The first time I thought my daughter might actually kill me (caught on film).

Imagine my surprise, when we combined all of the elements of G's lorikeet costume last night, to find that the end result looked like this:

Is it just me, or does it look  like she is capable of killing you in your sleep, just for sport?  Holy cow, we stepped back, collectively gasped, and then instinctively reached for a frying pan, in the event that she suddenly decided to peck our eyes out. 


We got over it, and then decided that the *problem* was with the mask.  And the weird way that the eye-holes are set too far apart for a human with normal bone structure.  Just a little-too-close to resembling Michael Myers, if you know what I mean.  Also, if you are an extra-terrestrial and you are trying to hide your third (middle) eye, this product would work wonderfully.


And then it was time for the museum!!  We walked in to find the lorikeet and the painted bunting....

...and realized that all of the work and stress and tears (mine) that went into this thing were TOTALLY WORTH the pictures that will be priceless as blackmail in the teenage years, and used in high school slide shows and wedding rehearsals and 40th birthday cakes from here until the end of time. 

And these two goons wanted in on the action, too.  Something about the angle of the photo and the open mouth posing... they look REMARKABLY similar to Muppets.  And I do LOVE me some Muppets.


It's been a big week, and behind the scenes I've been working on something BIG that has warmed my ice cold heart.  It really warrants an entire post all on it's own, so I won't spoil it or anything.  But needless to say, I became a part of something 16 years ago (damn, I am OLD), that is TRULY amazing...and this week/weekend has offered a FLOOD of reminders of how great those years really were, and how much I miss it!!!  Cryptic, I know...you'll have to stay tuned!!!!

We are one step away from ACTUALLY staging an intervention.

Blogworld, we saw some crazy sh!# in Hilton Head last week.  The first being Little J, and his spontaneously combustible skin. 

The second would be my mother and father-in-law.  And the cat that they like to leash-up and WALK.  On the beach.  In PUBLIC.

GASP!

Sorry kids.  I know you would love a cat.  And we will never get one, for a variety of reasons.  But mostly because I just can't take the chance that your father might be genetically wired to do this in 30 years or so.

Now.  My in-laws read this hear blog (everyone say hey!), so I will have you know that Mike and I made a heavy dose of comments regarding the kind of off-your-rocker crazy this is.  CRAZY.  I can't prove it, exactly, but I'm pretty sure this is what occurs before (crazy) people start dressing their animals and ROLE PLAYING.   Jump on Google, type in "photos of cats in clothing"...and voila!  Thank you Internet, for proving my point. 

Animal-dress-up is, of course, followed quickly by a drastic altering of one's appearance.  *Shudder*.

On Day #1 at the beach, we got to experience the "cat-walk".  There is actual video footage of this, but it is extremely shaky (what with the chuckling/heavy body shaking), and also the frantic camera movement you get when you are constantly looking over your shoulder to see if anyone you know happens to be strolling this particular strip of beach.  Which there wasn't.  Phew.

Also, this excursion was kind of a mess...you know, WITH ALL THE DOGS ON  THE BEACH.  The cat is not so fond of dogs.  Or beaches (if I had to guess), with their lack of trees and things to climb in the event of emergency.  But the in-laws claim she likes it.

And I'm guessing she's about to become very fond of lace bonnets, too. 

Bob and Pat, we love you...and find great entertainment in teasing you.  But also, we will draw the line should we ever be invited to a cat-themed tea party. 

Postcard from Vermont.

So.  It's a big week for my friends. 

Tonight, my friend, Ryan Kirby is hosting a  party, to celebrate the release of his FIRST CD, "Postcards from Vermont", and Mike and I are crazy excited for him.  I am privileged to own it, and I love it.  It is folksy and soft and really easy to listen to...and a perfect soundtrack for driving through Illinois/Kentucky/Tennessee/Georgia (our most recent tour of the southern states).  It works just as well in a kitchen in St. Louis.  Don't be fooled by the title, his music isn't only for people in Vermont.

Just kidding.  None of you thought it was about or made for the people of VERMONT, right? 

But here's the thing.  The biggest reason I LOVE this album.

I have known Ryan as a husband, and Dad, and lawyer.  I understand his life, because, well, I live it too.  Starting a family, supporting a family, working for a living, having big responsibilities (like keeping small humans alive).  That stuff is really all-consuming.  And, while none of us would change these things, there are some things we keep in the back of our minds.  Passions that we can't let go of.  Stuff we ache to do, one day. 

Mike sent me an email yesterday, something he came across in a blog somewhere, that talks about the time we waste when we *think* we are working.  And I'm not talking about making dinner, or sewing bird costumes, or wiping small bottoms...that is the stuff that HAS to get done.  But, truthfully, I spend a lot of time dreaming about writing stuff and an EQUAL amount of time surfing the Internet and reading People Magazine.  I am distracted, but I call it "busy-ness" a lot of the time.  Just keeping it real.

Between being a Dad and a lawyer and a husband...this dude managed to write music and record it.  And set up an entire website.  With pictures and the ability to purchase it.  Simply because he loves it (and well, he's good at it too...that helps).  I would have been overwhelmed at step 1.5 of this process.  But he did the "thing" we all want to do, someday.

And that is incredibly amazing to us. 

So friends.  Jump on over to his website (link HERE).  Have a listen, and buy a CD if you like what you hear.  And while you're at it, leave the Kirby's a sweet comment of encouragement for living a dream they are passionate about. 

Congrats Ryan and Mary Catherine!

It would be incredibly convenient if pollen could magically morph my child into a native Australian bird.

As mentioned in my last post, we arrived in Hilton Head to above average temperatures.  Which was AWESOME.

Except for the fact that this meant everything was in bloom and the island was covered in green dust. 

It wasn't immediately evident, because we actually pulled in at night, but it QUICKLY became apparent when Little J woke the next morning with eyes that signaled demon possession.  Uh-oh.

