Obligatory Kid-With-Icicle Shot

Ooooooo-eeee! We got some snow, ya! It was warm-ish yesterday. Just enough to melt some snow from the roof and form this gi-normous icicle (or ice stalagtite, if you prefer). Seeing as it was about as big as Leah, I snapped it from the gutter edge (silently praying the gutter stayed on) and brought it into the kitchen for the photo. I know my folks have pictures of us holding similar specimens back when we were scrawny little tykes. I seem to recall, though, that we weren't wearing mittens. Our mouths were less smiley than Leahs, and opened, instead in wide expressions of delighted pain. "Cool, a huge icicle! Man, it hurts! But it's so cool!"

As I type, we are getting blanketed yet again with another winter storm. O.K. we get it. Really.

Cookies I have known, loved...and eaten

Is it some mammalian instinct that causes us to "bulk up" for the colder months? Do we burn tons of calories trying to keep our bodies warm while trudging through "snirt" to and from the mall? Or is it just that we like to bake, warm the house with our ovens, and eat tasty confections? I think we all know the answer to this one. I am pretty powerless when it comes to resisting treats.

Dear friend, Angie invited the girls and me over to bake and decorate sugar cookies last week. It felt wholesome, necessary, and warm, like a rite of passage to be undertaken annually. Leah got a little bonkers with the sprinkles, but they made for decadent delights. I played with the digital macro setting on the camera this time (vs. the "regular" macro setting) and took this picture. It's not perfect, but it's not bad considering I had a curious infant in my other arm, straining to grab the camera out of my hand to bring it closer to the drool factory in her mouth.

At home, I've been making chocolate bottomed peppermint meringues (soooooo easy and so light, you can (not that you should per se) eat them like popcorn), and chocolate bottomed coconut macaroons. The hubby says that the only part he likes is the chocolate. Oh well. More for me.

Got milk?

Our Family in Styrofoam

With help from Leah, I crafted a little snow family using foam balls, felt, sticks, and dry beans. The kids sport scarves with their first initials on them, while Matthew and I (which is which? I don't know) stand behind. They're pretty cute, but they are nothing compared with the ones my mom made a zillion years ago (not that my mom is a zillion years old!). She knitted little forms with eyes, buttons, hats and scarves and which were supported with foam balls. Much cuter.

Maybe next year I'll try to mimic Mom's version. Of course, it will be tricky trying to get anything to resemble a greyhound!

Note: The felt is red and green, but I used that color accent feature on the camera again to bring out the red and hide the dreary background. Also note that this photo was taken mere minutes before we got our "instant winter" snowfall. We're up to our shins in the real white stuff!

OMG! I Have Toes!

A few weeks ago, Natalie discovered her feet. Anybody who knows babies knows that this is kind of a big deal for little tykes. (Anyone who doesn't know babies thinks this is a ridiculous waste of a blog post -- see ya.) The downside of this discovery is strictly in the timing. Because it's chilly and we keep Nad-O covered up all day, the only time she gets to explore her tarsals is during a diaper change. As a result, we give her a little tootie-time at every change. Her ab-workout bringing those chubby liddo leggies up to grasping range is often accompanied by coos, wild inhalations of breath, and other silly baby noises. It's pretty stinkin' adorable. My photo doesn't do it one lick of justice, but you get the idea.

National "Admire Your Oven" Day

As far as I know there isn't actually a National "Admire Your Oven" Day, not that I wouldn't be surprised if there was, but I made it up and took advantage of it all in one evening. We are the second owners of a house built in 1941. When we looked at the house for the first time one of the things that struck me most was how immaculate it was. Sure it was "grandma-y" with opalescent plaster fish and bubbles on the bathroom wall, but they were dust-free fish and bubbles. It was one of the subtle features of the house that kicked me into buying it. Another feature, and don't laugh, was the oven. Like the finned cars of that decade, this beauty had styled chrome, curved text, and de-luxe appointments like the sensi-temp burner with coil select. I was so inspired by the sleek lines and crisp black and white contrast, that we redid the entire kitchen in a retro checkerboard and chrome theme.

Since moving in four and a half years ago, I've had less time to ogle my oven or stare at my stove, but my admiration has shifted to the functionality of the appliance. It bakes well, it heats quickly, and clean up is a snap. Well, it would be a snap if we cleaned it more often. Tonight, I gave it the cleaning of a generation. I removed all the knobs, scrubbed with a de-greasing agent, and then polished the surface to a mirror-like finish. (I never "nested" when I was pregnant, but I imagine it was something like this.)

If ovens are anything like cars, I like to think that ours will cook even more evenly now that it's in show-room condition once again. Who's up for challah bread?

p.s. My dear friend and colleague, J.G., teased me about my blog posts sounding too "domestic" to be me. "Where are the fart stories?" she asked. Perhaps a tale of flatulence will come to me. I did write about some poopy stuff here. But for now, I'm quite happy embodying June Cleaver, as I easily wipe clean a spill from the peerless white stove top, stand tall, and smile, the glint in my toothy grin chiming like a bell.

The End of an Era (or is it "Hair-a"?)

