Friday, October 30, 2009
Phone calls from teachers are never a good sign. In fact, I think I might dread them more than a tax audit. At least if we were audited I could be sure that everything is on the up and up.
With the boy you just don't know.
It was explained to me that, evidently, my son told one of the little girls in his class that I was going to come kill everyone in the class.
Yes folks. Kill.
An interrogation was preformed. Denials were made. Quite frankly, I don't think the kid could remember what he said the day before.
And then I thought to myself, you know, even if he did say those exact words, (and this is when I had to stop and think if I had in fact threatened to kill everyone around me because that is, sadly, a likely scenario these days), even if he did throw out such a heinous remark, I wouldn't punish him.
And he's a boy which means that war and fighting and battle and weapons are just super cool right now.
So he talked a little smack. Then again, maybe he didn't do it at all. Who knows?
And who cares?
And I find a certain sense of satisfaction in that he pulled out the big guns. Instead of threatening to have his dad beat someone up, he choose me.
He knows who means business around here.
The photo I took of my crab apples has absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just like it. It makes me feel all fallish and domestic and not so much like Osama Bin Laden.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Wilton has some really fun baking kits out this year. They really spice up your goodies.
Too bad I can't actually eat these morsels. Alas, Nazi Natalie is sticking to the one treat a week rule.
A big wet raspberry to that.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
It's about fashion people.
This is Birdie's "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, double chin and all" pose.
Oh my how I do love tights.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway. This is Thomas in 2004. He went as a bald eagle for Halloween.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
I can't quite seem to remember a time when she wasn't with us.
Who is this little bird that has come to teach our family how to fly?
Who is this child that can melt me with a glance of her bright almond eyes?
Do all mother's love their children so much they could lick them like a cat?
In the moments before Thomas was born, he reached his chubby little hand up and took a chunk of my heart with him, claiming it as his own. He's had it ever since.
When did Birdie get her chunk?
She sucked it out of me the moment she was born and we locked eyes. The moment we recognized each other. She let me know she'd be needing her share too.
I'm the mom. I'm supposed to be in charge. But I'm powerless against these little people. They have me just where they need me.
Their smiles are my kryptonite.
Heaven help me.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
I finally finished off the spooky decor on my mantle and I nearly scared myself to death. Not because my decorations are freighting, but because it dawned on me as I was sticking up the last bat that the year is nearly over.
In just two weeks I'll be taking all this down and getting ready for Thanksgiving.
I wasn't even going to decorate the mantle this year. I'm so completely exhausted these days. Can I just tell you that within a twenty-four hour period I have been barfed on by both my children, more than once by Birdie, agreed to watch a friend's dog over night, chased said dog all over tarnation to get her to come back in the house, mopped up an over flowing toilet, changed no less than six poopy diapers, wiped up dog pee and scrubbed black icing cupcake barf from my carpet?
So the mantle was decorated and after I got over my panic attack of realizing that 2009 is almost gone, I sat on my couch and made a plan to take things as they happen and enjoy the ride.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
I've been holed up in my art room, working away. The boy has been at school learning about matter and all things pumpkin. Sugar Daddy has been work work working away on a big trial he has coming up in a week. I plan to attend opening arguments because a. I've never ever seen my man in action and b. I need somewhere to wear the hat that Birdie is modeling.
It just screams courtroom don't you think?
I'm going to need some blood red lipstick to go with it.
And Birdie? Well she's been with me in my art room. She sits in her bouncy and wrestles with her toys and smiles with her whole body when I hold up one of my creations for her to appraise.
She's my biggest fan.
Here's a sneaky peeky at the Secondsister Winter collection.
Think Havana Botanical.
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Lord often answers my prayers in Michael's, but they are more of the please Lord let them have brass lobster clasps so I don't have to schlep my kids to the bead store variety.
This one was a biggy.
I went to Michael's for crystals, glue sticks and glitter, you know, the essentials. I got all these things and the answer to a prayer that has been weighing deeply on my heart.
Lately, when Sugar Daddy and I crawl into bed at the end of the day, we are exhausted. We look at each other too tired for any hanky panky other than footsie and we say, "Seriously. I don't think we can handle another child." So we lay there playing footsie and talk about how hard the day was. How Birdie spit up a billion times and cried every time we put her down. We talk about how sassy Thom can be and what we are going to do about that. We say, "We just aren't cut out for more. We can't do it."
And we turn out the lights and I roll onto my side and think about Birdie and how she is the little girl I always wanted and how she makes me feel complete and whole, even if she does wear me out and stain all my clothes.
I'm good, I'd think, I'm perfectly happy with two.
But there remained a little nagging feeling at the very back of my consciousness.
I was crouched down looking at the meager selection of embossing powder when I over heard a mother in the other isle. "Don't touch that Ella. Come here Ella. No Ella. I said don't touch. Don't push your sister Ella. Ella!"
I had to get a look at this Ella character.
I'm not sure what came over me. I am usually shy and a little reticent in public, but I felt an overwhelming need to know.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Every fall, we go to Oak Glen for apples. Oak Glen is the only place a person should get apples. It's pure magic.
Every year we go to the same farm, Stone's Throw, owned and run by Jim and Pat who are now in their early nineties. Yes, I said nineties. And still married. I think I would go every year even if they didn't grow apples, just to see two people who are still in love after an impossible amount of time.
Jim wears flannel shirts and suspenders. Pat wears her hair in a bun. They walk amongst their customers, calling most by their first names. They carry old carving knifes and offer samples of each of the varieties they grow. They tell the story behind each variety. Berkley Rome, Pippin, Arkansas Black, Jonagold, Pink Lady, Braeburn, Fuji, Red Delicious, Big Green. The list goes on and on.
Each sample is scrutinized. Much discussion ensues. Which apples will make the best for baking. Which are the most crisp? What to buy? What to buy?
My children tend to like the tarter varieties.
We found him waiting in the backseat of the car, pouting because he wasn't allowed to eat an entire apple before lunch. It was one of those mom moments when you want to beat your child senseless and smother them with hugs and kisses all at the same time.
Someday, when Thom is grown, I will say to him "Remember the year we couldn't find you at Oak Glen? I think you were six and we all nearly went out of our minds calling for you. I thought you had fallen in a shaft or been eaten by a bear. You better take me out to lunch next Thursday to make up for that."