This is how we know Alleke really likes something...

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Why is it that kids look so cute when they act like grown-ups?

Lemonade Stand

A Young Entrepreneur on a Hot Day at Portland State by rachaelvoorhees.

All you need to know to understand my neighborhood is that today when I took Alleke down to the playground, there were two little girls who had set up a little stand—not a lemonade stand, as perhaps I would have expected, but a tattoo parlor.

If I hadn't been busy watching Alleke, I would have picked one out of their book.

Bubbles

April stood at the corner of the playground and blew bubbles. Alleke stood next to her and watched as one little girl left her shovel in the sand and started swatting at the small, crystal planets hovering in orbit over their heads. Two little boys on the teeter totter noticed next and came running. Before long, the playground was a frenzy of boys and girls chasing bubbles like they chase butterflies--jumping, swatting, diving, and twirling. It was a mosh pit for toddlers.

Alleke giggled at the others, then barreled into a cloud of bubbles, shrieking like she had sprung a leak.

April blew bubbles until the bottle ran out. It was surprising the kids lasted that long, and they weren't convinced the bubbles were gone until April let them see the empty bottle. April put the lid back on, and the kids began to walk away.

Alleke ran over. She looked at April, then at the kids, then at the bottle. "Open, open, open," she pleaded. She took the bottle and tried to get the cap off. When it wouldn't budge, she began to cry.

Most of the kids, it seemed, had gone home for dinner, and now the playground was empty.

It had been Alleke's idea in the first place to bring bubbles to the playground. She loves playing with other kids, but most of the time she just stands there and watches them play. She observes. She seems fascinated with kids, not comfortable with them. If Alleke is playing on the slide and kids get in line behind her, she will step aside and wait for them to finish. She doesn't seem confident in what she's doing.

I worry Alleke is learning my bad habits. She's hesitant at the playground because I am. I don't feel like I belong there. I'm still not sure what the unwritten rules are at the playground, so I hang back. The other parents seem to know each other, so I sit and watch them talk. I play in the sand, but don't know the names for toys.

I don't feel like I can be myself at the playground, not yet.

Alleke may not feel like herself either, but she did bring bubbles to the playground. She brought something she likes to play with at home to the playground so she could share it with the other kids—and it worked. Even though her way of connecting with the kids might not have been the expected way, she still found a way.

Beach Photos

It's already been three weeks since we were at the beach in Caiscais (which is a beach town in Portugal). I wish I was still there!

Watch this slideshow in fullscreen.

Flash Slideshow

Alleke's complete photo albums:
16-18m | 13-15m | 10-12m | 7-9m | 3-6m | 0-2m

Nectarine Popsicles

Alleke's favorite summer snack. They're easy to make, healthy, and cold.

Preparation Time: 10 min.
Servings: 10 popsicles

Ingredients:
2 nectarines
1 1/2 cup peach yogurt
1/4 cup juice (we use 100% peach and grape juice)
1 tsp honey

Preparation:
Blend ingredients. Pour into popsicle molds and put them in the freezer.

Notes:
Use whatever you have in the house. You can experiment with different fruits, yogurts, and juices.

Check out our other recipes...

Jet Lag

I don't sleep well on planes, and having been slung shot across the ocean, effectively winding the clock forward seven hours, I found myself sitting at home in front of a bowl of cereal wondering when I could go back to bed. I still had the whole day in front of me.

So when April asked, "I've got to run to the bank. Can you watch Alleke?" what she really meant was "Are you awake?" I nodded.

April left, Alleke busied herself with some seashells on the floor, and I curled up on the couch.

Much later, I suppose, I startled awake. Alleke was standing next to the couch, bent over, and looking into my eyes. She was rubbing my back.

She stopped to put her finger to her lips.

"Shhh," she said in a whisper. "Daddy's sleeping."

Weed Eater

St Mary's Church by roytsaplinjr.

I spent Saturday afternoon in a tank top weed eating around tombstones in the cemetery where my grandmother is buried. The stones are scattered around a rural church, which sits like a schoolhouse on the corner where two highways cross, giving a handful of folks a reason to pull into the gravel parking lot on Sundays.

My uncle Willie is the janitor at the church. We were staying with him for a few days while my dad took care of some business for my grandpa, who is still sorting through bills and things after moving into a health care facility.

Willie said there was work for us to do at the church, so when we pulled up on Saturday, he put my dad to work mending the carpet on the front step, and told me to get the weed eater from the shed. My cousin Rhett was already buzzing around on a riding lawn mower at the far end of the property.

When I finished trimming, I found Rhett and my dad sitting on the front step drinking Root Beer. I told Rhett I hadn't found Grandma's grave. So, after they finished their drinks, we followed Rhett through the cemetery, reading the names on the stones.

When we found Grandma's headstone, which looked as new as it did twenty years ago, we sat in the grass, and Dad told us stories. He told us he and the other kids had played Hide and Go Seek around these tombstones. He told us about Ada, his catechism teacher, and Ed, who he had worked for in high school and who had killed a kid pitching hay. He reminded me of Great Grandpa's German accent—he would say "threes" as "drees"—and how Great Grandma would crow when she laughed. He told some of Grandpa's jokes and sang one of his barbershop songs. He told us about the diary barn burning to the ground at the old farm place.

My dad had spent his childhood here, while I had only come to visit a few times. I didn't really know this place, or the last names on the headstones. I wasn't familiar with any of it. Still, I was tied to it, somehow. This place defined my dad, as childhoods do, and so, it defined me too. There was a history here that eventually led to me. As my dad talked, the beginning of my story was being pushed back in time, rolled out, so I could see that I was not very original at all. I was unmistakably one of the family.

As we pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the highway, I got thinking about Alleke. I wondered if she would know anything about this place.

I imagined her chasing the pigeons across the cobblestones, and for a moment, she seemed so far away...from the place, of course, but also the history.

It's going to be difficult for Alleke to understand where she comes from. America is a land far, far away, which makes her a child out of context. All she's got most days are the stories we tell her.

For more about rural America, read an essay I wrote called Some Say the Midwest is Dying...