A is for Apple

I rarely take photos in Michigan these days. There are only so many pictures that one can take of carousel rides at the mall and boys playing with trucks in the sand, cute as all that stuff may be. I did, however, pull out the camera for our spur-of-the-moment trip to Grand Rapids a few weeks ago. At 9 a.m. on a Friday morning, my husband said, "Instead of me going into work today, how 'bout we rent a car and go to Michigan?" Because (and only because!) he agreed to pack for the boys, we were on the road within 2 1/2 hours, and the boys were ringing Pop-Pop and Gangee's doorbell and shouting, "Surprise!" a few hours after that. A part of my husband's motivation for the return was nostalgia brought on by the turning weather and the changing leaves. In honor of the fall season, our family made a brief stop at Robinette's, a lovely apple orchard where urbanites like us can purchase our own autumnal experience. Overpriced, yes, but a nice stop. Next year, I want to dress us all in overalls and flannel and do the whole thing: apple-picking, corn maze, hay ride, donuts and cider. Well, maybe not the denim-'n'-flannel (or the corn maze, now that I think about it), but the rest of it, for sure.

The Moo sports his new haircut on the play wagon.

I was surprised that Jonah actually "took a bite" out of this giant apple like I told him to, just so that I could take a picture of it. I love it when he cooperates.

Donut sugar is best when licked off of hands, didn't you know that? These donuts, by the way, were to die for. I don't know if I'll ever be satisfied with another kind of donut again; at the very least, not completely. You've set the bar high, Robinette's Orchard. Well done.
After play, cider and donuts, I decided to drag the boys into the apple orchard so that they could actually see where apples come from -- a tree, not a plastic bag in the market. I was way too cheap to spring for a $12 peck of U-pick apples; neither, however, did I want to be accused of or guilty of stealing. Somewhat to my relief, Jonah failed in his attempts to pull any apples off the trees themselves, so I just told him to pick a decent-looking one up off the ground -- not stealing! Close enough to hand-picked, and a whole lot cheaper.

Jonah cooperated before with the giant apple, but I couldn't get a smile out of him on our hike thru the apple orchard. Win some, lose some, though I tend to think that this picture is a winner, despite the "Are you kidding me, Mom?" look on his face.

"How big is your apple, Jonah?"

As big as his giant candy apple head, apparently.

See you next year, Robinette's!

"Doing Transportation"

Proof that kids can be fairly easy to please: "Doing Transportation." (Jonah came up with that name, by the way.) Jonah's tricycle-riding skills have improved to the extent that he can now easily ride around the block, to the park, to the dry cleaner, anywhere in our neighborhood. Now that pedaling comes easily, he is eager to head out on jaunts whenever his mama can work up the energy. Manny's short little legs have a tougher time of it, but he's always game to ride his truck around the block. In fact, he insists on it, and if I try to put him in the wagon (which I always bring with us, empty, should Manny decide that he's had enough) he usually kicks and screams. (And then proceeds to nearly fall asleep in the wagon in the remaining couple blocks till we get home, but I'm sure that he would tell you that he could've made it home, no big deal.) Though I have no photos of all the lovely changing leaves that we've seen over the past month or so, the red, yellow and orange have added some beauty to our mornings. Beauty that I've tried to share with the boys, but I can only expect so much from a 2 year old's and a 3 year old's attention spans. "Doing Transportation," though, has been a lovely way to spend some low pressure time with the boys (assuming that we don't cross to many streets), even if it does take 40 minutes to travel half a mile.

Manny likes to act coy. Yes, act. "Transportation" is one of his favorite activities.

Jonah put an assortment of stickers on top of his now-outgrown helmet a year ago. Strictly speaking, Manny probably doesn't need this helmet, but since Jonah wears one, the Moo insists on wearing his own. Last week, though, Manny actually hit a bump at a high enough speed that he pitched forward over his steering wheel and did a push-up on the sidewalk. I breathed a sigh of relief then that he insisted on copying his brother.

No "Transportation" trip is complete without a stop at the construction site down our street. Dream come true for my two guys.

Despite his generally reckless demeanor, Manny does still appreciate the finer things in life, like autumn leaves.

Snip, snip

Well, it only took two years -- or about a year longer than it took with Jonah -- to decide that, yes, indeed, Manny's hair was getting a little out of control.