We did it. We made the decision to cut our dear daughter's golden locks. On special occasions or on days when we made time to wash her hair, Leah's hair was a sight to behold: long, flaxen strands that curled perfectly at the ends and hung adorably down her back, or a huge pile of dark blond curls, stacked with a clip or elastic band to the top of her head. More hair, as many have stated, than any three year old has ever had. (For a quick reminder, see her here.)

Every other day, like something out of VH1's "Behind the Music" series, it was a daily fight to get Leah to stand still to brush her hair, a repetitive taming of a wild banshee, and, to our poor neighbors, what must have sounded like we were brutally torturing our poor child. I honestly think we gave it our best. We were on a roll for a while putting her hair in a braid or two before bed every night to prevent the persistent rat's nest of bed-head from emerging. Matthew's Mom bought Leah some miracle no-tangle shampoo which really helped, but whose magic only lasted about 24 hours. We even mesmerized Leah with video clips of "funny dogs" on YouTube while we attacked the back of her head every morning.

What it came down to was this: Leah didn't care if her hair was long or short. All she knew of her hair was that Mom makes a big deal of it and it hurts like a son of a gun when it gets brushed! So we made an appointment at the salon within walking distance of our house, I talked to Leah about the hair-cutting process, and we even browsed some on-line videos and blogs about kids getting their first big hair cuts. By the time the appointment rolled around, Leah was psyched, and I was less likely to cry over the whole deal. ;)

The result? Awesomeness. Leah is the proud owner of a classic bob, cut just beneath her ears. She woke up this morning, tangle-free, and I can brush her hair with my fingers! It flips under nicely on one side and does a little ski slope on the other side ... just like her mama's. With a little finessing with the hair dryer, I'm sure we could get both sides to cooperate. Ooops, there I go again with the fussing. :)

For more pics, check out the Pics link on the left.

Grampas

My Grampa passed away just over a week ago. A normally loud, broad-smiled, opinionated man, he was quieted by CHF. Seeing anyone whose life changes so markedly after an illness tends to make me wonder about what it is that makes up that person's character. Did I really even know my Grampa? My most instant memories of him are from summers at the cabin when he would step out quietly before dawn to slip his silver boat into the lake to fish. And at Christmas, the same routine every year, Grampa in his recliner watching us kids open wrapped packages (sweat suits, socks, wrench sets, candles). I had an impression, rather than "real knowledge" of my Grampa. Most kids probably have a similar relationship with their grandparents, but there are those who, for whatever reason, have developed a deeper bond. Perhaps all I needed was a single heart-to-heart conversation with him. Or maybe I'd know him better if I had deer hunted with him like my brothers and cousins had. Or maybe no one really knew him.

I'm not living with regret or sorrow, but rather a mystery of sorts, a little confusion. Just enough of an emotional itch to make me want something "better" for my kids and their grandparents. I do feel like I "know" my parents. And what I know of them (and even things I don't know about them) is what I want my kids to know as well. Someday, I promise, we will live closer to the girls' grandparents. And we'll visit for no reason whatsoever. And I'll try to keep writing about these visits to help jog memories later.

The picture is of Leah sitting in my dad's lap in his radio office. He's helping to record her voice for little intros and sound bites they play during the morning show. On our way home from that trip, we actually heard Leah's voice on air. Her eyes widened and she smiled when she heard it. "Pretty cool," I said to her. She grunted a happy response and kicked her legs.

The pastor at Grampa's funeral read this poem. I know it's been used for every other funeral out there, but it is really nice, and you know I love a good metaphor.

I miss you, Grampa.
I love you, Dad.

The Girls & the Songs They Inspire

I'm sure I'd be tickled to be able to say "The Kids" in reference to our children if we had had a boy instead of a girl, but it is undeniably fun to be able to say "The Girls," or "My Girls" when mentioning Leah and Natalie. I often break into a sappy version of The Temptation's "My Girl," changed of course to "girls," when we're all happy. Oh, and then there's Cindy Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls," Beastie Boys' "Girls" (without all the naughty bits), and even, when I include myself, "Three Little Maids" from The Mikado.

We learned early on with Leah that almost every song written about a sweetheart, might as well have been written about a baby. Talk about cheesy! I get choked up singing Sheriff's "When I'm With You" when I sing it holding one of my "bay-baaaaay-yay-ee-yays." It doesn't seem to matter that the song will forever bring me back to bear-hug dancing in middle school. I think of my girl, how totally awesome she is, and get flooded with Mommy-love emotions.

And songs that were actually written for children? Dangerous! Even thinking about Paul Simon's song, "Father and Daughter," gets my chin a-quiverin'. And I'm not remotely ready to listen to the all-time classic father-daughter song: Bob Carlisle's "Butterfly Kisses." And I'm the mother!

