pathway that everybody knows can only handle so much volume. Back at the car the seat hit my leg at just the right angle so that every movement on the gas pedal ground cactus pines deeper and deeper....

We ate In and Out burgers before driving back to site #1 to crash for the night. Luckily the next day was Sunday. I have always reserved Sunday as an automatic rest day and took no exceptions this time. I also knew that, at best, I had maybe two consecutive climbing days in me so this was an easy way out of the embarrassment of being the anchor that would eventually slow the group down if we kept climbing. We drove the scenic loop, took scenic hikes and pontificated about how hard we were back when. I also humiliated Dave and Layne by making them pull cactus spines out of where the sun just don't shine! Then we stopped off at the bookstore before finding what became our regular evening hangout. Baja Fresh. Dave and Layne are California guys and probably don't consider Baja Fresh even Mexican food. Being from Philly, I did. Now just consider for a moment: 3 middle aged men, one tent, no shower for 5 days and three consecutive nights of faux Mexican food......

Monday we were somewhat fresh and feeling spunky so we racked up for a one pitch 5.9 before heading over to the days final destination. In humility I'll forego any details about the beautiful 5.9 finger crack. Our next objective was a blob of rock known as the Mescalito. Our route which turned out to be brilliant is guarded by a much less than even luminescent final 300 yards of approach: an almost vertical manzanita bushwhack on rotten rock covered in mountain Sheep poo. From below, the route seemed to mirror the approach, minus the poo. It quickly got better though. We were pulling small roofs on giant jugs with good pro and OK belay ledges. Even though the route could easily have been a wide chimney horror show it was actually a very elegant face climb. About the time we hit the top at the end of pitch 5 it hit me the lateness of the hour and how expensive the fine is if we do not get the car out of the scenic loop by 5:00 PM. I turned into "Brother Card" and marshaled Troop 30 through the rappels back to the ground while I contemplated our error in taking our packs to the base of the climb. I finished the rappel and ran around the formation and reclimbed the feces infested approach then climbed back down wearing three backpacks. Dave had gone on to the car alone so Layne and I hurried as fast as we could (well, me anyway as I'm sure Layne the Ironman could have sprinted away leaving me in the dust at any moment). We beat the ranger with time to spare.

Back at Baja Fresh after doing another enchilada style we sized each other up for the next days climb. I secretly was hoping for no repeats of climbs I had done previously. One climb that: A. was well with in our abilities (about 5.6), B. faced south so as to catch some sun, and C. I had never done. One climb that fit this description was Cat Walk 5.6+. The only problem was of course the approach. The guidebook said 3 hours with 5 for the descent. The thing is like 9 pitches. We had averaged around 1 hour per pitch so far on this trip. (Well, it took us about 2 hours to do 1/3 of one 5.9 finger crack pitch but I had promised not to talk about that.) So 3 hours to hike in, 9 hours to climb, 5 hours out...we all did the math in our heads. Our eyes that were bulging out from too many black beans bulged a little farther... Somehow we talked ourselves into at least giving it a shot. We were honestly only drinking sodas. My brilliant contribution was to get up at 4:30 to start the hike. Layne and Dave related that they had never actually seen 4:30 AM but were willing to take a look for the sake of the last day of climbing. 4:30 is early for me but being on Pacific time I still got to sleep in as I am usually at work for hours before 4:30 AM Pacific time arrives. To their credit L&D did not mutiny but dutifully set their watches.

Because the loop road at Red Rocks is gated and opens after the sun comes up we got to walk an extra two miles backwards around the loop road in the middle of the night. We dropped into Oak Creek proper just as it was getting light in the east. As we groveled up the boulder-strewn gully, I was giddy with excitement. It was just like old times. Even though I had not been there in 10 years I clearly remembered many of the boulders and pools. I kept thinking how there is nothing even remotely like Oak Creek in Pennsylvania. Then I realized that it must be because of the expense of union labor that they just can't make a proper canyon back east. The slippery slabs above icy water chased away any thought of sleep. We finally broke out into the sun just below our route and promptly stopped for breakfast after 3 hours of hiking and scrambling at near lactic threshold.