I will also tell you that prior to leaving St. Louis, Little J's eczema had flared something FIERCE.  So his skin already looked like he had done battle with a feral cat.  But the pollen.  Oh, the freaking pollen.  We loaded the kid up on allergy meds and went about keeping him busy.

And then we made the mistake of letting him lie on a lounger during our first outing to the pool. 

And that's when our dear son became 99% rash, 1% human.  RIGHT BEFORE OUR EYES.  Like Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk--only less green and muscley, more red and bumpy.  I have upped the contrast in the photo above, just so you can SEE what I am talking about.

Seriously.  Mike and I were convinced that at any given moment, Little J would spontaneously burst into flames.  And our only *solution* was to keep that kid in the pool for as long as he could handle it, because a large vat of water seemed to be the only itch-free environment on the planet.  So long as you put him STRAIGHT into the shower upon arrival back at home, and then greased him up with 17 kinds of fragrance-free lotion made from the milk of magical smurf-berries (or something).  Because chlorine also does wonderfully awful things to Little J's skin. 

Worse than the look of it?  The FEEL.  I could have sanded wood with his stomach/back/legs/arms/FACE.  To this day, he is still peeling around the eyes--because of the COMPLETE absence of moisture in his skin.  Eczema or allergies or oak trees or anything that blooms?  You are a son of a bitch.

And YEAH! for Little J.  He'll get to relive this little scenario in a few weeks when Spring hits the Midwest.  During which time I will attempt to figure out where one might acquire a large, plastic, air-tight bubble and an i.v. drip of steroids.  Which, coincidentally, might be the EXACT combination that we need to produce the Hulk's allergy-sensitive, bright red twin.  We'll call him "The Bump".

On a completely unrelated note:  I have spent a good part of today figuring out how to transform G into a Rainbow Lorikeet.  And a solid 3 hours keeping her on track in creating a 12 page cartoon (still not done).  During which time, I realized that G has very little understanding of what a printed cartoon is.    Here's the thing with young, school-aged kids--you enter every project thinking they understand the BASIC ELEMENTS.  Try again.  The point at which you choose as a logical start?  Back it up about 8 steps. 

Spring Break *might* have been a great time to work on this project.  Except that I forgot to bring G's backpack.  And I believe I have also proved how it was MEDICALLY necessary to be near a pool at all times.  So there.

Also, there is no Hobby Lobby in Hilton Head (or Michaels, or anything craft-related).  There was no way we were going to be able to brainstorm ways to make a bird costume, in the absence of any retail outlets selling fake feathers.  Unless we killed ACTUAL birds, and I think that might be illegal. 

I realize this is HER project.  But we're talking about a COSTUME here.  I'm not sure how I'm not supposed to be involved, because I have a crap load of craft supplies and we STILL needed stuff to pull this off.  And I am NOT, let me repeat, NOT running to Hobby Lobby at 4 p.m. after she gets home from school.  That is the "magic time" during which my children turn into vessels of Satan, and I manage it with a careful routine of snacks and Wii and television.  Dragging them to a craft store would be the equivalent of turning them into ANGRY drunk people.  With eczema, no less.

I could let her make do with what's here.  But in my mind that runs wild with all kinds of crazy, I could just see her finding her Easter dress and deciding it would be PERFECT...if only she could just cut it here, and here....and maybe a little here.  Oh, with some Sharpie embellishments.  PER-FECT. 

PLUS.  There's still the issue of having to create the cartoon that we are slightly over halfway done with.  So unless I feed her speed or grow that magic plant that produces 15 more hours in a day? Yup, I'm making the costume.  And I am OWNING that.  And I am going to ROCK being the mom that just can't quite figure out how to manage my kid's school work.  I freaking own that role. 

And for Halloween?  G is going as a Rainbow Lorikeet and her "trick" will be a complete presentation of her 12 page cartoon.  Done.

It was just a break.

Blogworld, we are home!  Did you notice that we might be out of town, what with the no-posting-for-8 days straight?  Yes, that is my tactic for not revealing to all of my faithful, home-robbing readers that I am gone.  Gotcha, robbers!

It's been a long 13.5 hour trip home.  And by long, I mean that it's tough to sit/sleep in a front seat AND NEVER MOVE for an entire day.  Mike did all the driving, while I slept heavily through a good portion of Georgia.  Best thing ever about this road trip (including the drive down to Hilton Head)?  NEVER having to get into the backseat.  Not. Even. Once.  Because it is disgusting back there.  Nope, we hung tight and just threw wrapped food items backward.  Even when L spilled chocolate milk.  And when she ate chicken nuggets with sauce.  And even when she spilled an entire bag of Cheerios (three times, no joke). What we have learned here is that L is now capable of EATING, but not so much HOLDING food items.   

We also managed to stream the Kansas-VCU game while driving.  This is a REALLY bad idea in rural Tennessee, because you lose your signal every other second... and the screen on an iphone is SO SMALL you can't actually see the ball, the basket OR the score.  And that is uber frustrating.  But whatever, this is what one might call *progress* and I've decided to not fight the iphone's quest for domination of the universe. 

So here's the deal, friends.  The weather in South Carolina was unseasonably warm--as in, we were in the pool everyday.  Now here's where it gets interesting, because what I have learned about myself on this trip is that I hoard the SUN.  As in, I wanted to make the most of it and figured I could *skip* the sunscreen one day.  Folks, that is not even REMOTELY a good idea.  Because it looked (and felt) like I actually ate the sun.  And I do not advise that. 

And then.

