photo

I really hope Mr. Gunnar Ekelund doesn't mind that I colorized his photo.

It's just that when I saw it, I was overcome.

The mannequins in the window look like the Barbies I used to play with at my grandmother's house.

I swear they were some of the first Barbies ever released. They were probably worth a mint. But my grandmother would never bother with that kind of stuff. Not when it came to me, or my sisters and cousins. We were her prized possessions.

Seeing this photo made me miss her to the very core of my being.

Funny how a simple photo can do something like that.

waltzing matilda

Here's a little hard core truth for you this Monday morning.

I used to eat bugs.

It's true.  

When I was little my family lived in Australia. Let me show you where exactly.

See where it says "NOTHING"? Right there. That's where we lived. In the middle of the outback.

This is not my map. I don't think Australia is all that bad. I have rather fond memories of it. But I do think that the whole country looks upside down.  Is is just me? But then again, maybe they are upside down. Don't their toilets flush the opposite way? Maybe the equator is the only true right side up place to be. Wow. I'm confusing myself.

So yeah. We lived in Alice Springs.  And I was a scrappy little dirt monger.  Who ate bugs.  I think the aboriginal children taught me that.  I had lice and worms and the soles of my feet were like three inches thick with calluses because I never wore shoes. I was a virtual waltzing Matilda.

And I was happy.  I was a very very happy child.  My bum itched a little because of the worms, but other than that life was good.

And now I'm a mother. And although my first baby was kept hermetically sealed in a germ proof environment until the day I got a grip, I let my kids grub in the dirt on a regular basis.  Because I have this theory.

I think that maybe, just maybe, when a human being puts their hands in the soil of the Earth, it's transformative.  It's almost as if we soak up life the way plants do.  When a child is allowed to explore nature with all of their senses they are happier and more well rounded.  That's what I think anyway.

We don't live in an area where my children can roam free the way I used to.  This makes me a little sad. But we do have a big backyard and plenty of fun nature places to visit.  My kids are yet to have lice or worms but Frankie has been known to suck on a snail or two.  I think they are getting a fair dose of nature. And they seem like happy kids.

And I have another theory. I think it might have been the bugs that made me bionic. Yep, I definitely think it was the bugs.

Photo of me by Bubba-Loo

Waltzing Matilda

lydia

My mother taught me the magic of paper dolls. I've loved them ever since I was little. At one time I had a set of Shirley Temple paper dolls. Oh how I would love to know where they went.

I decided to do a series of my own paper dolls. And I think I will share them here, for those of you out there that love them as well. They make a great quiet activity for a little girl who must occupy herself during church or in a waiting room. Being quiet can be pretty difficult sometimes.

I can't wait until Birdie is old enough to play with paper dolls instead of ripping their heads off and eating their clothes.

I am sending Lydia to my niece with a box of crayons and a pair of child safe scissors.

You will need some good white card stock. I like to copy my dolls off so that they are about four inches tall.

I plan to post a doll every month, but don't hold me to it. Things are a little ify around here lately.

christmas first

Thom spent the better part of the weekend telling everyone that he couldn't wait until "Christmas first".


What he means is he can't wait for the first day of December, which can be translated to, the first day of advent, wherein he gets to open a little door and see what little wonder awaits him.


I've been gathering up all the little wonders for the last month or so. I think we will kick the season off with a Matchbox car or maybe some chocolate gold coins.


I'm pretty excited myself. Having little kids makes Christmas magic.


I decided to go all out with the decorations this year. I'm doing it up Pam Campbell style with all the glitter and ribbon I can get my hands on.


My favorite project so far is my paper amaryllis wreath. It makes me happy every time I walk past it.


It's big and colorful and oh so very festive.


The tree is up, the mantle is decked out (pics to follow), the Christmas sheets are on the bed.


I'm ready.



Bring on Christmas first.

through the brambles

gabrielle kai

If I were to enter my own Summer photo challenge, I would have to photograph some berries. Berries are summer.

When I was a kid, I used to creep into my neighbors berry patch and steal the fruit from the vine. The berries were warm, almost hot from the sunshine and so intoxicating my sisters and I frequently gorged ourselves until our bellies ached. We were, of course, found out by our mother who knew well the tell tale signs of berry juice on kid's clothes. She would chastise us half heartedly and the next day we would be back in the berries. I wonder now if our neighbors permitted us this little indulgence. Mr. and Mrs. Chambers were a kindly old couple. Surely as young children we weren't as stealth as we thought.