*sigh* I wonder sometimes why it is that we get all mushy at moments like this. Perhaps it helps us forgive the crayons on the woodwork moments more easily. Ah, that's what pocket tissues are for, right? :)

Our Latest Addiction

Lately, the hubby and I have been enjoying a pot of coffee every few days. Pretty earth-shattering, huh? Considering that I used to make a mini-pot of joe almost every day at school, and Matthew does likewise at work, it shouldn't be a surprise that we both throw back a mug of it frequently in the comfort of our own home. Still, there's something kind of magical, kind of classic Folger's commercially about waking up to so great smelling grog. And speaking of grog, our current favorite has been a one-pound bag of Berres Brothers Decaf Highlander Grogg. (You can buy it on-line here.) It's a local bean company (well, the beans aren't local), so it already feels better knowing we're not buying from the big scary coffee monsters. The aroma alone this brew puts out is worth the price. Almost immediately, your kitchen will smell like a pancake house or Grandma's cookie-making. The flavor won't disappoint either -- we are often tempted to leave out the sugar, it's so sweet. (BB ought to be paying me for this...) Mmmmmm...

Anyway, drinking all this warm, brown goodness, reminded me of a little poem I wrote a few years ago at school. Just a moment of creative perspective.

Coffee Universe

In the midst of morning routine
I stir coffee in an oversized cup.
Froth resembles a galaxy twirling
Frayed edges
Bubbly solar systems adrift
Stars forming, merging, dying
Eons in seconds
The universe in my cup
And me, a god
holding a plastic spoon.

Fun with our digital camera

I discovered the "Accent Color" function on our camera. What fun! I tried picking the blue in the hope that it would highlight Leah's big baby blues, but they are only slightly tinted in this photo. Still, I love the contrast with the greyscale of everything else. Of course when I asked her to smile in this pose, she gave me one from her cheezy collection, so we have to settle for this look. It'll do. :)

All the Rage...Again

Years before I even had an inkling of a care about what I looked like, I wore a knit scarf/hood combo thing. It was the puke-iest color of blue, if blue can be considered puke-y. But, the thing was cozy. The "scoodie" as it has come to be called, is baaa-aack. This time, however, it has been incarnated in more tasteful knit patterns (Michele, you will post pics once yours in done, right?), mod prints, and common sense fleeces.

As my little Kenmore and I are getting to know one another a little more these days, this looked like a doable project.

Ta-da! I made one for the Ba-ba-bear, and one for me. Leah's is a cozy fleece/corduroy number with tassels on the top and fringies on the ends. Mine is made from fleece I bought eons ago for a dress that failed and a decor fabric from the remnant store back home.

Both are deliciously cozy. Practical? Kinda. Stylish? Wait and see. I may just look back on this in five years and laugh enough to keep me warm.

Swing and a Hit!

Milestones happen nearly every week with a new baby. Like any parents, Matthew and I marvel at each of Natalie's latest achievements. The newest is reaching, mostly deliberately, at anything within grasp of those pudgy little sausages. Here, she's fiddling with the toy bar on her bouncy seat. The hairs on the back of my head can also attest to the strength of her grip -- yeowtch!

If we had a dollar for every time someone told us that "kids grow up so quickly," we'd be living in a five bedroom palace by now, but it's true and it's bittersweet. I think the reality of it hits us harder now that we're holding the second of these little miracles. Leah is a little adult, capable of doing more of everything we can do than not. And yet, she's only three. Here, like so many other times, I am in awe at the "workings" of life. How every little step just happens. I am humbled by the process and the complexity and the wonder of the drooling, wide-smiled result.

Doublicious!

This year, instead of grazing on Leah's stash of Halloween loot over several months, we baked most of the chocolate-y pieces into cookies. Candy Cookies? Yeah it's a bit redundant, and they'll give you an instant sugar buzz, but are they good? Uh-huh. Yup. Mmmm...

(We just used Betty's (as in Crocker) recipe for chocolate chip cookies and substituted chopped candy bars for the chips. Another good idea, especially for just chocolate or chocolate and caramel candies: melt a small piece on top of a small pretzel in a warm oven. When they sweat and sag a bit, take them out and squish a pecan half on each one. Rollos are the best for this: chocolate, caramel, and pretzel -- thass a little bitta heaven, right der.)

I think you just drooled on your keyboard. ;)

I Got Your Back, Ma.

Yesterday, another brilliant, glad-to-be-alive day, we did some yard work. Matthew took the whole back yard into his command, while I tackled the smaller and dog-poo free front yard. Leah was fully content to spend the time playing in the leaves, and Natalie was a trooper in the backpack. This was her second time in the backpack. I took it out the day before to try to appease her while I tore apart a nine-pound organic chicken. She went from crying in her bouncy seat, to crying right next to my ear. Yesterday, however, went much better. I'm sure the scenery was nicer! Just like her big sister before her, Natalie conked right out. I imagine that the camel-like rocking motion of riding on my back paired with the wave-like rhythmic whooshing of me raking leaves helped too.

After raking nearly every conceivable bit of plant debris from the back yard, Matthew gave our hippie yard a crew cut. We both agree, albeit while scratching our chins in amazement, that the yard looks better (greener, fuller, healthier) now than it did back in June! Ahhh... if it weren't for cute babies and weather oddities, what would be talk about?

Open for Business!