Butler went ahead and put themselves IN THE TOURNAMENT.  And apparently I watch college basketball at the same intensity with which I birth children.  Screaming, check.  Visualizing, check.  Emotional/hormonal disaster, check.  Feeling like I am going to pee in my pants for a good part of the last week, check.  Now I find myself studying stats and watching other teams and caring about things like rebounds and it is freaking weird.  But in case you missed my 839 facebook status updates or the news in general, BUTLER IS IN THE FINAL FOUR....AGAIN!!!   Seriously.  I am going to need all of you to get on board and cheer for my friend Tracy and her husband (Butler's coach, Brad Stevens) next Saturday against VCU.  Seriously. 

So between this excitement, and thwarting the robbers, and the sun exposure that irradiated my stored vocabulary...it's been a dry, blog week.  But I am back with GOOD material, I promise.

Right after I craft a Rainbow Lorikeet costume for a 2nd grader  (by Wednesday).  Don't. Ask.

Rule #2,475: Do not stir the mud with your shoe.

Hmmm.

It appears that L has managed to find a sink hole in our yard.

Or.

They are now selling organic shoes made completely out of mud.

Or.

L concocted a mixture of dirt and bubble solution. 

And then thought it would be a GREAT idea to step in it.

(btw, she SWEARS this isn't the case.  Uh-huh.)

This, right here, is the price of independent play.

Welcome, Spring!

A global celebration of the Irish.

Happy St. Patrick's Day--from my Asian child, my German child and my little leprechaun.  I swear to you, that one day I will dress him in green knickers and knee high socks.  And while I might not get around to it until he's 15, that will only make it more AWESOME.

St. Pat's day festivities began this weekend when we went downtown for the parade.  What I can tell you is this:  I believe there was a parade, though we were at least 50 feet from the road, so what I saw was the tops of cars and a few balloons?  There was DEFINITELY a marching band (I know, because I heard it, but failed to actually see it).  Instead, we ended up playing at the City Garden, and happened to plan this fun excursion during the most insane mob formation ever witnessed in St. Louis.  

Yesterday, we decided to make some cookies and share them with our teachers.  It's been a while since I've done something crafty with the chickens, so I decided that fingerprint shamrocks were also called for.  Turns out my kids hate making shapes out of their fingerprints, but I told them to suck it up and then I grabbed their hands and carefully placed their prints just so.  I'm pretty sure that's what St. Pat would do--any man that chased snakes out of an entire country certainly didn't do it with kindness. 

And in the end, our packages were really cute and the kids didn't cry *too* much.  Success.

Hope you all had a great St. Patrick's Day, blog world!!!   

Allow me to make stirrup pants biblically relevant.

When I was growing up (and let's face it, well into my adulthood), I thought the Bible was bor-ing.  Outdated and full of men and robes and beards and donkeys.  A historical record that was poorly written, if I'm being totally honest. 

I understood it, on some level, as a standard by which to live--because wasn't that ultimately the point?  Some dude in a robe (I have a real thing with the robes, I guess) telling me to love others and not steal or kill people.  It's not ROCKET SCIENCE or anything, if you have a basic sense of right and wrong. 

I never doubted that the Bible was true, I just tended to think of it as a total, joy-stealing, (robe wearing)buzz-kill.  No thankey.  I mean, when you are young and in high school (and college), you have grades and school and parents and bad hair and all kinds of social drama to suck your happy away, so why add the Bible, ya know?

I'm not sure why that changed for me.  I had a normal childhood, great parents, I graduated from high school, went to college--its entirely possible that I just wasn't forced to rely on anything beside my structured, all-expenses paid, life.  I was provided for, I didn't *need* anything, I had great friends, I could (and did) buy an entire pitcher of beer for $1 EVERY Thursday night.  Life was GOOD.

And then I graduated from college and someone lit a flaming bag of poop (figuratively) on my doorstep, because I was ON. MY. OWN.  Well, except for my boyfriend (now husband) who I tried VERY hard to turn into my sole source of comfort and structure and joy.  I expected him to have the sensitivity of my girlfriends AND be as much fun as a keg stand.  And I did all of this while also trying to FORCE him into marrying me.  And this would *probably* be the point at which it was revealed to me that I needed something besides a miserable boyfriend and a job at Ann Taylor.

We found a great church, I made great (new) friends.  I began going to a bible study.  I grew up in a lot of ways, because I wasn't in college anymore.  I got married.  I had kids.  I suffered some.  And along the way my heart was transformed to LOVE the Bible and be constantly amazed by its fullness.  To see beyond the rules and the robes and the donkeys--and to understand that it is a COMPLETE picture of life. 

And I am giving you this VERY long intro, because I am really wrestling with the idea of comfort lately.

I firmly believe that every single one of us is living out the stories of the Bible.  Over and over and over.  And OVER.  That is the point.  It is so relevant, because the plot lines are ALWAYS the same. 

Comfort, Discontent, Consequences, Restoration. 

Life is good, we want more, we try to buy it/earn it/ demand it from others, it never quite pans out (or goes to hell in a hand basket REAL fast), and we cry UNCLE.  Rinse and repeat.

I believe I have lived a good part of my life believing that comfort was the goal.  And I have tried (unsuccessfully) to buy/earn/demand from others what I *think* this means.  A nice, safe, pretty life.  That is never quite nice, safe or pretty enough.  And the truth is that God's people have never lived well in "the middle"--that area between happy and crap-bucket disaster.

What happened was this: People knew God perfectly well, but when they didn't treat him like God, refusing to worship him, they trivialized themselves into silliness and confusion so that there was neither sense nor direction left in their lives. They pretended to know it all, but were illiterate regarding life. They traded the glory of God who holds the whole world in his hands for cheap figurines you can buy at any roadside stand.



So God said, in effect, "If that's what you want, that's what you get." It wasn't long before they were living in a pigpen, smeared with filth, filthy inside and out. And all this because they traded the true God for a fake god, and worshiped the god they made instead of the God who made them—the God we bless, the God who blesses us....Since they didn't bother to acknowledge God, God quit bothering them and let them run loose.