It took some convincing to make him see that he looked a wee bit of a mess; here he turns his head away in disbelief, or maybe shame.

Gangee was nice enough to take the Moo for his first haircut. I hear that he was a little unsure about the proceedings at first, but with his Thomas the Tank Engine book (and maybe some food?) in hand, he settled in. Afterwards, he charmed the ladies at the cuttery by pulling his shortened curls (so thankful that they survived the trim!) and proudly proclaiming, "Haircut!" And he at a sucker, of course. What's a haircut without a sucker?

Boston, pt 1

Way back in August, I traveled to Boston to visit my dear friend Anneke, her husband Steve and then four-month old baby Mary Lou. Last year, in May, I took the trip with Manny in tow; he was still nursing and was fairly portable, it was free for him to fly as a “babe in arms,” and I couldn’t imagine leaving Gabriel with an almost two-year old toddler and a seven-month old baby. This year, I planned to take Manny with me, registering him as “in arms” (no longer a “babe,” at least to my mind) with the airline ahead of time and beginning arrangements with Anneke to find a car seat and pack ‘n’ play for Manny’s use during our visit.

However, just over a week before we were set to depart, I experienced a Manny Meltdown while homeward bound from a pool outing, during which I was gently reprimanded by a fellow passenger. This incident was preceded a just several days before by a Manny Meltdown following a trip to the zoo, in which he screamed on the bus because he dropped his sucker; that time, I was reprimanded by the driver. Both incidents, and especially the combination of incidents, left me a little shaken: How on earth was I supposed to travel in the confined space of an airplane for more than two hours with a toddler who screamed when tired and hated to sit still? Not to mention the fact that my lap was becoming non-existent with the growth of the third Sanchez child.

My wonderful husband, upon hearing my distress at the prospect of traveling with the Moo, hit upon a brilliant solution: Leave Manny home with him and Jonah. At first, I said, “No, there’s no way.” I actually looked forward to showing Manny off to Steve and An, to having him around Baby Lou, and to spending the weekend with just one child. It didn’t take long, though, for me to see the wisdom of my husband’s advice. Going child-free would mean that I could actually enjoy some adults-only time with my friends; I wouldn’t have to worry about Manny annoying the other passengers (as he undoubtedly would); and I could have “one last hurrah” before, well, it probably wouldn’t happen anymore. It would be like Magical Laura Saturday for three whole days! The turnaround from thinking, “That’s a nice offer, but it’s not going to happen” to “Hurrah! A trip by myself!” was the matter of only a few days.

Once on my way, it didn’t take long to realize what a treat it was to be traveling solo. I could sleep in; I worried only about my own naps and not toddler naps; and I could sit down to read or to chat with Steve and Anneke whenever they weren’t busy tending Baby Lou or their home and garden. While I did miss being able to show off how much Manny has grown over the past year, leaving him in Chicago was well worth whatever minor regrets I may have experienced about that. What’s more, Jonah and Manny were able to have three whole days of bonding time with just Dada, which was a treasure for all three of them. It’s lovely to be missed, as Gabriel told me I was, but I like being missed just enough to know that I was in their thoughts and not so much that the home couldn’t function without me. Bravo, Husband!

Boston, pt 2

The trip was wonderful. My visit last year prompted an interest in the beginning of the United States, as we visited Concord, the site of the first battle of the American Revolution. We were treated to an inspiring lecture on American exceptionalism by a real New England blueblood, who spent his time dressed in period clothing, demonstrating rifle-loading, and rousing the masses. (Steve’s comment on the way home was that he actually felt proud to be an American for the first time in ages.) This year we continued the American theme be visiting the national park that includes the birthplace of John Adams, his first home with Abigail (both located, almost strangely, at a busy, unattractive, commercial intersection in Quincy – the times, they have a-changed!), and Peacefield, the lovely (onetime) farm and estate that he and Abigail bought and expanded upon their return from Europe.

Here Anneke relaxes with Baby Lou on the front porch. Lou did great thru most of the tour, and then passed out on this horribly uncomfortable-looking wooden bench. She could easily be mistaken for a doll.

Peacefield was handed down thru four generations of Adams men, who all kept an eye toward maintaining the home (which makes sense especially because they lived there!). The last of these men, Brooks Adams, donated the land to his country and its people -- we should all be grateful. Below is the side of Peacefield, at right, with the greenery-covered stone and brick library on the left. The library is a work of art itself.