Eek! I just opened up my own Etsy shop online! I've wanted to sell my stuff for a long time, but unlike trying to publish my writing, signing up for a pottery class, or putting a seal coat of varnish on the front door, I actually DID this! This may be the beginning of a new me! This could be a historic moment! Bookmark this entry people -- it'll be worth a fortune someday! O.k., maybe not, but it's still a big move for the Beanster. I only listed a couple of items so far. I have to resize my pics first and that takes time. I'm also feeling my way through an old version of Photoshop, trying to bang out a nifty Web banner. Stay tuned.
My biggest hangup was figuring out a shop name. It was hard enough that I had to name our second daughter this year! I liken the process of deciding on an Etsy name to choosing a tattoo. I want it to be personal, clearly descriptive, and have a least a little double meaning to it. Etsy may not be the "be all to end all" service, but it may (wishing on a star) just be my ticket into selling my crafty stuff online, and if (wish, wish, wish) it does take off, I need a name I can carry with me into the big bad world of online sales outside the safe, quilted walls of Etsy. Brainstorming for over two months, sketching logo prototypes, checking availability statuses, and heeding the demand to just pick a gosh darn name and be done with it have lead me to: (trumpet revelry): Crafterall!
I have to give props to my brother-in-law who came up with the name, what, back in August. Nathan, it has stewed to a ripe and sweet flavor. Merci.
With the name selection came the purchase of a brand new Web site, but there's nothing there yet besides some phony site holding text. When that puppy opens (still wishing...), you will hear about, boy howdy.
Well, what are you waiting for? Check it out! Oh, and do tell me if I goofed something. :)

Boo!

A belated Happy Hauntings to you!

I'm not sure what part of this photo is the scariest. Here are the nominees:
1.) Leah's face paint job and tongue action looks a little too much like the drummer from Kiss.
2.) Matthew's wearing the Minnesota equivalent to a cheese hat. Oooo, a Vikings fan... scary!
3.) The alien eyes from Jack in the background. When will green-eye fixers come standard on cameras?
4.) Is my husband flicking me off? Nah. Look at that face. He's sweeter than a whole bag of candy.

Leah bagged a bounty of teeth-rotting booty from our kind neighbors tonight. We shall add that to the pile of dental-nightmares she collected the night before on campus. One of the big dorms held a hall-wide trick-or-treat fest with games and treats as well. It was all fun and games until the popcorn machine set off the smoke alarm ushering everyone out of the building, and bringing the fire fighters and police to the scene for some impromptu entertainment. The best part? Some poor guy was trying valiantly to deliver a pizza by shouting the name of the patron into the crowd of college kids and trick-or-treaters. Bad timing! We all felt bad for him, but he kept his chin up.

Brush those teeth, kids!

Down on the Farm

We took the girls to a diary farm this weekend, using some free tickets from the university. While there were many aspects of the farm that could be more visitor-friendly, we did get a thorough look at how the farm operates and Leah got to see and touch all kinds of animals. They didn't have pigs or horses, but they had just about everything else. Leah's been to farms before and this time, she started to come out of her shell a bit more. She fed goats and geese, chased chickens, "mothered" some very patient kitties, pet one-week old calves, and even dared to milk a cow.

One of the highlights for me was seeing and hearing the flock of geese and ducks. The tall, "wine-bottles-with-legs" ducks in the background are Indian Runner Ducks. They were less vocal than the big, nosy (beak-y?) geese, but so cool looking. Our guide, a Four-H expert in fowl, said that they are used in rice patties to eat fallen grain so that mice don't have any reason to invade. I thought they looked like rocket ducks, waiting for mission control to give them the green light to blast off.

And yes, even I milked the cow. Throughout our guide's explanation of the milking process, I kept feeling a pang of empathy. They milk the cows twice a day, letting their milk ducts/veins swell between milkings. Yeowtch! There's no way I could last nursing only twice a day. And then there's the fact that the babies are bottle fed from day one. The calves were adorable, but I was saddened that they were separated from their mamas so soon. "It's so the mothers don't get mad later," our guide explained. Yeah, I'd be pissed too. But, thank goodness, I am not a diary cow, or worse (maybe?) a beef cow. Then again, a lot of diary cows get sold for beef when they get too old or too fill-in-the-blank to be bred. A double-whammy. *sigh*

I'll get off this depressing soap-box now and try to end on a brighter note. At the conclusion of our visit, we each picked out a pumpkin from the patch. (Leah picked out one for Natalie.) I kept laughing because Leah kept tripping over pumpkin vines. The overcast sky turned bright blue and the sun felt so good on our shoulders. It was hard to pick the perfect pumpkin, but in the end we came home with four pumpkins who now surround Hector by the front door. Despite my lifelong love of being a little bit different from everybody else, it feels good, deep-down good, to mentally cross off this autumn "task" from the list of trite things a family should do.

Laughing in Church

One of our culture's greatest enigmas is the difficulty to stop laughing once started while in an environment where laughing is a big no-no.

Scene 1: Standardized testing in 10th grade. Rows of desks in perfect lines anchored by pimply teens with their number 2 pencils dutifully filling circles. Someone, probably that smelly kid who lives by you, releases a tightly clenched "fwarp," and you can't help that your diaphragm jiggles instinctively with restrained laughter. What makes it worse is that A) no one else seems to have heard it, and B) your mind is somehow replaying the sound over and over so as to antagonize your guts and your ability to calm your breathing. Your face turns hot and the test in front of you is blurry through the tears in your eyes. The tired teacher in the front purses her lips at you and you regain your composure -- but only until you recall the sound yet again and have to bite your lip to keep yourself from falling on the linoleum.