Romans 1: 18-32, The Message


When I choose what is easy and comfortable ABOVE what God desires--eventually he lets me have it.  This God-guy is SMART!  He totally realizes that he can't beat me into loving him (take note, abusers).  Instead he lets me chase what I *think* I want, and restores me when it doesn't quite work out and I come crawling back.  When the Bible talks about giving us over to our enemies?  I'm beginning to learn that the modern equivalent to men with swords is comfort and ego and possessions and stuff we are supposed to have in suburban America.    Everything that isn't his.

Listen, I am not advocating robes.  I'm not saying that our stuff isn't a gift from God.  But it ISN'T God.  And that line for us humans is REALLY blurry.

I believe God wants me happy and joyful.  Maybe comfortable, but I'm not so sure--because his people don't do well with comfort.  We tend to settle in and get complacent and whiny and full of expectation.  And then we make dumb choices, because EVERYONE is wearing stirrup pants this season!, which is the equivalent of worshipping a cow made out of gold (dumb move made by the Israelites, circa Moses time).  And then we CRY when those stirrup pants rear their ugly, strappy head on our 40th birthday cake. 

It is SO ingrained in us to live life in a constant progression--day by day, year by year, grade by grade.  High school, college, first jobs, marriage, kids.  We work toward the goal, but what about the middle?  Are you happy in the middle?  Or just waiting until you get a raise, or a bigger house, or a new car, or your kid goes to school all day, or the babysitter comes at 6?  You get there, or you fail at it, and then what? 

I am pretty good at the peaks and valleys.  But I suck in the middle. 

I could live in this cycle forever, I'm sure.  And to some extent, I probably will, as I struggle to figure out what EXACTLY it is that the good Lord wants from me.  

But one thing I do know:  Anything apart from him turns stirrup-pant-ugly REAL fast. 

Where I prove that my identity, finances and general life choices are directly linked to Hobby Lobby.

We all know that I am a hoarder.  That my greatest fear, per the items in my basement, is that the world will come to an end and fabric stores will cease to exist.  I have PROBLEMS.  Because everyone with common sense knows that if the universe implodes, one would need an ample supply of People Magazine and Cadbury mini eggs.  Duh.

Mental note:  purchase additional copies of People Magazine and an instant-diabetes-sized bag (or 5) of Cadbury mini eggs from Sams Club. 

But seriously.  I have spent the good part of 2 days tackling the mess that is my basement.  And by basement, I mean the corner that has been overtaken by Hobby Lobby bags.  Never before OPENED or TOUCHED Hobby Lobby bags.  If my basement was a world map, the "Hobby Lobby" section would be Russia, after it ate all of Europe. 

I HONESTLY understand how people can live with 43 cats and 17 years worth of poop.  I. get. it.  Because it's like this:  every week or so, when we have company over, I take the 1-2 Hobby Lobby bags sitting on my dining room table, and walk them down to the basement.  Where, apparently, they tend to suffer from irritable bowl disease that results in the crapping of sewing supplies all over the freaking place.  My philosophies on not cleaning/organizing it include:  

• It's only going to get worse, why waste the energy?
• If it's ALL visible, I can manage it with my EYES.
• Even spiders need homes made out of soft cotton.
• Any second now, my Jedi-mind trick powers and going to activate.  And organize.
• Messiness makes me vulnerable, and therefore, relate-able.  At the core, this is an IDENTITY issue, and a deep fear that people will not like me if I am *clean*.  Or something similarly WHACK. 

Well, as it turns out, I am going to pull a Charlie Sheen and heal myself with my MIND, or whatever, and this little fabric meth lab is being raided.  As in, separated into 30-or-so various categories, folded and STORED.  !Winning!

(Photo take 2 hours into the project.  As I wept.)

Let's do the math.  Nine years owning a sewing machine.  Five SOLID years of crafting obsession.  200+ trips to Hobby Lobby.  Average purchase $15.  Add, and multiply....

Yeah, well, gigantic Beverly Hills mansions don't keep you warm at night.  But the 93 quilts I am equipped to sew certainly do.  Suck on that, Spellings.

One final note of housekeeping:  I came across these little gems while cleaning.  Their intended recipients are now reciting their ABC's, so forcing them into these 3-6 month onesies would produce an effect very similar to the Borat genital sling.  Should any of you dear friends happen to know of children (ages 3-6 months) that go by these names, they are yours.  Provided that I can actually get to a post office, and then perhaps I will send along my river rat ponytail as well?  Just kidding.  I won't do that.  But leave a comment if you know of someone who might be able to use these!

If you don't hear from me in a few days, it is likely that the spiders and the laundry and the fabric have collectively teamed up to kick my ass.  That being the case, save yourselves.  And know that I would prefer to be buried in something polka-dotted. 

STOP exploiting the Internet trolls.

Oh, blogworld.  I have been sewing soft cotton pants for the boys at an alarming rate--one might assume that I have an entire orphanage of 4-5 year olds out back (I do not), and OH MY GOD if you ever think that about someone you should probably call some legal authority.  It is so gosh-darn addicting and easy and CHEAP (the pants, not the 4-5 year old boys) and now I am just looking for things to chop up into small  sportswear.  Nothing is safe. 

And because one craft project inspires 2,754 others, I decided to make something girly as well.  Turns out that we had TWO birthday parties this afternoon (both for little girls), which provided the perfect opportunity to sew  for sport.  I also did matching headbands, but can't show them to you because Blogger is trying to ruin my life tonight--apparently I am out of photo storage space?  Not sure how that happens, exactly, because I assume that once pictures get posted on here they just sort of float peacefully, to tune of some Enya song, out there in the magic air called the Internet?  Nope.  Apparently you have to pay money to rent space in this fantasy cloud world, or whatever, because even invisible technology land is a capitalist society. 

