It seemed like a good idea...

I got a really good book this summer:

60 Hikes Within 60 Miles. The American Hiking Association publishes these guides, contracting experienced local hikers to hike trails in a metro area and to write a guide to them. The guide provides directions to the trails listed, including GPS coordinates to the trailhead. The author of the Cincinnati guide, Tamara York, noted that she hikes with both of her daughters, who are under five. This, of course, made me feel like a slacker. I love hiking. I don't do it often enough with my children. Besides Ms. York's guidebook, another book on the topic of kids and nature influences me greatly, Last Child in the Woods, by Richard Louv. Mr. Louv argues that our children are experiencing a dearth of unstructured time in nature. He has named this condition Nature Deficiency which he feels "describes the human costs of alienation from nature, among them: diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses. The disorder can be detected in individuals, families, and communities. Nature deficit can even change human behavior in cities, which could ultimately affect their design, since long-standing studies show a relationship between the absence, or inaccessibility, of parks and open space with high crime rates, depression, and other urban maladies." Righto. I'll do my part to save civilization, Mr. Louv. Me and the kids'll hit the trail.

See, I'm all down with the idea of going hiking with my kids. My parents took me hiking all the time as a kid. I don't question the benefit of doing this. But I have a hard time making it work. I feel as though the kids and I have to suffer together to make our natural contact meaningful or something. Maybe I'm just trying too hard. I got my 60 Hikes book and looked up a location near our house that had fossils. We'd just seen a documentary about fossil hunting, and they were both into the idea. So I said, "Great! Let's go to Stonelick Park." The directions in the book seemed pretty straightforward, listing the drive time as being about 25 minutes. I'd never been there in my life, of course. Still, I confidently thought, "No problem. We can do this in the time between swimming lessons (10:00) and gymnastics (4:00). Of course, it didn't work out as planned. Here are the pitfalls I fell into:

1. Yeah, the directions are straightforward IF YOU READ CAREFULLY. I didn't of course. So I missed a turn.

2. My children have limited experience in Ohio State Parks, and I'd forgotten about the nasty toilets there. Hamilton County Parks and city parks all have flush toilets and sinks, not to mention toilet paper. Luckily for myself, I had brought t.p. with me. I still couldn't convince my daughter that she wouldn't contract some unmentionable disease from contact with the gross toilets.

3. While the hike listed in the book sounded interesting, I think we covered about an eighth of it. Vincent gets tired pretty easily. Plus (sorry Richard Louv-I guess I've overscheduled my kids) I was fool enough to do this on a day when we had two other scheduled activities between our hike.

Despite the rough going, I'm going to keep hiking with my kids. What I intend to try in the future is to NOT try to go to a new park when we have to be somewhere right after the hike (duh, right? Well, I'm stubborn about trying stuff when I want to try it). I'm going to insist that we use the potties in the park. They'll thank me for it later if they get stuck in a bar in Europe and have to use a Turkish toilet. Go where you have a hole (or a tree, if necessary). I'm going to give them journals to draw/write what they see. I'm going to give them baggies to put in leaves or stuff they find (of course within reason. I know they're not supposed to take stuff from the park). I will get them their own cameras to take pictures of the hike. Vincent took this picture of Lily on our hike.

Even after the potties and my missing a turn and our mad rush and subsequent late arrival to gymnastics, we had a good time together. We found four butterflies, several red leaves, lots of tall trees, and lots of good conversation. Both kids got to take turns being trail leaders. So I've covered about one eighth of the sixty trails. Only 59 and 7/8 left!

J’enseigne pas de français

Alors, c'est une nouvelle triste pour le Jour de L'Independence. I recently discovered that, for the first time in my teaching career, I will not be able to say that I am a French and Spanish teacher. I'm only teaching Spanish next year. It's kind of sad, until you keep it all in perspective. I ended up studying French in the first place just because I got closed out of German in high school. Back then, no one wanted to learn German. Now, no one wants to learn French. Maybe 50 years from now, people will only want to learn Chinese anyway.

I'm trying to blog every day, just because I guess I should write or something. Today, I have no witty observations or nothin'. I'm fresh out. I went to the Clinton County Fair with my mom, my kids, and two of my sisters to see one of my sister's artwork. She won best of show for a photograph AND a painting she did. Kudos, Sis! We got to see pigs, sheep, goats, cows, and rabbits. Oh, and about a gazillion tractors. Sadly the overpriced carnaval rides were not operational, so I got to hold onto about twelve dollars of my hard-earned cash rather than do my part to stimulate the economy.

After we'd seen all that we could see we traveled in the way-back machine to Cassano's. When we were kids, we'd have Cassano's pizza about once a month. They've all but disappeared around where I live. My sis found one in Wilmington, OH. It is located in a rehabbed livery. Great adaptive reuse (spoken like an ex-urban planner)! Great pizza, too.

I took the venerable old U.S. Hwy 22/State Route 3 home (aka "3 and 22" in my family). We passed through a fair amount of farmland. I was looking for a a farmer's market or a farmstand. I found something better-the Valley Winery and Schuchter Farm Market. I got tomatoes, potatoes, half-runner beans, eggplant, yellow squash, and peaches, along with a bottle of wine. I got the kids each a stick of old fashioned stick candy (you know-the stripey kind. Looks like a candy cane without the crook at the end). Then I hit Trader Joe's for some staples on the way home.