When I was eleven, my older sister got her period. I was unnerved by the fact that she had moved onto womanhood and left me standing alone in childhood. In an attempt to gain some respect, I stole away to the berry patch. I crouched low so as not to be detected and crushed a handful of berries into my underwear. I then proceeded to convince Heidi that I too had become a bonefide young adult. When could we start shaving our legs? Soon enough, my ruse was discovered and I was relegated back to kiddom. I grabbed my Barbies and sulked off to lick my wounds.


Mr. Chambers just died last week. It's like a little piece of my childhood is gone. I can still see him in my mind's eye, through the raspberry bramble, hanging clothes on their line, puttering around the yard and listening to Spanish language tapes. He always wore his powder blue leisure pants three inches too short with gym socks and black loafers. He had soft doughy cheeks and a shock of white hair.


I will miss that guy.


Man alive, could he grow berries.

momma nirvana

Thom takes his job as older brother very seriously. Every morning, after the kids are feed and bathed, you can find us here, in the rocking chair for Amelie's morning lessons. Thomas hasn't let us miss a day.

Thom starts out "reading" her ABC and color books to her, but we eventually end up with the books he likes me to read to him.

As you can see, much to Thom's dismay, Amelie doesn't take her morning lessons seriously at all.

Thom has been asking and asking for a chalk board to use for teaching such things as the solar system and how plants grow. I think I'll drive down to IKEA and see if they have one for him. He's also asked for a large bag of Skittles to teach her math. That one's a little suspect.

This is how I get my chores done.

I know, I know. But people, I didn't get to carry this pumpkin for nine months of her life. I'm making up for lost time.

And yes, I do wear flowers in my hair to do house work.

variety is the spice of life

This is what it is like to be Amelie's mother.

This is what it is like to be Thom's mom.

I am finding much wonderment in the difference.

It is a delightful thing to experience.

five and a half

Amy and Dave

Tomorrow I will be thirty-five. Damn I'm getting old. Maybe I'll get some Botox and a pair of Spanx. Actually, I'm going to see Hans because he can always work some magic and make me feel divine.

My little sister, Amy, is five and half years younger than me. It makes a big difference. She isn't getting wrinkles yet. She can still count her grey hairs.

When Amy was first born, she was my living doll. She was a beautiful child, all curls and smiles. She flourished in the lime light of our little family. At five and a half, I thought she was my personal miracle. I loved her dearly.

Amy, Dave and Charley

And then my brother was born. What can I say? Eight-year-old girls can be fickle creatures.

It was many years before I rediscovered the magic that is my little sister. Lost years.

I have worried about the age difference between Thom and the new baby. Will they play together? Will they be close? I have come to the conclusion that it may take time, maybe years, but they will have their own unique relationship. I won't be able to choreograph it, it will happen on its own, organically. He already sees her as his own personal miracle. He keeps reaffirming to me that she will be "his baby".

He has called dibs on all night feedings which sounds fabulous, if only it worked that way.

As for Amy and I, well, five and a half years is only a measure of the time we didn't get to spend being sisters. I think we have more than made up for lost time.

where the hell are the underoos?

Seriously. What happened to them? What fool decided to pull the plug on Underoo production? I'd really like to know. I'd march right up to him (for surely it is a him, because any woman would know better) and poke him in the eye.

I can't believe my son will go through his childhood without knowing the magic that is Underoos.

I did find this site that claims that they are still being sold, but I haven't seen them. Evidently there are adult Underoos available, but not the benign child sizes.

For shame.

Wearing Underoos as an adult is a little, well, warped. Grow up people.

If you want to play superhero as an adult, there are more mature ways to go about it.

Like this site that my good friend Mic found. Go ahead. Click on over and make yourself into the superhero you always wanted to be. I bet you can't resist.

Here's Ben as:

And my alter ego:

Oh and we really look like that in spandex. Promise.

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

I've always been ridiculously fair when I choose a winner for Suaviloquy giveaways. I always use the random number picker and even at the pleading of my family members, I don't cheat.

This time I'm employing my right as author of this blog to choose a winner. It had to be done.

Jill and I go way back to the ghetto days. We were both living in the arm pit of the world, working obscene hours as our husbands toiled away in law school. Jill's an infertile Myrtle too. We have crouched in the fox hole of childlessness and poverty together. We are blood sisters.

Last year Jill and her husband were chosen by a birth mother. They went through the whole pregnancy with this girl and at the hospital, after Jill had cuddled this child in her arms, the birth mother decided to parent. Which is her right, but still.

Much anguish ensued.

