Her Favorite Pose

She's been sick this week. Poor girl. She's sacked out on the couch with the "big surpriser" nearby adding humidity to the air. (Please tell me we're not the only ones who have tagged things with the names the girls gave them when they were barely understandable.)

I had to take this photo though. She's sleeping in the same pose that she struck just seconds after she was born. Say it with me now, ahhhh. Where does the time go?

Today

wake

shiver

wash

eat

drive

freeze

dentist

drive

freeze

hug Miss Jill

roll dough

pat dough

bake cookies

frost cookies

play in loft

frost more cookies

write letters

play mailman

hammer vibraharp

watch birds

frost more cookies

eat cookies

smile

hug Miss Jill

spy deer prints

drive

freeze

open door

run to phone

play with friends

sketch

cook

eat

brush

wash

listen to Odyssey

type post

pray

read

sleep

Dealing With What You've Been Dealt

I've come to realize that we all work out grief in different ways. This is how the curly-headed girl does it. She draws pictures with missing people doing activities right beside everyone else. She spends copious amounts of time mothering Baby Rachel. She talks. She asks questions. She won't let it hide under the rug.

I think she gets that from her father's side of the family; but it's a good thing, dealing with it honestly. I am learning that from her.

Toyland

Some of us still wear the elf hat and dig into the presents to pass them out. Some of us still squeal and make crazy happy faces when we open our presents. Some of us still run to the giver and hug them for all we're worth.

Others of us sit back quietly and watch. We are not quite sure that we want to be that crazy and we are sure that elf hats are not in style this season. We like to see what other people get and we are glad to open our presents, but we must be dignified in our thankfulness.

"Toyland, toyland, little girl and boy land. When you dwell within it, you are ever happy there!
Childhood joyland, mystical merry toyland. Once you pass it's borders you can never return again."

I was glad to that all of us needed to immediately open the Playmobil and start playing at once.

Nostalgia Lane

Remember these turkeys hanging from the drop ceiling in your third grade class? I sure do. Walk with me down Nostalgia Lane...that was the year we colored every afternoon and watched PBS. Ah, well.

Now that Thanksgiving is here, it's not too hard to come up with a list of things we should be thankful for. The hard part is remembering on a daily basis to Whom we should be thankful.

Changing Seasons

Spring

Summer (Several years ago, but how cute!)

Fall

Winter

Seasons change; in more ways than one...and now our resident dad says winter is on the way. We spent the morning outside cleaning up the yard. I can't even believe it's this warm (60F) on November 10th! The kids are quite concerned that it hasn't snowed yet. No worries - it'll be 30F for a high on Friday. 

Then they'll be crying for warm weather.

Mrs. West

I hope you had ladies like this in your childhood. The patient grandmotherly ones who let you come over to their house and helped you make ugly pillows for your mom for her birthday. (Trust, me not all that's vintage is good.)

Mrs. West is standing in the back row with a green apron on. She lived alone in her little house just up the street from our rambunctious yard. It was quiet there, and she was a good listener. I don't remember a single one of our conversations, but she loved on me like I was one of her own grandkids. And every time her grandkids came to town, they came over to roller-skate in our driveway and play Barbies.

Great times.

So, in honor of all the gardeners who have a surfeit of zucchini this time of year...here's Mrs. West's recipe.

Zucchini Cakes

2 eggs, slightly beaten
1/2 c. flour
2 t. baking powder
1/3 c. Parmesan cheese
1/8 t. pepper (freshly ground)
1 t. salt
2 c. grated zucchini
(I added 2 T. grated red onion)

Mix in order. Fry in butter or drippings. Makes 8 or 10 cakes. Can be refrigerated a couple of days. (Are delicious crisp.)

Grocery list here.

The Best Anniversary Gift Ever

The curly-headed girl and the straight-haired girl cooked up a surprise for us. Literally. They decided that since it was our anniversary, we should all celebrate. So they shuffled us downstairs and made sub sandwiches for dinner. They even planned the entertainment line up, and decorated the tv room with homemade lanterns and woven paper place mats. Here's the "menu" for the night:

Entertainment Menu

Andy Griffith (Andy Griffith Discovers America)

Intermisstion

Dic van Diec (The Night the Roof Fell In)

Intermission

Beverly Hillbillies (The Clampetts Go Hollywood)

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

We made it! She is eight today. I've got to quit blinking and focus.

