Duplicate

268/365
11:32 a.m.

Woot! We're so enjoying these fleeting days of fall.

If It Were A Play

267/365
5:48 p.m.

ACT 1, SCENE 1--Outside, At Home

(As the clouds dissipate and the curtains of heaven assuredly divide, the ANGELS begin singing the loveliest of all love notes.)

Enter CHILD 1 & 2, PARENT 1 & 2

CHILD 1

The sun came back! I didn't think it would come back forever!

[CHILD 1, CHILD 2, PARENT 1, and PARENT 2, the FAMILY, stares blankly at the sky, not sure what to think. Quickly, without judgement, they begin smiling, laughing, twirling, running, raking. Basking.]

PARENT 2

[Looking around.] Life is good again.

PARENT 1

[Heavy, satisfactory sigh. Smile.]

CHILD 2

[Joyfully shrieking.]

CURTAIN.

Weariness

266/365
12:03 p.m.

Second verse, same as the first.

General Malaise

265/365
1:01 p.m.

We have been living in a persistent state of The Doldrums for weeks; the sky appears incapable of moving off the black-white color spectrum and rain, for the love of all things holy, the rain Just.Won't.Stop. To illustrate the grayness of our existence, this shot of our lovely spider and, behind it, the bony, leafless mass of the ugliest tree on the street, is actually in color. Most serious, folks.

Brothers

264/365
6:42 p.m.

Feasted and fattened, sweetly scrubbed and lotioned, dressed for dreams, Knuffle Bunny recited, and huddled in close. I love how they have the entire couch to themselves, but choose to cram in closely like sleepy little puppies.

Robert Frost Is Autumn

263/365
1:10 p.m.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost, 1923

Also Known As a Johnny Pump

262/365
12:24 p.m.

We caught this coming home from a lovely autumn morning at the zoo. As an adult passerby, you may or may not notice the deluge flooding the busy street. Sure, you'll slow down on autopilot, but you may not fully recognize Why. On the other hand, a parent of a two-year-old, will come to a screeching halt, mesmerized, then lured by the open hydrant's gravitational pull. You'll find yourself skipping into a near run, and your voice will suddenly rise so many octaves to painfully match the dazzling F6 in Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, shouting an insanely obnoxious "gushing fire hydrant! gushing fire hydrant!" Your only saving grace will be if your two-year-old is actually with you. If not, you're so socially screwed.

Mulberry Bush, Updated for 21st Century

261/365
6:36 a.m.

This is the way we empty the dishwasher

Empty the dishwasher, empty the dishwasher

This is the way we empty the dishwasher

So early Sunday morning

One Ingredient

260/365
1:41 p.m.

Roasted Pear and Beet Salad with Watercress and Blue Cheese

Cook's Illustrated, Nov. 2000

Ingredients

Beets & Pears

3 small beets

4 firm Anjou pears or Bartlett pears (about 2 pounds)
1 tablespoon unsalted butter , melted
2 tablespoons granulated sugar

Salad
1 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon table salt
Ground black pepper
4 ounces blue cheese , crumbled
2 bunches watercress , washed, dried, and stemmed (about 6 cups)

Directions

1. For Beets: Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position; heat oven to 350 degrees. Wrap each beet in foil and roast until fork can be inserted and removed with little resistance, 1 to 11/2 hours; unwrap beets. When cool enough to handle, peel and cut beets lengthwise into quarters; cut each quarter in half into wedges.
2. For Roasted Pears: Place baking sheet or broiler pan bottom on rack, and turn up oven heat to 500 degrees.
3. Peel and halve each pear lengthwise. With paring knife or melon baller, remove core. Set each half cut-side down and slice lengthwise into fifths.
4. Toss pears with butter; add sugar and toss again to combine. Spread pears in single layer on preheated baking sheet, making sure each slice lies flat on surface. Roast until browned on bottom, about 10 minutes. Flip each slice and roast until tender and deep golden brown, about 5 minutes longer.
5. For Salad: Whisk together oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper to taste in small bowl.
6. Combine beets, blue cheese, and watercress in large serving bowl. Add pears and vinaigrette; toss gently to combine. Serve immediately.

Canvas

259/365
3:11 p.m.

Jack comes home like this more days than not. Wondering if we'll look back on this in a decade or two when he comes home with a tattoo and realize all the signs were here from the beginning.

Oh, Happy Day!

258/365
6:36 p.m.

Totally pulled a kindergarten math move on embellishing the brownie cake with the suitable number of candles.

Can you figure out how old he is? (Hint: One candle is hidden.)

Peddling Wares (For Free. Ok, fine. Giving Away Wares)

257/365
5:13 p.m.

Super Jack, the Gourd King of [Our] Street, at your service.

Hiding

256/365
6:27 p.m.

Yours truly.

We Love Us Some Cucurbitaceae

255/365
10:14 a.m.