Scene 2: Sunday church service. Your family of six arrives late to church and are forced to occupy the second to the front row of hard, glossy pews. During the reading of the gospel, your brother nudges you and points to a typo in the church bulletin. "Bring any unopened bags of poocorn to the pantry collection site." poocorn. You're a goner. The paper gets passed around until all four of you are repressing guffaws, heads bowed to hide from the all-knowing eyes of the pastor, and if it weren't for the rhythmic squeaking of the pew from your laughter, it might look like you were all experiencing a divine moment of humility.

Scene 3: Way past nap-time on a weekday. Your lovely daughter refuses to settle down for her much needed nap. She is wound up on sugar from a post storytime treat, and is probably overtired as well. You've given her clear instructions on what she needs to do in order to get out of her room: be quiet, lie in bed, close eyes, and got to sleep for two hours. She runs through her repertoire of excuses to get out: still hungry, needs more water, wants a different toy to sleep with, and finally, has to go poop. Dear Daughter then begins chanting, "Please can I go poop?" over and over again, in exactly the same tone each time. Sometimes it's a little louder, other times she sounds like she might actually drop it and go to sleep, but alas, she persists. "Please can I go poop?" "Please can I go poop?" "Please can I go poop?" -- and then the doozy -- "Peas can I go Ploop?" You let out a massive laugh that feels so good compared to the tension you had a moment ago, but you quickly stifle it so as not to encourage further "dialog" with a nap-needing girl. You resist the urge to give in to her pleas, knowing that doing so would be certain death to any chance of a civil evening.

This is my life. There's needs to be some sort of power cell (a la Monsters Inc.) that can capture the potential energy of repressed laughter. It feels so good because it's so bad!

Tie-Dyed Tree

I like trees. I even have favorite trees. There's the big spruce that towered over a corner of my childhood house -- you could walk "into" it and be surrounded by sappy-smelling boughs. There's the tree that grew or eroded straight out over the lake in my hometown -- you could shimmy along the trunk and sit over the water. And then there's this knockout. Every year, this maple two doors down throws out the most vivid tie-dyed display in the neighborhood. It's got every color from green to bright red, and against a clear blue sky, well, it's photo worthy. Enjoy!

You cant have too many buckets

Hooray for a little crafting time! Here's a little square-bottomed canvas bucket i made last night. The design uses a Jordy bag style to get the squared bottom. I kept the height short so it would have a chance of standing on its own (and it does!), and the two little handles on either side are sewn onto the outer fabric with a tight zig-zag stitch.



The finished object is about 6.5 inches all around (height, width, length).



I purchased both the outer and lining fabric for close to nothing at a remnant/outlet store -- woo hoo! (The colors look a little washed out in the photos; It's a light lime/chartreuse and a real chocolatey brown.) I'm thinking about making a set of three, in different sizes using the same fabric.

Now, if only I knew what to put in it. Any ideas?

Little Details

We're home from our trip safely and soundly. My passengers three fared well and the nine hours on the road moved as swiftly as the dotted yellow line that I still see when I close my eyes. During our visit, I snapped a couple of nice shots of some details that "sum up" a bit of what it's like to be there. The leaf, still carrying some rain drops, was one of many like this, on display like weather-related vignettes upon the rustic trails in the woods. And the cake was just one of Mom's yummy culinary creations from Saturday. I think it turned out better than the one in the cook book. Not that my mom doesn't like the woods or that my dad doesn't ever turn out a tasty meal, but each of these pics, to me, represent a little of each of them and the details they appreciate. Thanks again for letting us make a big mess in your house, Mom and Dad.

My Hip Hometown

O.k., my hometown is far from hip. It's a smallish city in northern Minnesota surrounded by farmland, forest and Native American reservations. Still, it has its finer points that lean towards being kinda cool. It is a college town, it's built around a pretty lake, it's home to many artists and artisans who make neat stuff, and they even have a weekly farmers' market. With roots in the lumber business, I guess they're doing well. Over the past ten years it seems to keep a relative balance of yin and yang: for every Wal-Mart and bank branch, there's a privately owned coffee shop and art gallery.
Every once in a while, it feels like there is a fun, radical uprising and the town oozes the potential to appear in a trendy magazine as a "diamond in the rough" kind of vacation spot. Then, time, the great leveler, quiets that voice and the townsfolk come out of their shells and go back to their favorite chain restaurant to order "the regular."
Hipness in my hometown? It's there if you look for it. I found this nifty robot graffiti downtown. Perhaps his missing lower half is symbolic.

Smiles Bridge Generations

Natalie got the chance to meet her great grandparents yesterday. While Leah was feigning shyness, Natalie impressed them with her big, toothless grins. We enjoyed our visit even though it was short. Of course, it wouldn't be a trip to Grandma and Grampa's house without a little meal. Grandma whipped up a batch of ham sandwiches on buttered bread, sliced diagonally and set on a clean Corelle plate. Complemented with apricots in syrup, milk in plastic cups, and a home made chocolate chip cookie, it was a simple meal, but as with anything Grandma makes, it tasted so good. :) Perhaps it was that dash of tradition that gave it zip.