Fat-SO?! or SO FAT!!!!

I have done this issue to death in my life. I am so tired of expending energy with regard to THE FAT THING. I spent most of my life as a fat girl. I was a little fat kid who grew into a fat teen who remained a fat adult. Then, when I was 31, I began a weight-loss regimen through a twelve-step program that allowed me to drop 60-67 lbs. I then spent a glorious nine-month period as a tiny-boned 5'4"-tall size six. There are a couple of publically-held conceptions in this type of situation. Thought one is that magically the former fatso has a fabbo life. She finds Mr. Right; she gets a tiny designer wardrobe; she takes up salsa dancing and feels better than she ever has in her life. Thought two is that the ex-chub is still miserable because she has unresolved issues. For me, the skinny life was walking with one foot in each camp. I won't lie; there was a certain fabulousness that accompied being that small. I remember finding the best clothes. I remember feeling smug about my petite structure, thinking about how much more acceptable I was than my former loud, fat, size-16-ish person I was before. For the first (maybe the only) time in my life, I felt as if I were actually female, and not some Pat-like creature (for those of you too young to remember, "Pat" was an adrogynous person whom Julia Sweeney played on Saturday Night Live in the '90's. The theme of the sketch was that no one could tell what Pat's gender was. Look it up on the Youtube, as John McCain might say).

While the tiny clothes were a definite plus, my skinniness brought to light that my (as I perceived it) youthful face was the result of my blubber. With no weight on my face, I was all severe angularity. Lines became more noticeable on my face. Morevoer, I lost a lot of hair from my weight loss. I had always been a fat girl with pretty, thick, hair. I became a skinny girl with thin, lack-luster hair. Besides, being skinny didn't change that I hated my job and felt that my talents were not being served. Being skinny didn't keep me from being lonely. While it changed everything about my life, it also changed nothing at all.

All told, I started losing weight in February of 2003 until November of 2003. I maintained my weight loss until July of 2004. Then I became pregnant with my son and remembered that I like food. I struggled with my food, frequently feeling guilty about eating between meals. I worried constantly that I would put the weight back on. I did, of course, but not immediately. I still haven't put all of it back on. I've put on enough to make me realize that I might as well be that fat girl I was before. I look a lot like her. Maybe I'm just her older, slightly thinner sister.

So here I am in the present, weighing pretty close to what I weighed when I was about to deliver my son. I'm still smaller than I was in high school, but I'm not the mini-me I was five years ago. My high school reunion is next week. My dream was that I could go back to my reunion and no one would recognize me. What's probably going to happen is that everyone will tell me I look exactly the same. I know, objectively, that I'm not really fat or anything. If I go by BMI I'm slightly overweight. If I compare myself to the mythical Average American Woman, I'm pretty much her twin (okay, maybe her six-pound-heavier twin). But that's not the point. The point is I was That Skinny Girl for about a year. I'm like the Indian in Brave New World. I know what's really out there.

That's why I'm having a hard time. I watch What Not to Wear frequently. I know that Stacy London would love my dress I picked out for the reunion. It's a flattering cut with a faux-raparound and ruching. The color is perfectly suited for my skin and eyes. Objectively, I know that it looks great on me. I still don't feel happy. I know the number on the label. Stacy can tell the contributers to the show not to get all hung up on numbers, but I'm pretty sure she's never been in double digits, let alone the dreaded last of the misses sizes. She's probably never had to wear a zero-X either (I kid you not. Hey clothing companies-way to make a fat girl feel great. Zero-X=OX in the label).

I just read a great book by Wendy Shanker called The Fat Girl's Guide to Life. Her premise is basically that she needs to take back the word fat from those who give it a negative connotation, to re-make "fat" into "Fat." A Fat girl will take no prisoners. She will say to department stores, "Hey, you need to carry this outfit in my size." A Fat girl will not allow herself to feel inferior to others. A Fat girl will embrace her beauty. A Fat girl will be the glorious self she is called to be. I like the idea in theory, but I'm torn. I still kind of just want to be skinny. This is too much to think about, and my son wants to watch "Phineas and Ferb" clips on Youtube. So I guess I won't resolve this tonight.

My children impress me

I really don't understand this, but my kids ADORE each other. They're almost three years apart to the day, but they play together all the time. When one gets mad at the other, the angry kid will tell the other one, "Fine. You're not my best friend anymore." Do you suppose they'll keep this up through college?

You must listen to this!

Hey, all the vast expanses of people who follow my blog! I'm giving my first recommendation. Take a listen to this guy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-M-bZ1tbHw8

Jorge Ben Jor, originator of Brazilian funk. His music was good enough for Rod Stewart to rip off. His music was good enough for David Byrne to put in his Brazilian compilation albums. I'm pretty sure he could rip a page out of the Bahia white pages, put it to music, lay the fat groove down, and I'd be shaking my thirty-something, Middle-American nadegas.

Bienvenidos a mi vida

"Vincent, NO!" These are words that I seem to say at least sixty thousand times daily. It's summer vacation. I'm a mom; I'm a teacher; I'm home with a four-year old boy. Is there something wrong with wanting school to start?