But that Jill is a resilient one. She picked herself up and moved forward. A couple of weeks ago she called to tell me that another birth mother has decided to place her baby girl in their home. You can see the video, where Jill tells her other children the good news, here.

I pick Jill to win this giveaway. I think she deserves it. Don't you?

lola b.

I sat once on a bench in a park, alone with my thoughts. From seemingly nowhere, a child appeared. She stood in front of me with her pom pom pigtails standing at dog ear attention, her little brown belly peaked out from the bottom of her shirt. I thought at first that she had mistaken me for her mother, but as she inspected me I could see that that wasn't the case.

"Hi", I finally said out of discomfort.

"Hi", she said without any apparent discomfort.

"What's your name?", I asked.

"Lola B." She made no indication that she would be moving along anytime soon.

I leaned forward and looked left and then right wondering where her mother might be.

"Hi Lola B. I'm April." I mumbled, taking note that the name Lola was back in vogue.

"I like your earrings." She informed me.

"Oh thank you, I made them."

Lola moved closer and inched her little bottom up on the bench uncomfortably close to me. She looked up and smiled. I smiled back. She kicked her legs. Pink Mary Jane's went back and forth, back and forth. She twiddled her thumbs. She had chipped polish on her tiny nails.

"Purple is my favorite color." She said after a while.

I was still looking around for a parent.

"Purple is my favorite color." She said again.

"Oh, mine too! That's neat. We have the same favorite color. Where's your mommy?"

She pointed across the park to a strikingly beautiful black woman holding a baby in a sling, engaged in an animated conversation with another woman. Her large hoop earrings flopped from side to side.

"Oh." It was apparent that Lola wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. So we sat. I stared at strangers through dark sunglasses and Lola swung her feet. We didn't talk. We smiled at each other every now and then. We were just girls together on a park bench one afternoon.

It was nice.

a small encounter

Small Child: You know, we have more toys at our house than you do at yours.

Me: Oh well that is probably because we only have one kid in our family and you have three.

Small Child: Why do you only have one kid?

Me: Well . . . God has only given us one kid so far.

Small Child: Why?

Me: I don't know.

Small Child: Is he going to give you more kids?

Me: Yeah, I think we will be getting more kids.

Small Child: When?

Me: Don't know.

Small Child: Then how do you know you will get them?

Me: I just know.

Small Child: No, how do you know? You might not.

Me: A little birdy told me so.

Small Child: What? A bird? It could talk? What was it's name?

Me: Frank.

Small Child: Birds can't talk!

Me: Hummm. You believe whatever you want, but Frank and I talked all through lunch. I had ham on rye, he had tuna fish. He told me he gets really mad when little kids ask a lot of questions.

Small Child: You're just kidding. Frank didn't talk.

Me: Oh, you got me. I'm just being funny. Did you know that I have more friends than you? I even have friends in Finland. I guess that makes me the coolest. You better run along now, I think your mom is calling.

enigma

Kids are such an enigma to me.

I'll say to Thom, "Hey come eat this homemade dinner I spent the afternoon making for you."

And he says, "No."

I'll say, "Thom, are you ready to crawl into your bed. I just washed the sheets today and they smell great."

He says, "No."

I say, "Okay it's time to be calm. Come here and I'll tickle your back and play with your hair while you watch your favorite T.V. show."

He pulls a face and runs away.

I say, "Come upstairs! I have a nice warm bubble bath waiting for you!"

He says "Not now Mom."

What is wrong with this child? He rejects everything wonderful in life. Well, he doesn't turn down sweets. We have that in common. But really, why do we adults have to force our kids to do the things we personally love to do?

Over the years we have created little enticements. We turn pancakes into happy faces with blueberry eyes and banana smiles. We tell bedtime stories again and again until the words come automatically. We coerce and manipulate and bargain until we get our kids to do the very thing that we ourselves are dying to do. It has been this way for ages. I can't see it changing anytime soon.

Here's a perfectly wonderful little enticement to get your kids in the bath.

Catherine of Washable Art has been creating soap in her kitchen for some years now. This is what she says about her work:

My love of geometrical symmetry, natural asymmetry, color, and edible, delicious things is demonstrated in soap, and you'll find extreme care in the details. Many, if not most of the plant materials I use are grown locally, organically, and sustainably; you'll find natural pigments and dyes, fair-trade ingredients (when they can't be had out of my own garden), and recycled material packaging whenever practical. I love what I do, I know you will, too, and I look forward to sending something wonderful to you!

I highly recommend stopping by Catherine's shop. Her soaps make really great stocking stuffers and they are all reasonably priced. Her shipping costs are very low for both domestic and international.