Vagabond Dogs

Growing up in a rural area, I saw many dogs who, as far as I could tell, were tagless, ownerless, and homeless: vagabond dogs. At times, I felt sorry for them, wondered what they did when it got really cold, and worries about what might happen if they injured themselves. Other times, they were a nuisance, driving our dog crazy by meandering through our yard and inevitably leaving their "calling card" where we were bound to step in it. And every once in a while, I would see a pair of lab-ish mutts running full tilt in the ditch beside the road, tongues flapping out the side of their mouths, tails tipped upward in glee, and I couldn't help feel a little jealous of their freedom, the ease with which they ran, and the silent communication they had with one another.

On our big road trip back to northern Minnesota, we stopped at a gas station to go potty and to nurse Natalie. While we sat there, we were entertained by the visit of a little vagabond pug. He waddled across the street, possibly from the apartment building there, sniffed around the grass surrounding the parking lot, squatted to pee, then trotted to the corner of the gas station where he sat, tongue out (as only little dogs like pugs seem to do), watching life pass him by. From his state of contentment, it seemed that this was a pastime of his. When Natalie finished, I put her back in her seat, buckled Leah into hers, and then got in myself. Just as I did so, our little "gas station buddy" decided he had had enough as well and he waddled back across the street, out of sight behind a car on blocks. When animals like this little guy have personalities so amusing, it always makes me wonder about reincarnation -- who was this soul before he was born a wrinkly, black-faced dog that waddles to the call of his own chuck wagon?

Silly pup. Any of you have any "vagabond dog" stories?

Meet Hector

Leah and I put this stout little fella together this afternoon, with help from this Family Fun idea. I think he turned out rather distinguished considering we didn't have corn, beans, nut shells, or even acorns to work with. He's currently watching the entryway, and I'm sure he'd open the door for you if he could.

Oooo! It's chilly!

Yes! It finally feels like fall! It's not too cold as to warrant a call to the furnace gremlins, but it's just the perfect "ooooo" to pull my favorite hoodie off the hook in the closet, "birth" myself through the opening, and tuck my hands, almost instinctively up into the frayed sleeves.

Matthew and I both used to like fall as our favorite season - camping is often bug-free, it smells like dry leaves and wood stoves, and we both are hoodie-fans. Recently, however, we both have jumped onto the "I Like Spring Best" bus as we prefer warming (versus cooling) temps, longer (versus shorter) daylight totals, and the fact that our garden looks halfway decent before the carnival of native weeds gets too rowdy. Maybe it has something to do with working 8-4/9-5 type jobs when we leave for work in darkness and return to darkness during the late fall and winter weeks. Or maybe, having seen two babies enter into the daylight of being, we relish all new growth with more passion -- eh, sounds too poetic. ;)

When Life (or your mother-in-law) Hands You Apples...

...make apple pies! and apple crisp! and apple compote! and take lots of artsy photos of them! and, well do anything to use up all these tasty little buggers. I know I've watched it happen a few times, and I probably helped peel apples a couple of times as well, but this was my very first solo apple pie making experience. In an attempt to use up as many apples as I could, I make two heaping French apple pies. (Do they call them "french" because they're "topless" pies, or because this is some sort of traditional French way of making apple pies?) ;) And no, I didn't make the crust myself. Mom would have, but she's a pastry whiz and I am barely a rookie.

I'm waiting for them to cool before I dig in for a taste test, but the recipe was so simple that I doubt they will be anything short of scrumptious. Thanks again, Jan, for the apples. Next week, I'll be schlepping home a load of butternut squash from Mom and Dad's. Yep. It's fall.

Wanna bite?

THIS is why people have kids!

Summer's Passing

According to our calendar, Summer ended a while ago. No one told the weather though. It's October in Wisconsin and we're sweating! Temp records were broken throughout the midwest. Wack!

Starting a post with weather chit-chat after a brief hiatus may seem trite, boring, or even disappointing, but perhaps I needed that "lite" opening to lend some wings to the heavier events of the past week. A few days ago, we reflected on the long and varied life of Matthew's grandmother who passed away on Monday. As sad as it always is to let go of someone we love, there was a more tangible feeling of relief and finality to her passing. When greyhounds die, their owners are fond of wishing them a fond farewell by saying, "run free" and imagining their pups racing other hounds on long stretches of green grass, pain-free. I imagine Grandma Jean cooking for an army of her friends and family, three different pots boiling on the stove, something very aromatic in the oven, and yards of plates carrying every kind of cookie and bar, waiting on the side. Her husband winks at her from a table, his way of letting her know he appreciates her. She winks back -- her way of saying, "There's no where else I'd rather be."

We also wrapped things up at the cabin -- the surest sign of summer's end, unseasonably warm temperatures be damned! I was equally impressed and amused by the concerted effort of men-folk who braved the chilly water and muscled in the dock and boat lift pieces onto the shore. Many of the men were CEOs, VPs and professors by day which lead naturally to civil discussions about how best to move those cumbersome metal skeletons. At each step, there was a chorus of ideas, illustrated by gestures and expressions, in a dozen different male timbres. Believe it or not, dear reader, they got the job done, and right quickly too.