Anyway.  I made cute shirts, and even Mike said they were cute, and he is perplexed by that adjective in general, and doesn't often use it in proper context.  So this is HUGE people.  It took me like 4 hours to make it perfect and match the colors and so on and so forth--but it was a very rewarding creative process and my soul is now fed and less likely to berate a poor member of the blogger staff with some rant about photo storage space and how much you have to pay the magic fairies exactly to get them to put the pictures up in blogworld? 

Also.  The packaging of the birthday gifts took some time, and became a collaborative work including brown craft paper, yarn, some ribbon, a gift tag and more felt flowers.  Seriously, I am flying high.  It's like I am my own brand that spends 6 hours on every product it ships.  Magical.  But inefficient. 

I would also like to state that I DID purchase the additional storage for my photos, to the tune of $5 per year.  Which makes me believe the magic troll Internet picture people are being seriously exploited.  I am going to make freezer-paper stencil t-shirts that say "Stop Exploiting the Internet Trolls" because this issue is largely unrecognized.  But also BLOGGER????  Could you not have given me a heads up that my storage space was running low instead of just springing it on me??  Because I am instantly untrusting of anything on the Internet that tells me I have to PAY for something--BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS FREEEEEEEEE!!!I'm pretty sure I could run your whole operation a hell of a lot more efficiently without abusing all the Disney characters and their magic friends. 

Blogger could use a whole lot more yarn and felt flowers and 6-hour turn-arounds. 

Oh, the places you'll go: A tale of where my children stuck their faces today.

Big J and L had an assembly at their school this week.  The point of this was to promote one of the following:

• Academic excellence
• Saying no to crack
• Stranger Danger
• Proper dental hygiene
• How a bill becomes a law
• An overall winning attitude and  positive outlook on life (which is also, coincidentally, the description of an Ecstasy addiction...hmmm).

I don't remember the specifics, exactly, and this  is because I neglected  to check EITHER TWIN'S backpack/folder in a timely fashion. This makes me a DOUBLE loser, because I am given two reminders on everything.  Instead, I pulled papers out frantically as I was dropping them off one morning, only to then leave them on a table at Little J's preschool.  Parent FAIL.

So anyway, they attend the assembly.  I might never have heard another word about it, but they keep bugging me for a yo-yo. 

"We (probably) have a yo-yo," I say. 

"No," they say.  "We want one like Ned!  You can BUY one like NED!"

What the hell, is there some Leapster game with a magic marker named Ned that utilizes a yo-yo?  Because we all know my kids operate 50% in the real world, and 50% in the imaginary life of characters in hand-held games.  

"No MOM!  Ned!  From the ASSSS-EMBLY!"

Crap bag.  Where did I put that one paper, after I left it at the preschool 3 days ago, because I am missing something here.  

Floor of the minivan, OF COURSE!  Moms, if you are ever missing something important and you own a mini-van?  LOOK THERE.  I'm pretty sure my general self worth and common sense are buried under the chocolate-cheese milk.

Flyer located. 

Ned, Ned, Ned...instilling a winning attitude...ya-da, ya-da, ya-da....

YO-YO's ARE AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE THROUGH THE SCHOOL OFFICE....

Son-of-a-gun, this Ned kid is brilliant.  Because apparently he was a real morale booster with an excellent message, but all my kids remember is his YO-YO.  And they want one.  Even though we all know this ends with crying (at the very least) and possibly some major facial bruising--because a yoyo is, after all, just  a string attached to a GIGANTIC, swinging, plastic weapon. 

Hang with me for a second, because I have a plan to one-up Ned and his yo-yos.  I'm thinking of a nation-wide program that teaches children to be "shining stars" while utilizing pure diamonds to perform feats of WONDER!  It will be magical and sparkly and 10-different kinds of awesome.  And also for sale as an exclusive jewelry line, in the school office, to the tune of $10,000 a piece.  GENIUS. 

*******************

I will leave you with this little gem--my kids, today, at the Magic House.  That place is awesome.  Except for this thing (that my kids LOVE).  What ever you call it.  It is a petri dish for germs, what with it touching every child's hot zones:  the hands, the mouth, the nostrils the eye balls.  While it is true that there is no direct anal contact?  I would venture to guess that some teenager has impressed his junk into this thing on a dare.  I don't think we could get more intimate with ebola, even if I stuck an infected swab straight down their throats myself.   I consider this their 2011 vaccinations. 

 

Weekend is almost here friends....FINISH STRONG!!! 

New obsession: Boys shorts.

Back in January, one of the things on my list of projects for 2011 was figuring out how to make a version of Mini Boden's knit shorts (for a fraction of the cost).  Done and Done.  And then done some more.  I'm kind of addicted (what's new?).

The problem with making these shorts?  Fabric selection.  I wanted a heavy cotton knit, and I was looking for something with stripes.  Let me save you some time (for all readers who are local)--this doesn't exist in St. Louis.  Also.  I didn't want to buy fabric online without ACTUALLY seeing/feeling it, and I sure didn't want to spend upward of $10 per yard, because while it would still  be cheaper than Mini Boden, it didn't (in my mind) justify the cost of KNIT PLAY SHORTS.  I mean, we're not talking about a 14 karat gold tuxedo here, people.

Every few weeks, I regularly peruse some thrift stores that are close to our house, because there is ALWAYS some piece of 2nd hand goodness that I have to have.  In this case, I was looking for old sweaters to recycle into new, smaller sweaters (tutorial HERE).  And that's when I came across the women's shirts.  And oh, there was my heavy knit, striped fabric--enough for one pair of shorts--for $2.

Oh, the knowledge.  I now feel like I have an entire thrift store worth of fabric.  I am in LOVE.

I went back for round #2, and decided to try working with a polo fabric--not pique, but a softer, brushed cotton? This pair of shorts (they look solid blue in the picture, but are actually very thin stripes) is lighter in weight, but it worked just as well.  And I can imagine that they will be delightful come August and the full force of the summer sun in its 117 degree glory. 

