the squibix family blog

A couple months ago a friend gave us a home hair cutting kit that includes one of those clipper things like the barbers use which was the impetus I needed to give Leah the go-ahead to cut my hair. It came out fine—I didn't get any shocked comments or even curious looks, so I had to make sure to mention to several people that she had done it so they could be aware that I was moving yet further out of the mainstream of American existence. Today she gave me another trim; at this point I think I can safely say that my 30-year span of reliance on barbershops has come to an end.

What are the advantages of getting haircuts at home? Well, it saves money: we got all the tools for free and, even with just four cuts a year I was shelling out over a hundred dollars at the local barbershop. I can also get more frequent trims now, which means I don't have to get it cut so short each time. It's also a lot easier to fit a haircut into the schedule when we can do it right in the kitchen in 15 minutes, rather than turning it into an hour-long errand. And then there's just the matter of wanting to be counter-cultural: while I loved the barbershop I went to (and I totally recommend it to any non-hippy gentlemen who happen to live in the area) the more things we can manage to do for ourselves as a family or community of friends, without money having to change hands, the happier I feel about the way our life is going. So that's pretty cool.

Of course, it'll be quite a while before anything gets in the ground outside, and we're reminded of that dramatically this evening as we face warnings for the Blizzard Of The Century that's apparently bearing down on us. The National Weather Service says we can expect 18-24 inches of snow, but that hasn't stopped blizzard-starved New Englanders from confidently predicting 30, 35, 40 inches of snow over tomorrow and Saturday. Even 18 inches would be pretty epic; 18.2 in Boston would be enough to put the storm into 10th place all time for Boston, knocking the December 2010 storm out of the top ten. I'm all for it. Unlike a December storm—that particular one marked the start of a crazy snowy winter where we never saw the ground until March—a February blizzard won't leave much of a long-term mark. It should be just enough to give us some fun snow adventures, and maybe get Harvey the snow-fort he's been dreaming of, before melting away to help water and fertilize my little seedlings. The best of both worlds!

Clearly we couldn't go out that way, but luckily our house has more than one door, because the intrepid squibix family was ready for adventure!

We lasted a good five minutes outside. (That was the kids' fault; Leah and I had actually both been outside earlier to see to the chickens. You know you're real farmers when you have to shovel a path out to the livestock before you tackle the front walk.)

The snow stopped before lunch time, which meant we were able to take another trip outside, slightly longer this time. Harvey was well-geared up and ready for anything.

Zion hasn't yet grasped the connection between wearing particular items of clothing and staying warm, so he declined snowpants or mittens. He was... not entirely enthusiastic about being outside.

After we shoveled and played in the snow with friends, I hung out in the garden a little bit.

The poor chickens spent the entire day inside their coop, but when I came by they decided to take a look at the world beyond their door. It turns out they like the snow about as much as Zion does, and if any of them put a toe on the white stuff in was entirely by accident.

Ah well, hens and toddlers: it'll all be gone soon enough.

Not to say that all was wonderful in our outside adventures this afternoon; more whining was involved than I quite like, even with the positively tropical conditions. I turned down an invitation to go sledding with friends but when I felt how warm it was I regretted my decision for a moment. But only a moment, because trying to play in the snow with Harvey right outside our front door was aggravating enough: I wanted to Have Fun, because snow is Fun, and he wanted time to be able to make up his own mind on the subject. Which is entirely fair (though I would have preferred he work through things without the aforementioned whining).

It seems to me that this is yet another potential parenting pitfall, especially for parents like myself who never really grew up properly. "The things I like are awesome and you should enjoy them with me!" Actually, maybe that's a relationship pitfall in general. Thinking rationally, though, if there are things that I'm interested in doing I should do them for myself; and if I look like I'm having a good time than maybe someone else will join me. Which I did, and, eventually, he did. Behold our snow cave, 2013 edition:

Same style, same place as our 2011 version:

(Yeah, that's Harvey at 1; some confusion is understandable since in that photo he's wearing all Zion's snow gear.)

This time the snow was a little softer, so after he got involved in the process we expanded to a rear entrance.

Then snow in the boots and elsewhere put a stop to further work, but all in all it was a good time. Thanks, Harvey, for playing with me!

And of course, it shouldn't have to be. Yes, more people drive than walk so it's reasonable to clear the streets first; but at the same time, it's kind of a chicken-and-egg problem. If towns don't clear the sidewalks for two months of the year—or even build them in the first place!—they foreclose the possibility of anyone making an alternative transportation choice.

My coworkers suggested that parents without a car of their own should get a ride with a neighbor, or even keep their kids home from school. Both are great ideas (although I don't know that the administration would approve of the second one). But I have another idea. More people should, in the absence of sidewalks, walk in the street. Wear reflecting clothing if necessary, convoy with friends to make a larger, more visible group; but show up, and show drivers that they aren't the only ones with a claim to the road.

This time of year away almost no drivers are going to stop for a crosswalk outside of town centers: pedestrians just aren't on their mental radar when it's cold. But that doesn't mean I'm going to just wait passively until there's a break in traffic to cross? Of course not! I put myself out in the crosswalk—not jumping in front of cars, but making sure that they see me and see that I'm planning on crossing. Too many still respond only by swerving slightly to get by me without passing to close, but I consider it a positive educational outreach regardless.