We relaxed in the gardens with lunch.

Me, An, and Baby Lou. I look like I'm wilting from the heat and humidity. I was.

The four of us also engaged in that great American pastime, baseball spectating. One of Gabriel’s favorite major league pitchers, Tim Wakefield the knuckleballer, happened to be pitching a rehab start for the Boston Red Sox minor league team, the Pawtucket (Rhode Island) Red Sox. I almost felt guilty watching Wakefield pitch, knowing how much more my husband would appreciate it than I ever possibly could. A giant round of “fried dough” (yup, it is what it sounds like) with some powdered sugar helped to take the edge off. (I shared.) I took this picture on accident, thinking that I was taking a video. Lucky mistake!

My Sunday evening flight out of Boston allowed enough time to attend church service with the Stassons, lunch and a nap, and the world’s fastest coffee date with just Anneke, which was greatly cherished, as they are few and months or years between! What’s more, Anneke has been for the past several years my best friend.

I was somewhat of a late bloomer in college. Though I stayed in the dorms for my first three semesters, I wasn’t really what you’d call a “dorm activity” kind of girl. What’s more, I was dating someone during that year and a half, and I practically refused (still not sure why) to do my laundry at the dorms, opting instead to live at my parents’ house on the weekends (clearly, I had a lot of laundry that needed attention). I spent my fourth semester in Costa Rica on a non-Calvin program; my closest friends there attended school in Oregon and Illinois and Iowa and central Michigan, out of range of the “amazing college friends” bond that is fostered by seeing one another every day. I lived in a house with four and then five other girls my junior and senior years, but never really felt that I found my niche.

It wasn’t until Calvin’s January Interim term that I finally began to feel really and truly comfortable at Calvin, thanks in no small part to Anneke’s friendship. While we’d known each other for at least a few months prior to that January, sharing a room in a South Korean university’s dormitory and traveling the country with our class catalyzed a deep and lasting friendship, the kind I’d always wanted to experience in college. Returning to Calvin for the start of my last semester, I was in many ways different from the person I’d been before. My friendship with Anneke and with one other person actually gave me the self-confidence to be as outgoing as I can possibly be (difficult for me) and to actually relax.

Anneke stayed in Grand Rapids for about a year after graduation, and so she was with me thru the early days of my relationship with Gabriel, and thru the early stages of my conversion to the Orthodox Church. Just those two events almost define my life as it is now, and it’s very possible that no one had a clearer view into the inchoate stages of “My Life Now” than Anneke. At the same time, visiting her makes me revisit “My Life Then,” in college, when I thought of a Ph.D. (which she is now pursuing), when I was single, when I was attending a church that I now think of as only barely “a church.” I certainly don’t mourn the turns my life has taken; there is just a singular sensation in being with the one close friend whose friendship straddles these two parts of my life. And there is a certain bitter-sweetness in being with Anneke. I recall that she came to my extended family’s Thanksgiving dinner with me my senior year at Calvin. Afterwards, she told me that while she was happy to be with us for the time, it almost made her sad that she was missing that hominess with her own family. Perhaps that’s what I feel when I visit Anneke: I’m thrilled to be with her and to take part in her life, but it makes me miss her even more when we’re separated by a thousand miles. Besides my husband, I wouldn’t be surprised if Anneke is the person who most understands me, even though we lead different lives and filter each thru our own personalities and backgrounds and practices of Christianity. Having a dear friend like Anneke in close proximity is something with which I was blessed for a brief time in my life; I’m blessed still by her friendship, despite the miles.

Thank you, An. I love you!

Pup

Manny carelessly tossed Pup on the bathroom floor and left him there. I found the poor stray leaning on one haunch, propped on his foreleg, staring morosely at our cabinet, one ear perked up as he waited for his errant master to come back and reclaim him. Poor Pup can't actually walk by himself, you know.

Chubs in the tub

The boys may be eating popsicles because Manny got hurt (cold icy treats have been known to cure an ill or two in the past), or just because they asked for them. Letting the boys eat the treats in the bath solves the problem of sticky sugar water on table, floor and clothes, and it clearly produces some pretty cute photos.

Hammy Manny and Llama Drama.