An Old Friend

"Make new friends, but keep the old -

One is silver and the other gold."

We came across an old friend on our latest adventure. 

We learned about his work at the Indianapolis Children's Museum a few summers ago.

All those bright colors. What's not to love?

We even got to "make our own" Chihuly-style art. 

(Appropriate, since he uses children's art for inspiration!)

 Imagine our surprise when we walked into the building from the parking lot, 

feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

It was a bright spot for me in an otherwise stressful weekend. 

God is so good!

Childhood

It all started because I needed a place to put those tiny baby things I could not bear to part with.

Then, they outgrew the dance shoes...

Next, the Baer and the blankie. Both of which have been duplicated at her request, by the way.

Somehow, along the way, it has morphed into this. Many wonderful things are in those boxes. (The straight-haired girl loves even the smell of hers. Every so often, she feels the need to drag it out and take her time going through it. She can't believe her wrist was ever that tiny!)

And when they feel the need to save something they've outgrown, they have a place to keep it. The childhood is for them, not for me. O.k. Well, maybe I can still put things in there, too.

Maybe I should rent a couple of storage bins...

Furniture With a Past

I have an old cabinet that once-upon-a-time belonged to my grandfather. He kept it in the barn and stored all kinds of gadgets in it. It's tall with short stubby legs and it has probably been white most of its life - except when my mom painted it a shocking electric blue. It's white once more, with many dents and scratches where the blue shows through. It sits quietly in our dining room, holding my table linens and cookbooks. On top is a piece of art made by the straight-haired girl. Together with other things we have gathered along the way, that cabinet tells us a little about where we came from.  Perhaps it allows us a little glimpse of where we are going as well.

Happy Days are Here Again

I blinked.

Just Another Manic Tuesday?!?

I have always been of the opinion that civilized people should not require others to get out of bed before 8:07 a.m.at the very earliest. (I've been living among barbarians all my life.)

Thirteen years ago this week...

My brother, also in exile among barbarians, came to my house and commenced to pound on my door at 6:15 on a Tuesday morning...because he wanted a screwdriver...of which he had at least seven. It took me a while to realize that the loud pounding noise would not just go away. I stumbled out to the kitchen, shoved the blasted screwdriver at him and stumbled back into my room; all the while managing to avoid fully opening my eyes. I had six minutes left until the alarm sounded, and I knew exactly how I intended to spend them.

I was completely frustrated when he followed me into my room and would not let me go back to sleep. He trapped me there and started asking me strange questions. "What station is on your alarm? When is it set to go off? What time do you have to leave the house in order to get to work and not be late?" Then he turned on the radio and cranked it up to an ear blasting "can't ignore it even if you want to" level. Meanwhile, the only morning person in the house, my roommate and sister, was strangely quiet.

I gave up on further sleep, and stomped into the bathroom. In spite of my surly muttering, it was possible to hear the bizarre story about the woman who had a hot-air balloon land in her car as she went through a McDonald's drive-through. That did manage to catch my attention. So I heard the announcer say, "This next story involves someone in our listening area."  He told me that my boyfriend was outside with a dozen roses and a bag of donuts. Then I heard, "and he wants to know, will you marry him?"

In my fragile state (awake before 8:03, remember?) it took me a while to realize I should do something other than stand there and gawk at my brother. I glanced out the window and saw the neighbor hightailing it across my backyard. That kicked me into gear. My boyfriend was out there with breakfast and a ring, and she was after those powdered sugar covered cake donuts!

I ran to the back door, threw it open and screamed, "Yes. Yes, and I want some donuts, too!" I promptly turned around and ran back to the bathroom. My attempt to resemble someone he would still want to marry gave my siblings ample opportunity to devour that entire sack of donuts. Happily, for everyone involved, they informed me that my parents were waiting to see the ring; and Dad was making pancakes, so no one was seriously injured. They ate most of my wedding cake too, but that's another story.

Getting Lost

The straight-haired girl is feeling a bit under the weather. Strangely enough, she keeps having the same dream I had when I was sick as a child. You know, the dream where things get smaller and smaller? The dream where the smaller everything gets, the larger it is? Only, it scares her.

Does anyone else have that dream?

Anyway, when she is sick and a wee bit scared, she wants comfort in the form of Mom's hand. (It's rare these days. I have to take advantage of it when I can.) We're lounging under a big comfy blanket and talking about life when she throws out this stunner: "I don't want to get married." As I dig deeper, she tells me she doesn't want to get married because she doesn't like fighting.