Am I being a jerk when I make drivers slow down? Maybe. But any kind of social change will always inconvenience the current privileged group, and that's ok. There are so many reasons to walk rather than driving that we shouldn't let peoples entitled habits—or crappy infrastructure, or poor snow removal—get in the way of making changes right now. When enough people are walking drivers will pay attention; and towns will be sure to plow sidewalks just like they plow streets now, or else let the kids stay home.

In any case, the hens aren't the only ones looking forward to spring. I ordered some seeds a few days ago and spent a couple hours this morning reading about gardens and dreaming of greenery. Then this afternoon Harvey and I planted a few seeds; I just couldn't resist.

We're nearly finished reading The Long Winter, which has been our constant companion for a little over a week now. I tell you, while our own winter obviously pales by comparison to the Dakota winter of 1880-1881, we were felt as chilled as Laura as we read about her blizzards and listened to our own little snowstorms blowing outside.

There were moments when we went outside and were surprised that it wasn't forty below here!

Right now it's nowhere near there, but warm and raining. Already late this afternoon there were a few little bare patches in the yard. It'll be a while yet before we can get at the garden, and the hens at their new grass, but our wait won't be nearly as hard as the Ingalls'!

Aside from the baking, which can easily absorb a good half of the inflow, we do enjoy our breakfast eggs. Generally the boys and I go with either scrambled or fried—we tend to streaks of one or the other. I like my fried egg (sunny side up, of course) on toast, while Harvey prefers his directly on the plate with the toast on the side, because he can't cut it otherwise (he asks for "the dipping kind of egg", which in our household is not soft-boiled). Zion at this stage mostly just likes pieces of the white, since fried egg yolks are a little tough to grapple with by hand. I fry eggs in just a little bit of butter and keep the heat fairly low, so the whites don't get rubbery or very browned at all. Lots of salt and pepper on top at the end.

When I'm feeling fancy I whisk the eggs for scrambled in a bowl with a little bit of milk, and occasionally chives in the springtime (though Harvey's not really a fan). But you can make surprisingly good scrambled eggs just scrambling them in the pan in a good bit of butter; that's what I do when I'm making eggs on special request for a particularly persuasive child, or when we're making "eggs in a sandwich" and don't need the extra delicacy the milk brings. I like mine with cheese (American, natch), Harvey takes a half with no cheese, and Zion just want the egg part with untoasted bread on the side. It all works out well since our toaster can only manage three slices at a time, so I don't know what we're going to do in a couple months as the little one's eating advances. I also try and get by with only scrambling three eggs for the three of us, but already that's pushing at the edge of early morning starvation.

When there's leftover black beans I do enjoy making myself a breakfast burrito, a taste which no one else yet seems to share. One scrambled egg is enough, though two is a possibility as well, on top of some cream cheese spread on a tortilla; then the beans, reheated, and some salsa. The cream cheese softens wonderfully and it all tastes oh-so-wholesome and filling.

We only very occasionally do omelets, mostly as a special treat for Leah to entice her to join us for breakfast (the reason she's absent from all the deliciousness above is because she likes to get her chores done in the morning, and also because she tends to breakfast on soup or heaven-knows what else). Hard-boiled eggs are only if anyone wants to make egg salad immediately following, which in practice is only ever for summer picnics (and it turns out to be pretty hard to shell really fresh eggs that have been hard-boiled). Poached and soft-boiled are both awaiting exploration at a later date.

So when I see chicken-keeping coffee-table books (yes, that is a thing) with fully a third of their pages taken up with exotic egg recipes designed to deal with an expected surplus, I wonder if the authors are missing something (like breakfast, and dessert too). We don't have any problems in that direction here.

I've always felt February vacation was kind of a waste. I heard a theory for the first time this year that it's meant to give everyone a chance to work through their various illnesses in private without further epidemics in the school buildings; more likely to allow folks who can manage it to get a summer preview in Acapulco (yes, people do still go there). I'd rather work at school through February when there's nothing else useful to do and have the week off in March or June, myself, but they rarely ask my opinion of such things.

The boys really are ready to explode outside. They're playing together really well the last few weeks—sometimes we don't need to interact with them for as long as 15 minutes! But often their play involves running around the house shouting at the top of their lungs, and optionally banging things; activities, in other words, that would be much better conducted out-of-doors. As yet it's still a bit too cold and snowy and wet for that (especially since Harvey often declines to make any clothes part of his imaginative games), but I recognize their energy and resist the urge to shush them or, alternately, to pick them up and toss them out. In just a few weeks that'll be an option!

Aside from the pint of minis pictured above (and several more that never made it into the jar) we also made about two quarts of big square marshmallows, some of which were subsequently dipped in chocolate. I wanted to take a picture of the chocolate ones for you, but the lighting was never right for a proper food-blog-type photo. Oh well, those things are totally unrealistic anyways; real cooking looks more like this:

And I'm not even going to show you the shots I took of the sink! But never mind the mess, the marshmallows are delicious and we'll definitely be making more another day.