And you thought it was just a pumpkin.

Ah One, Ah Two, Ah Three

254/365
1:37 p.m.

Just waiting for them to break out in Rockette-style rendition of Old MacDonald.

Sun Pranks

253/365
5:51 p.m.

See those warm, deliciously honeyed rays of love? The ones that are graciously absorbed by an enchanted forest of sweet, evanescent leaves down to velvety treasures of mossy goodness? See? See?

Yet, earlier, when we all trudged through the muck and mud, hostilely dodging snow flurries while working our tails off to harvest nearly a thousand pumpkins and squash, the Her Golden Highness was freakin' AWOL. Details, right? Still, although it was a ginormous sigh of relief to see Her late in the day, it was almost left like She was all thumbs-in-her-ears and Nana-Nana-Boo-Booing the likes of us.

The Cookie Touch*

252/365**
3:43 p.m.

Holidays are the only time I break out sugar cookies. Man, we love sugar cookies, but holy cow, they're a colossal amount of work. Dough? Easy breezy. Roll out? Nothing to it. Cookie cutter pressing? A snap. Baking? Effortless. Frosting? Cinch. Really, the whole thing is darn near elementary. But it's three days of elementary because who, may I ask, has the time to start and finish this monumental project in one arduous marathon session?

So, there's a imperceptible chance that the dough was sprinkled with a grumble and the frosting smeared on with a mumbled swear. Some mom's secret baking ingredient is a spoonful of love, mine, apparently, is an expletive.

And they were damn good too.

*Only those of us subscribing to endless reruns of Sesame Street (oh new season, when will you start?) will get this.

**I took this shot on Friday, October 9, but it's posting in Saturday's position. Sorry for the mix-up.

Ecopsychological Self Perservation

251/365
11:59 a.m.

Is there nothing more glorious than a fabulous, old-fashioned romp in the mud? My curiosity was lured late this summer when a story ran in the newspaper about nature-deficit disorder in children. It's rooted in the theory that kids are electromatically tethered by inside forces and parents themselves have perceived sense of outside fear, primarily crime-based. The result: alarming rates of obesity, depression, and ADHD, among others.

I get the perceived sense of fear. The idea of someday sending the boys off on their bike, only to return when the streetlights come on, is nothing short of an Anxiety Inducing Thought. However, because both of my kids have this amazing alter ego, which is deeply connected to all things nature, I understand the need to wholeheartedly foster this concept. Jack's calmness and focus is related to all things forest, Charlie's kicks in for mud, sticks, and rocks. And from what I've read, the research is there--exposure to nature links to a healthy early childhood, both physically and emotionally. From here on out, I'll do everything I can to support it--from this side of a potty in the woods and a tent on a rocky bed. {I can't even apologize, folks. I.Am.Not.A.Camper.}

Brick

250/365
3:24 p.m.

So, here is my 16-year-old. You see how he has his hand stuffed in his pocket, maybe jingling some loose change, rocking backward on his heels. Going to send him out for milk and eggs.

Geez, now, where is that brick for his cute little head? Time to slow down there, Jack. My proud, swelling heart can't take your Bigness all the time.

Raptness

249/365
3:45 p.m.

I imagine this shot will look eerily similar for the next 17+ years. Minus the pencil.

Not Ready

248/365
1:31 p.m.

Dear Mother Nature,

What, my I ask, did October ever do to you?

Respectfully,

Jen and the entire State of Wisconsin

Storyteller

247/365
5:58 p.m.

The kid has a lot to say. I mean, a whole lot. Chatty McChatters. So that means we're doing something right.

And Then There Was One

246/365
3:51 p.m.

Step aside An Affair to Remember, there's another love story in town. Meet Maucon and Honeygold, proud Minnesota parents of the coveted Honeycrisp. Here, an offspring with that certain sweetness, tartness, and that starts and ends with a distinguishing pop. Never before has the object of Adam & Eve's bane captivated an audience so devoted that they blindly fork over $2.49 per pound. Therefore, it's downright mind-blowing, all hyperbole aside, that Honeycrip's little sister, SweeTango is lauded to be, dare I say, superior.

Fresh

245/365
2:39 p.m.

Through Glass

244/365
3:39 p.m.

I know there will come a day in March when the early spring donates a balmy 54 degrees. We'll throw on stale winter coats and be tempted to keep the zipper decidedly unzipped as we impatiently race out to bask and frolic in the day's long-awaited warmness. With all due respect to the science of thermal energy, 54 degrees in March is a completely different 54 degrees in early October.

Behold! The Laser Boat!

243/365
1:56 p.m.

Jack has been meticulously, continuously affixing Lego pieces, truly understanding and respecting that it is a Work in Progress kind of architectural project. I chose this shot over the one displaying the boat's tightly layered shapes of vibrant and strikingly complimentary primary colors. This one, plucked from the queue for its darkness, its light, its stained-glass appeal.