Before we left, Leah and her grandma picked apples to bring home (the apple crisp we made tonight is de-lish!) and we posed for some pics under the neighbor's lovely maple tree. I've updated the Picasa link too, so check that out.

While the occasion that brought us together was a mournful one, we were able to mourn together, sharing stories, looking back through old photos, dusting off memories we hadn't played in years, like old songs we had forgotten but for which we still knew the words by heart.

A Doggy Decade -- Almost

One more post before the day is over: Happy Birthday, Jack-A-Roo!
Our darling dog, Jack, a retired racing greyhound turned nine today. He's got a greying snout and he's currently limping, but the grey hair is just hair, and the limp is from tearing around the back yard like a young pup.
Here's to many more years, you gorgeous goofball, you.

edited to add: I got a little overexcited and originally posted that Jack was ten. Whoops -- not yet, puppers!

Edible Cuteness

Some babies are just "edible," you know what I mean? Those soft, perfectly round little cheeks, the jewel-like eyes, fabled button nose and rosebud lips -- don't tell me you're not salivating a little bit. Of course I'm not actually tempted to actually eat my own child, but LOOK AT HER!

The hat, which you must see in person some time, is a gift from one of Matthew's co-workers.

Enjoy the cuteness overload!

Jeckyl & Hyde or Just Well-Rounded? A Case Study

Subject: Miss Leah Bear
Observation: behavioral patterns during a 24 hour cycle
Hypothesis Summary: Typical "wiggidy-wack" todder stuff
Evidence: Photo A and Photo B
Description: In Photo A, we see the face of "wild child" alter ego of LB. Just moments before this photo was snapped, the subject threw crayons at the brave and determined photographer. Note the blurred hands in the photo ready to strike with round two. Hair askew, mouth open in devilish delight, and eyes locked onto her target, this little creature has "Danger" and "Riot" written all over her. Researchers are desperately debating the merits of bringing the subject to "Story Time."
Photo B, taken less than 24 hours after Photo A, reveals the other dominant trait of Miss LB: orderly placement. Here, the subject has taken six markers and placed them, all in the cap down position, in a row along the edge of a bookshelf. Observers discussed at length the motivation behind such a careful act of orderliness before resolving the issue with the statement that "the markers were placed there in that position, because they could be."
Can these two exhibits be products of the same child? Did the mother have diametrically disparate twins and not know it? What other hidden personalities will be revealed next? Will the world of coloring ever be the same?

Five Dollar Art

Yay! Today I bought a little frame and some ribbon out of the dollar section at Target and whipped up this little gem. I tried to choose colors that more or less matched our bedroom colors. I really like how it turned out. Before you begin with how much you admire my artistic brilliance, let me tell you that I've liberally copied from this lovely idea. I've always liked leaves as motifs; the official start of autumn just makes that interest burn a little hotter. Pretty, huh?

She's Getting So Big!

I know that she's still very much a little squirt of a person, but Natalie, or Nad-O as Leah calls her, is getting farther and farther away from being that tiny, limp, squidgy baby, and closer to a giggling, sturdy, interactive infant. I see it in this picture; can you? Happy Friday Eve!

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, and Rent?

The public library in my hometown used to lend reproductions of famous paintings. (I know! How cool is that?!) So, my mom, being the crafty, eye-for-home-decor lady she is, would check out a half-dozen different pieces of art every few months. The check out sleeve and ticket were on the back. We had some favorites as well as some that I remember being a bit spooky. Eventually, due to the fact that we may have been the only family in town to actually use this service, the library put the paintings up for sale. Mom snagged a few good ones and, with some hard-earned babysitting cash, I was even able to buy my favorite (a George Stubbs "mini-masterpiece" -- I was a wee bit obsessed with horses. My hand is in the pic to show you just how "mini" it is). My brother got one with a little tiger cub staring at a bumblebee, his ears pricked, his paddy paw raised. Mom would say, "One of these days, that little tiger's gonna catch that bee, just watch!"

Do libraries still do this? And that got me thinking about other sorts of rental /lending services. What I would like is a local toy lending library. Pittsburgh seems to have just what I'm looking for, except that it's... well, it's in Pittsburgh. I've got a variation of it in my own house, storing two thirds of Leah's toys in the closet to be on rotation, but how neat would it be to borrow a couple of toys every week, swap them out for different ones after that, and ballroom dance in all the free space left over in our house!

A smartie-pants on www.whynot.net put forth the idea in terms of a Netflix-style, fee-based system, but I love my library, and I love free stuff. Donated toys and toys purchased with donated or granted dollars could get the lending library up and running. And everything else would run essentially the same as any library loan.

Madison seems to be having success with its Community Car program, and may be well known for its red and yellow bikes project. Then there's programs like Madison Stuff Exchange, Freecycle and the freebies on Craigslist. I wonder what else you can rent/borrow?

Thanks for "lending" me your ear. ;)

The Thrill of Fame

I've never been all that afraid to be in the spotlight. Sure, I get nervous about it, but I don't suffer from the phobia that seems to afflict most "poor players." Chalk it up to my "Gemini-ness," or my long history of public speaking and stage time, or even the fact that I'm an attention-hungry middle child. Any way you slice it, I kinda like it when people notice me when I'm doing something cool.