We were hoping to climb faster than previous days and I even wore a watch for the first time while climbing to keep track of our progress. Once we got to the second pitch the only way off was up so we did not have much choice anyway. After a little slip up on the first pitch we found our rhythm and climbed quickly. Dave heroically combined three pitches in one lead to a nice mossy belay ledge in the shade. 80 feet above our heads was a much better ledge but because ignorance is sometimes bliss and other times fatal while climbing, we enjoyed some dry salami and cheese. The fatality occurred on the very next pitch when Layne was in a somewhat blissless state when he sandwiched his camera between some big cams and the outer edge of a chimney while performing a wet vertical grovel in a flaring slot. Cracked LCD screen. Layne was horrified of what Jami would do to him upon his return. At least it still works and takes pictures even though you have to look through the viewfinder.

The rest of the climb was a beautiful face with fun moves on big holds with lots of air below the painful feet. The hike out did not take 5 hours and we even made it back to the car before we needed headlamps. We drove straight to Baja Fresh while complaining how sick of it we were and how we should find somewhere else to go. The enchilada style is like a homing device to me. Sorry guys I could not help it.

I should also mention the sad movie incident but Andrea just reminded me that this post is way too long.

Three very good climbs, three very good meals at Baja Fresh, three very stinky guys. But this one guy had the best time in many years. Thanks to Layne and Dave for coming along, but bigger thanks to Jami (sorry about the camera), Shannon, and most of all Andrea for letting this has-been ho down go down!

HELP!!!! I need advice

I'm going to REALLY start potty training. I gave it a pretty serious half-hearted effort in the fall and it was going pretty good for a while. Then I started getting really pregnant and uncomfortable (who knew I had such a big baby in there!?!) and bending over became really hard. So, I kind of gave up. Then, of course, baby came and I really gave up. But now I think it's time. I'm taking the plunge. And I'm admitting it here so my success/failure will be totally public. Wish me luck!!

So, I need your advice, blogland. Come out of lurking all you blogstalkers (yeah, all 3 of you...) and give me your best tips. What worked for you?

I have a sticker chart ready to go. It has boxes for each day and if he earns a sticker for each box, I'll have a prize box at the end of the day that he can pick something from (dollar store toys). Then if he fills up the entire chart, we are going to give him a new train for his Thomas set. Is that too much bribery??? Also, I'm not going to cave with the underwear. He'll be wearing real underwear from tomorrow morning on--and if we leave the house, I'll throw on a pull-up OVER the underwear so he can still feel the mess, but it protects everything else.

What do you think. Will it work?????

I can breathe

I made it. I feel like I can finally breathe. It's like I jumped off the high dive and was under water for longer than I thought I would be. It's like coming to the surface and gasping desperately for air. That's what I feel like.

Keith is home after being gone for ten days. I was definitely holding my breath for way too long. Getting a little blue in the face sometimes. Thinking I was never going to surface.

Breathe. I survived being home alone for TEN days with a toddler and a newborn.

Keith is never taking a trip without me again.

My Valentine

Valentine's day. Solo tonight. Blech...what a lame holiday.

But at least I got TWO dozen roses! That was a fun surprise!! I love my hubby. Even if I did have to do the bedtime battle by myself. Again. :/

Amazing

Isn't my sister amazing??? I love this (and my little cuties) so much I can't stand it.

www.shannonmontez.com/Andreafam

Love you sis!! :)

Poop

Little Leah is a great pooper. She poops pretty much every time she eats. Bennett was the same way. As soon as she starts eating, I can pretty much count on an explosion. Luckily, it almost never escapes her diaper.

Last night when I was up feeding her, she did the usual explosion. I wanted her to go back to bed easily so I figured I would try to change her with the light off. As soon as I took her diaper off, I heard a rumble. Then a squirt. Then a warm feeling all down the front of me.

That's right. She projectile pooped ALL over me. She barely got a drop on her own clothes. I, on the other hand, was dripping. It was all over the front of my shirt, pants, and socks and was dribbling onto the floor. So unbelievably nasty.

At least she's so darn cute.