That's a pretty good reason; every marriage that I know of has its fair share of disharmony. Her dad and I don't argue often, but when we do it's not impossible to overhear.

I remind her that it's impossible for everyone to agree about everything, that she and her friends have been known to disagree. "I don't like to fight with my friends," she says, "I'm afraid I will lose them."

So I try to convey the possibility that someday she too may laugh and fight and live and cry with another human being; and she will still love him and be committed to him and not be afraid she will lose him. (Note to self: next time, exercise volume control so as not to worry the pipsqueaks!)

Mexican Jumping Beans and a Bear

Bedtime is a little crazy around here. It's rather like trying to keep nineteen jumping beans in the bottle at one time so you can put the lid on it before they all pop out. Teeth must be brushed, then snack must be eaten (because we forgot to eat it first), then teeth again. The Dad must be tucked in - several times - and this involves snuggling. Sometimes, pajamas just don't fit right and must be exchanged for others. Sometimes, baths are involved. Stories must be read. Drinks must be placed just so on the dresser (Heaven forbid a child should wake up in the middle of the night and have to go get water!), and the list could go on and on. So I rush to get them settled down because at the end of all this melee, I get to relax!

But, I have noticed that - if I don't rush her - the straight-haired girl will open up and talk about her thoughts and the things that are so very important in her world. Sometimes those fleeting glimpses inside her head take place at bedtime, so I overlook the stalling tactics for the pleasure of her company.

Tonight, for instance. I was reminded of what it is like to be nine: to see the world from four feet, six inches. It's a little scary down there. Things seem a little uncertain and a bit overwhelming when you're nine. Life is starting to get a little complicated in a nine-year-old way.


I'd almost forgotten.

Pink Anyone?

When I was younger, I didn't really care all that much for pink. Then my mom made me a pink quilt (not this one), so being the decor minded individual that I am, I begged my mom to let me paint my room to go along with it. Then I just about gagged on all the pink. Overload!

Until one summer day, my husband and I found out that we were having a little girl. Suddenly, pink was en vogue again. I loved little pink crocheted booties, pink bibs, tiny dresses of pink calico and everything else pink.

Don't tell, but I've kind of liked it ever since. In fact, I like it so much that I can't let go of this little baby quilt that was my husband's. Back in the day (before sonograms) his mom got this very pink baby quilt and then promptly had two boys. It wasn't used much until the granddaughters came along. But as you can see, it's had a very hard life lately. Now I've decided to fix it. I have loads of leftover pink fabric and I'm going to put it to good use! One can never have too many quilts up here.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

This evening after supper, we were sitting around the table while the girls were doing their usual song and dance routine. This evening's offerings included a made-up play that was totally incoherent involving "Little Bo Peep, who sat on her sheep," and other general nonsense. (The highlight of the show was the part when the straight-haired girl rambled on for quite some time about every topic under the sun, while the curly-haired girl danced and attempted to lip sync.)

After they wound down, the daddy grabbed the curly-haired girl and told her he loved her and gave her a hug. She responded, "Daddy, you need to shave your eyebrows and get a more suitable smell." The daddy would like me to point out that she was referring to the pervasive carpet glue scent on his clothing, not matters of personal hygiene.

This is what we do when the sun goes down at 4:30 and the temperature is 35 below zero.

Gratitude

Well, There Went November! Evidently, I completely missed the whole month.

In honor of Thanksgiving - a very important reminder to live a lifestyle of gratitude not only for, but to - I'm listing a few things for which I'm thankful to God:

handprints on the wall (there are children in the house)
dust bunnies under the bed (I get to spend time with them)
bungee cords hanging from the tree in the front yard (they are healthy enough to run and play)
size 8 men's shoes on the landing (even if he's not inherently neat, my husband is home)
dishes in the sink (we have good food to eat)
laundry (and clothes to wear)
the electric/gas bills (and our house is warm)

There is a lot to be thankful for this year...and always.

Boo To You

We made the straight-haired girl's Josefina costume today. Nothing like a last minute project to add fun to a Saturday morning! She wanted to do a tutorial on skirt making. We started out with lots of photos, but halfway through the project, we forgot all about the camera. Oops!

Basically, we straightened the fabric, cut two pieces to the length she wanted and added three inches, sewed them together, and sewed the hem and elastic casing. Et voila! A skirt. This is the finished project. We did remember that photo at least!