My recent fame addiction is Craftster. This is a whole little world in which dweebs like me, and some genuinely talented artists and tradesfolk churn out projects of every size, shape, medium, and purpose, all for the sake of inspiring other crafters to unglue their eyeballs from the monitor and create. New projects get a little automatic limelight on the home page but they are speedily replaced as new projects are posted. If a thread gets a little buzz, its picture gets moved to the "Hot New Projects" section of the home page. If a ton of craftsters think a project rocks, the forum honchos place it in the "Featured Projects" section, and later they archive the post to keep it active for up to 6 months. This is Craftster's equivalent to celebrityhood. And I want it.

I lurked on the sight for about a year before finally posting my own masterpiece. This past week, I posted pictures and a description of the little star books I've been making for about 15 years. [Link] Thanks in part to my not-too-shabby photography, a ready stock of books, and the fact that they are just "soooo cute," my thread became a hit, and my little picture appeared in the "Hot New Projects" list. I just about peed.

Ooooh, and then the good people of Craftster also liked the post I submitted about my decoupaged "In" box. TWO projects in the "Hot New" box!

And Lo! When I submitted my lengthy star book tutorial, check it! I had THREE "Hot New" projects to my name. Modesty failed to keep a smile from stretching, Chesire Cat style, across my face. I had the crafting world eating out of the crafty palms of my crafty little hands. Damn it felt good.

It felt good for a full 24 hours. And then life moved on, other totally wicked projects pushed my posts off the list, and cyber-dust began to accumulate on my threads. Two people-- only two people, sniff-- have responded to any of my threads since Saturday morning. My heartbeat has slowed to a resting rate. My ego has deflated to a less conspicuous size. My wonderland adventure has ended. Ah, it was fun while it lasted.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cards to craft and photograph.

Out and About

Just a couple of pics from today and yesterday. Yesterday, Leah found a nice play house in the mall and spent a few minutes pretending it was hers. Freaked me out a little bit when I heard her work the lock on the door, not knowing if she could rework it open, and not knowing how in the world I would help her get out if she couldn't. Her impressive dexterity got the door open and her attitude was like, "Mom, quit freaking out already."

This morning we got to explore a real, live fire truck. The whole way there, Leah was busting at the seams to see this thing, talking at auctioneer pace about wanting to sit in it, and maybe even getting to wear a hat. In true toddler style, however, her excitement turned to shyness and we had to coax her on board. The firefighter talking through his scary-looking mask didn't help much, but you can't blame him for trying. Before we left, I was able to get one cute one of her royal shyness and her daddy.

Gender Difference? Who Knows?

You’ve heard it all before: the stereotypical little boy is aggressive while the stereotypical little girl is nurturing. If you’ve known any little boys or girls, you probably know as many exceptions to these stereotypes as you do children who fit them. Before we had kids, Matthew and I talked about trying to raise our kids as gender-neutral as we could. Much to the chagrin of our moms and grandmas we even tried to limit the number of pink outfits Leah garnered at baby showers.

These days, Leah likes playing with cars and dinosaurs, she loves to run and wrestle with her dad, and she doesn’t mind getting dirty. Still, when it comes down it, her favorite play time is that spent with her “babies.” She swaddles them, rocks them, feeds them, dresses and undresses them, medicates them, disciplines them, and gives them a special place in her bed when she’s not there herself. Did we push this? Nope. At least I don’t think so.

Just when I start to think there’s nothing to that gender difference hogwash, something like what happened yesterday happens. The girls and I were at the library, playing in the kids’ area after story time. Along with big foam letters, coloring pages, and puzzles, there were a few of these big plastic dinosaurs on the tables. A couple of Leah-age boys came over to the table, each grabbed a dinosaur, and commenced an epic battle between good and evil.

“I’m biting you!” said one little guy in his deepest, meanest voice.
“No, I’m biting you,” said the other boy. “ I have bigger teeth, so I’m winning!”
“Arrrrrrrr,” relented the first one tilting his warrior on its side, day-glow plastic legs already showing sign of rigor mortis.
“Ha-ha!” shouted the victor. “I killed you!”

The carnage over, the boys left and Leah stepped in. She righted the fallen stegosaurus and placed it next to its murderer.

“This one’s the mama one and this one’s the daddy one,” she said grinning with maternal pride.

I just smiled back and said, “okay.” Gender aside, I guess I’m grateful for a child who favors kindness to bloodshed. Who wouldn’t?

Twins!

O.K. So they're not really twins. They are cousins, only 16 days apart, and both about two months old here. The last time we photographed Ellie and Natalie, Ellie was just a few days old and looked tiny compared to our chug-a-lug girl. Now? Can you tell which baby is older? Didn't think so!

Sarah bought the double outfits at the Mothers of Multiples sale last spring for just such an occasion, and it's a good thing she brought them over when she did -- these adorable onesies won't fit either of these beauties next week! We wanted to try to pose the girls to up the cuteness factor even more, but they seemed to sleep only when the other was awake, so this is the best we could do with what we were given. sigh. Supermodels. They think they run the world. :)

A Leah Line

Just in case any of you are wondering what Leah does to occupy herself while I'm nursing, here is just one of her amusements. It's a little something I like to call a "Leah line."