(pardon the threads...I was in a rush to get this picture while there was still natural light out)

I can't even begin to tell you how to make shorts--I give all the credit to Dana at Made for creating an EASY tutorial, for this very purpose (link HERE).   Her tutorial is for pants, but I will share a little secret:  If you're making shorts, just cut the pattern SHORTER.  I will tell you that making shorts or pants in this style is very easy--especially since I was going for a baggy, mini-boden style.  I'm still tweaking my pattern, because I think I want the legs slightly less flowy, however, I truly fear that doing so might inadvertently create a pair of knit, skinny capri pants for my boys.  It's a fine, fine line. 

The only thing I will add on to Dana's tutorial?  Because I was using an already-sewn garment as fabric?  Well, I decided to save myself some time and energy, and I used the bottom finished seam of the shirt as the bottom of my pant legs.  Make sense?  When I created my pattern (out of banner paper), I made sure to place the bottom of the pant leg directly on to the bottom of the shirt.  NO HEMMING.  And you have a perfectly finished seam, the way the big dog clothing manufacturers would do it.   And now I think my brain is starting to atrophy, because that is the best idea I ever had in my life.

For size reference:  My boys are 6 and almost 5, but they wear the same size (roughly a size 5).  The olive green striped pants were made from a women's XL knit shirt, the blue and white striped pair were made from a man's XL golf polo.  There were scrap bits to spare, but not enough for another pair of shorts (but would make GREAT scraps for embellishing a matching t-shirt...).

I feel a craft night coming on, because my boys could use 67 more pairs of these.

Beyond paper: How organizing is ruining my life this week.

Here lie G's clothes.

Short sleeved shirts, long sleeved shirts, patterns, solids, skirts, jeans, knit pants, various other pants.
Not pictured:  Anything considered warm weather clothing, button down shirts and dresses.

Lordy.

Up until today, I have shoved these clothes (by category) into bins that are in our basement.  Clothes went into the washing machine/dryer, clothes then got rumpled into a giant ball and tossed in said bins.  It wasn't neat, but it was QUICK and sort of organized. 

Well, until I decided to pull it all out, and WOW are we lucky the bin system didn't break down and drown the entire house with Target leggings.  Shame on you Target, and your $3 polka dot leggings.
So I've decided that it's about time I give G the freedom to choose her clothing.  Yup, I said it.  I pick out her outfits everyday.  And I love it, okay.  But I'm pretty sure I can now trust her to dress herself.

The pile pictured came upstairs to find homes in 3 DRAWERS. Plus the stuff that's hanging. 

70% of it stayed in the basement to die.

It is a total hoarding nightmare (or dream, depending on how you look at it).

L's wardrobe is even worse.  Because I can *distinctly* remember thinking that L was low in clothing (probably while shopping in the Target legging department).  So as it turns out, L has ample clothing, which she continues to fit into because she NEVER GROWS...and then I just keep shoving G's old stuff in her bins too, so what we are facing is a LEVEL 5 RED THREAT PERFECT STORM NUCLEAR WARNING, because L has a wardrobe large enough to outfit 52 children ranging from newborn to size 6. 

I have officially become Goodwill. 

Today is best characterized as a vasectomy.

Blogworld. 
This is going to be quick, because I am losing ALL patience with the universe.  Consider the following:  If I had testicles, I would this day would best be compared to a 24-hour kick in the sack that has rendered me sterile.  NO. JOKE.

But I would like the address the issue of the "research project".  Upon arriving at school this morning (where I escorted my children to their classrooms, because there was no WAY I was going to trust them with my their research projects), I noticed a wide variety of effort.  I don't think this project was meant to be intense, but it is just so freaking hard for me not to make it so, particularly when asked to list references. 

The project was meant to be done at the ability level of a kindergartner--only, I'm not exactly sure what that means, because my kindergartners are struggling to form letters and learn phonetic sounds.  We aren't to the part of the game yet where we can organize our thoughts into a multi-step project.  Just this very morning, I asked Big J to write his name on my his poster board, and he managed to do just that.  Upside down and backward.  I'm not even sure how that happened, and I sure as hell don't know how to fix it. 

And it's making me crazy.  And I don't love it, not one single bit.  I LOVE my son, but there is not one iota of me that can watch him struggle to write a letter, and NOT hate it. 

I don't believe his school is failing him--quite the contrary, I think they are super aware of Big J and are doing everything they can.  Problem is, he can't be diagnosed with a learning disability until he is 7, and he can't receive occupational therapy (handwriting help) without having another significant delay.  It is a strange, bureaucratic crack that we are slipping through, and it looks like we'll be here for at least 10 months, so we are going to settle in and eat some cheese puffs.

This was the way he was born--it isn't a lack of attention or focus on the part of the school.  They are doing what they can, and then some, until he legally qualifies for extra help.  But this goes way beyond what can be addressed in a 3-hour day.  And it has to be okay, because I can help him, but I can't fix him.   Mike and I actually have ZERO resentment for our kid's schools or their teachers--but we are definitely being moved to understand that school DOES NOT perfectly meet the needs of our kids.  This is pretty important for us, and honestly, for every parent to understand:  We are called to KNOW our children, what the need, what they don't. 

My G also came home today with 3 of 5 daily stars taken away--some of them for generally disorganized behavior that occurred LAST week.  I don't even know where to begin to address that.  Yes, she is a hot, hot mess when it comes to having her act together.  She lost her television time this evening, which is fine, because we have homework to do.  Except that we forgot our homework at school. 

Wait for it.

Mental implosion in 3, 2, 1.....

She knows it's a problem.  She hates having to tell me she lost behavior stars.  She's more than willing and understanding of losing her privileges.  She doesn't complain.  What to do?  Make her lick toilets?????   What. Am. I. Missing.