Bennett-isms

He's so hilarious. There is something at least once a day that totally cracks me up. Here's a few recent Bennett-isms:

Today at lunch, between bites of mac-n-cheese, Bennett looks up and says, "It's fun having a sister." And another one from a couple weeks ago...."Mom, thanks for bringing home sister." Phew. And I was so worried that he was going to resent her.


Bennett wanted to take a nap with his sister...


Bennett LOVES his trains. He plays with them every chance he gets. He is constantly asking me to build him a track. The other day Bennett was hounding me while I was feeding Leah.
B - "Mom, make a track." (Repeated about 10 times)
Me - "I can't right now. I'm feeding Leah."
B - "Oh come ON mom. You know you love it." (Can you just hear the teenager in his voice?? Where does he get this?)


Speaking of trains, he's really into the Thomas trains. He knows them all by name...Thomas, Gordon, Percy, James, etc. A little while ago we had a friend over named James. He was all excited and kept calling him "James the guy" (as opposed to James the train.)

Last week we had two nights in a row of Bennett waking up at 3:30 am and having all out screaming fits. For two hours. SO WIERD. Totally out of character. He woke up screaming and crying and we would try everything to calm him down. Then as soon as we would leave the room, he would start up again. Bizarre. ANYWAYS, after two nights of this, we were all zombies. I decided that I wouldn't let him sleep in or nap extra long to make up for it in hopes that he would go back to normal. Well, on the second day, I went in to wake him up from his nap. Of course, he didn't want to wake up.
"Mom," he said, "I just feel terrible."
Yeah, well, I have this great idea for you. It's called sleep. You should try it sometime. He hasn't had the problem since.

"Moooo. Hey mom, when I grow up, I want to be a cow."

As we were driving in the car-- "Mom, you can't eat cars. They are too big."
Apparently he has realized that I eat everything else in sight. He was just warning me that I might want to lay off the cars.

And finally, my favorite--
Keith and Bennett on a hike after watching an airplane fly over: "Airplanes are big and tough just like us, huh dad?'

I wonder where she gets it

I took Leah to the doctor on Friday for her one-month checkup. She now weighs 12 pounds 4 oz. Wow.

I didn't take a lot of pictures while Shannon was here because she does a much better job than I do. But I did document the cake. Yum. This cake is three layers and nearly a foot tall of chocolate sinfulness. It has everything bad in it that you can possibly throw at a chocolate cake. Expect maybe sprinkles. It uses two full boxes of baking chocolate, plus cocoa, heavy cream, cream cheese, sour cream, loads of sugar, plenty of butter. And, oh yeah, some flour to hold it all together. This cake is rich. She flew out to visit on the day after her birthday so I made it for her on the day before she went home. She ate one piece. And left me with the rest.



It was good.


We ate it all. Keith helped a little, but he left me home all day with the cake by myself. Oh yeah, and the kids. But a chocolate cake like that is awfully noisy when you spend all day alone with it. So anyways, it's long gone.

So anyway, back to Leah. I wonder where she gets all the extra weight. Hmmm. Baffling.

More awesomeness

Here's another little gem that Shannon and I stayed up all night laughing about....



I love how she keeps wiping it off her face.

And here's a special edition JUST for Shannon. I dedicate this post to you. :)


And one more because I just can't stop laughing. I'm sorry about all the vomit but it's just so darn funny!

Awesomeness

Another benefit of Shannon's visit was our time spent finding super random videos and funny blogs. Check out the total frickin awesomeness of this....

http://listoftheday.blogspot.com/2007/09/great-olan-mills-photos.html

(Sorry if it's not a link. I'm kind of an idiot and it didn't work out that way)

Happy and sad

I just took my sister to the airport. Sad. But so happy that she was here for a few days! We had so much fun and I miss her so bad already. I always think it's not SO bad living far away from family (after nearly 8 years of getting used to it) because the busy-ness of life just kind of sucks you in no matter who you live by. Then Shannon comes. Aw man, can't we just be neighbors?

Bennett cried when we drove away from her at the airport. "I need to see Frankin!" he said. : (
Poor kid needs a cousin. And his auntie.