Final groin blow:  My computer has suffered a major brain injury, and now appears to be coughing up blood.  Oh, technology, how I loathe thee.  

Serenity now.    

Where I theorize that my children actually speak Japanese, and how this would solve a lot of mysteries surrounding our inability to communicate.

Mike and I are giddy with information tonight.  Because, apparently, our daughter speaks fluent Japanese, as proven by the fact that we told her (for 736 minutes straight) to HOLD. THE. A-BUTTON. while wii golfing.  Never once did she acknowledge us.  And so I can only assume that she speaks ASIAN.  Am I right?   Seriously.  I am going to video-tape it and become a YouTube star, because it is SOOOO funny to hear Mike repeat himself five-bazillion times. 

Nintendo, I have discovered a major flaw in your basic sports gaming:  After using electric shock therapy to teach our kidlets how to bowl by RELEASING THE B-button, I am now having to retrain their minds to HOLD the A-button. They are so confused, and as a *weird* side effect, are now convinced that they are supposed to pee on our floor mats. 

Also.

You will note that Big J and L have research projects due tomorrow.  This was a gigantic, bruise-inducing face plant into a glass door kind of whammy, because I have seen a glimpse into the future of homework with the wondertwins and, mark my words, I will be addicted to a narcotic within 3 years.  To put it mildly--eating that 4-year-old ponytail (still residing on my desk--YEAH!) might be a whole lot funner.

Now.  Mike and I have been debating the research project all day, as it relates to the level of my involvement. Which you can CLEARLY see was great.  But they are SIX.  And they have some learning delays.  And their attention span for anything resembling school work is approximately 3 minutes.  And there are TWO of them.  Mathematically, the only way this scenario would have worked itself out properly would be if:  there were 5 of me, a pill I could take for patience, and 82 hours in a single day.

That being unlikely to happen, I went for efficiency.

The instructions specified the kids were to choose an animal--Big J  chose penguins, L chose snakes.  This was 100% them (woot!).

Next, we I researched.  Meaning:  I got on the Internet and typed in Penguins/Snakes.  I went to the library to find books.  I weeded through the stuff they would never understand and presented them with choices we would be reading from. 

They were supposed to formulate 3 questions.  I tried this without any prompting, and got nowhere.  I read some from our books, and still nothing (this prior to the revelation that our children are Japanese-speaking.  I did not try reading to them in Japanese.).  I gave them a sample question, they tried to answer it.  I *suggested* questions, they agreed.  You see how this is going, right?

I broke down our reading into small bits that pertained to our questions.  Which basically means that I fed them every answer.  And then I spelled it out, letter-by-letter, so that they could record their answer.  Instructions said it was okay to have them dictate their thoughts and I could write or type their answer.  However, as they were struggling to a.) create the question and then b.) answer the question, I felt they needed to pull their weight and WRITE their actual answers.   

This project was SO far over their heads, it's amazing.  And I know there are kindergartners that can handle it, but mine cannot.   They need so much prompting, its actually me doing the work, because they just can't grasp what they are supposed to be doing.  My guiding is DOING.  There isn't a middle ground, or at the very least, we aren't there yet.  And so I resigned myself to doing 2 research projects. 

I have learned an awful lot about my kids and school this year.  I have noticed it a lot with my 2nd grader particularly, in the amount of responsibility and work she is asked to take on.  Please do not think I am making excuses--my relationship with my daughter has actually take a huge hit this year as I have attempted to force her into being something she's not yet ready for (this revelation has taken MONTHS).  It is at times overwhelming, and lots of it is made worse by the fact that she isn't good about organizing her time in school.  I get that there are consequences to not using her time wisely, and that she is best served by learning to get her act together.  TRUST ME, I have taken away every privilege short of denying her food.  I do not err on the side of touchy-feely--I am, to a fault, a rule follower.  I have tried to force her into being more mature, and it hasn't worked. We have sat for HOURS doing homework.  We have tried being hard.  But there is actually no part of me that believes an 8-year-old should be working for 2.5 hours on homework at night.  Not even a little bit.  And so I have to resign myself to being okay with late work and cutting her some slack.

Kindergarten for the wondertwins has been fantastic.  Generally, there is no homework, except what they don't finish in class (which is usually handwriting, because it's a struggle).  But the research project, I could tell right away, was more than they would really understand.  I mean, we talked through it and they were aware of everything they were doing.  They were, in fact LEARNING about their animals.  But none of this was self-driven.  It would have been different, had they been writing a story, or something that involved their imagination--but we were looking for something more specific here, and they didn't even know where to start with it.  And so I am okay with saying I did this, and they came along for the ride.  Because that's exactly the truth. 

And apparently, I can still make a mean poster board. 

My thrift-store shopping has jumped the shark.

To whomever dropped this little beauty off at the thrift store:

I love you.  I love this blazer. 

Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

But seriously.

Did you not know anyone who might benefit from a size two,  J. Crew blazer? 

Because I can think of, like, one million people. 

I can also guarantee someone would have paid ACTUAL MONEY for this on ebay. 

But maybe you are allergic to the post office like me? 

 In that case, we are kindred spirits and the universe desired for *us* to own this jacket

and bask in our hatred of sending mail. 

Don't worry.

I won't do anything stupid (wait, let me explain)

like pair this beauty with a pair of daisy dukes and rain boots.

I won't listen to J. Crew when they do ridiculous things like that. 

Because real people look DUMB when they wear booty shorts in 20 degree weather.

With a wool coat.

I will be respectable and wear jeans like a NORMAL midwesterner.

I love this jacket so much, I shed a tear when I found it.

I *might* have kissed it (little to no tongue). 

And peed (a little).

It was a special moment.

Yours truly in the sisterhood-of-the-traveling-jacket,

S. Denckhoff

Inspired by Asia.

When I was growing up, in a very Asian-dominated Hawaii, March 3rd (3/3) was always celebrated as Girl's Day (stemming from an actual, celebrated holiday in Japan).  It was always a big deal, and I remember loving it, because DUH, I'm a girl.  And just to be fair, Boys Day is always celebrated on May 5th (5/5).

Now.  It was tradition to make a fish kite on Boy's Day...but for the life of me, I cannot remember what we did to celebrate the ladies?  Literally, it is killing me, not being able to remember this, so if any of you islanders out there can remember, will you do me a favor and  clue me in??

Anyway.  My mind has been running amuck trying to think of ways to celebrate my quarter-Asian daughters.  My first thought was a homemade sushi dinner?  Yep.  That had disaster and tantrums and potential food poisoning written ALL OVER IT.  So thankfully, I scrapped that idea as soon as it came to me (but not after googling recipes).

Then the Internet threw me some suggestions, and I decided to go with the peach blossom as a symbol of girly-ness.  Which I thought we could loosely translate into circles cut from various scrapbooking papers.  Which look very little like actual peach blossoms, but throw-me-a-bone-here, we are starting with an Asian-themed idea and reworking it into something completely Caucasian that can be assembled from items found at Hobby Lobby. 

My crafty plan also included my daughters and a lesson about their heritage.  But, as it turns out, today was unseasonably warm, and between our trips to the playground and the Wii time that Little J absolutely-had-to-have-or-else-his-brain-was-going-to-implode, we had 7 seconds left in our afternoon.  So I hoarded this little project all to myself and it was magical.  It's been a while since I have just *created* something, for the hell of it, and while I would not fancy myself an artist, I will definitely be hanging this in the girls room.  Along with the 85 other projects I have stock-piled in the past few years. 

Also. I'm including the close-up shot, because this was YET ANOTHER usage for fabric rosettes.  Just know that I made them much smaller than the ones I use for headbands.  And it's also super fun to layer a bunch of scrapbook paper, plus some buttons and rhinestones and felt.  Lots of texture.  Texture GOOD.  I used a glue gun to tack EVERYTHING on there, because it was fast.  Fast, GOOD.  At the end of the day, this probably took an hour to create and 3 hours to clean up.

Kidding!  We all know that I don't clean, and so we are now branding paper bits as decorational confetti.  Hottest new decorating rage.  Try it. 

Happy Girls Day!

Where nature fails to overcome our learning delays.

Today was a FANTASTIC hike in glorious weather.  And by hike, I mean a paved, two-thirds of a mile loop.  It was a love-fest (as pictured).

Until I tried to "teach" them something.  And by teach, I mean a simple instruction to write a sentence about what they saw.

I thought a fun environment on a sunny day would breathe excitement into their attitudes for learning? 

Turns out it was a whole lot of distraction that led to tears and threats of losing privileges.  I am AWESOME at inspiring work ethic in six-year-olds.  And by awesome, I mean wickedly awful.

Up next this weekend:  Research projects for 3 of my 4 children.  I need to swallow some happy pills, STAT, or this is going to destroy us.

I'm keeping it short tonight, because I am mentally TIRED.  Don't worry, it's nothing that a little American Idol (with a Teen Mom 2 chaser) can't fix.  Which reminds me:  MTV, your reality programming is a train wreck and I cannot. look. away.  I am now completely freaked out by adolescence and the state of New Jersey.  

Later, blogworld. 

Its amazing what a little freezer paper can do.

Let's talk about freezer paper stencils.  I've dabbled in them before, but have always tended to choose fonts or large (and less intricate) shapes to transform into stencils.  That is, until I came across the MADE blog.  And then I was convinced that you can paint ANYTHING onto a t-shirt. 

This month, Dana (author of Made) is featuring a ton of projects for BOYS.  And freezer paper stenciling is one of the projects that she detailed, a couple of weeks back.  And it happened to come at just the right time, because I had recently begun to notice (and fixate) on the fact that EVERY item Big J owns is gray. 

The boy needs some color.

Which is where the idea for the smurf shirt was born.  Cheap t-shirt plus Dana's freezer paper stenciling tutorial?  Done and done.

Here is the LINK to the tutorial, to give you an idea of what's involved.  It takes some attention to detail, but all-in-all I would say that my smurf stencil took 20 minutes to cut.  Not to bad and certainly less demanding (and more funner) than 2nd grade math.  Also, I will note that her tutorial talks specifically about turning a photograph into a "posterized" image, which is tons easier to translate into solid stenciling lines.  Since I was using a cartoon, I didn't need to "posterize" my image---it was easy enough to define features just as it was. 

But while I had the freezer paper out and Walmart was having a long-sleeved t-shirt sale, I decided to try my hand at silhouetting.  And just to kill two birds and blame it on the Irish, I decided this would be L's St. Patrick's day shirt.  I like it, but it was really hard to get the details EXACTLY as I like them--I think you can tell it's a silhouette, it's just not distinctively L.  My final opinion, however, is that I still like it, but have decided that it needs a polka-dotted bow attached at the ponytail--and as I am out of green polka dotted ribbon, (GASP!), this particular embellishment will have to wait until later this week or possibly 7 years from now if it falls off my radar or gets buried in a freak avalanche of unfinished projects. 

Also...many of you have probably noticed that I like to use large circles of different fabric to monogram (or freezer stencil) on to.  This is my fool-proof method for not ruining a perfectly good shirt, with a mistake I am BOUND to make in my constantly frantic state.  I like that it adds a little more punch to a t-shirt, but also like that I can throw it away and start over if I mess it up.  I usually attach it to the shirt with a double border, which I like to stitch in a somewhat erratic pattern  for a little extra whimsy. 

Be sure to visit MADE for an explanation of freezer paper stenciling that actually makes sense, but also check out her ideas because they are FANTASTIC!