Catherine has donated a set of her Bathtub Architect soaps for today's giveaway. She sent along an extra set for the boy and I can't wait to put them in his Christmas stocking!

If you would like to enter the drawing, just leave a comment! International readers are always welcome to enter a Suaviloquy giveaway.

in this little house

This modest little home has a great legacy. In 1957, a woman named Naomi Randall was raising her family here. My grandmother and Naomi were both serving on the General Board of the Primary Association in the LDS church. The board asked Naomi to compose a song for the Primary General Conference, and after praying for help to accomplish this task, Naomi awoke in the middle of the night and wrote the words to "I am a Child of God".

This little house sits just up the street and around the corner from my parent's home. Thom and I leave to go home tomorrow and although I am really itching to get back to my work bench and garden, and I am really missing Sugar Daddy, I am always a little sad to leave my home town. I have so much history here. My ancestors were some of the founding families. I am quite sure that "I am a Child of God" was one of the first songs I ever learned.

I Am a Child of God
I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.

Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.

I am a child of God,
And so my needs are great;
Help me to understand his words
Before it grows too late.
I am a child of God.
Rich blessings are in store;
If I but learn to do his will
I'll live with him once more.

I am a child of God.
His promises are sure;
Celestial glory shall be mine
If I can but endure.

FYI: "I am a Child of God" has since been translated into over 90 languages. It is one of the 45 hymns that the church publishes in its basic curriculum sources that are used in areas of the world where the church is new or underdeveloped. Thus, it is typically one of the first hymns that new Latter-Day Saints receive and learn.

and so it begins

Some years ago, before the rodent came along, I worked in a bookstore. At the time, it was my fantasy job. I had worked in the dental field (a.k.a. the depths of hell) while Ben was in school. It paid well, but left me with a deep wrinkle between my eyebrows and the bad habit of judging people by the state of their teeth. So when Ben FINALLY graduated, I got a job at a little independently owned bookstore.

It was a lovely little shop with dark wood and a fireplace. We were allowed to take home any book we liked and read it, as long as it came back in mint condition. I read like a mad women during those years.

When I read Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, I distinctly remember thinking, I really wish I had a group of good friends like that. The kind that you can poor out your sorrows to over a Diet Coke. The kind of friends you see so often, they notice if your blouse is new or you changed your eyeshadow. The Ya Ya's spent long summer days at the beach. Their children played and they chatted. In essence, their families grew up together. It's a good book, pick it up.

Funny thing, my life is turning out a little like the Ya Ya's. I have a great group of friends who I see all the time. Our children have formed their own gang with a structure of command so complex, it rivals Microsoft. Now that Summer vacation is in full swing, we go to the beach every Thursday, and some Mondays. We sit, we eat, we complain, we compare, we honestly tell each other that, yes, that makes you look fat, give it away. We are growing up together.

If you live in the area, and feel so inclined, stop by some Thursday. Grab a Diet Coke, slather the kids with SPF, sit back and tell us your woes. We are always interested in fresh problems to mule over.

holy smokes

We had a bit of a cultural experience last Sunday. My friend Rosa Rameriz invited us to her nephew's baptism. I had only ever been to a Catholic mass once before at Christmas time so I didn't really know what to expect. The sermon was in Spanish and it was standing room only. The chapel was warmed by all the bodies and smelled of incense. I had no idea what was going on most of the time. There were about six babies to be baptized. They all wore extravagant white outfits and the parents carried ornate candles and shells. Afterwards, we went to the party held in the baby's behalf. There were blue and white balloons, mariachi music and a massive cake. We had tacos and orange soda.




All day, we were the only Caucasian people around. Both Ben and I felt a little self conscious. At 6'5", Ben was substantially taller than any other person and I was taller than a lot of the men. Every where I looked, people were staring and I felt like an interloper. But the amazing thing was, we were treated like movie stars. At the party, people were warm and welcoming. They served us first and constantly checked to see if we needed anything. They even insisted we pose in their family photos!




And how does my son repay this kindness?




The party was held on a patio which overlooked a steep wooded embankment. Thom instantly made best friends, as he is so inclined to do where ever we go. The kids were playing cars when Thom spotted a pack of cigarettes. He instantly snatched them up, screamed "AHHHHHHH SMOKES!" and chucked them, grenade style, over the fence and down into the embankment. Like idiots, Ben and I both rushed over to see if we could somehow retrieve the package thirty feet down and semi hidden in shrubbery.




Now, I know we have been teaching him smoking is bad for your body and we don't smoke in our family. I'm not retracting that. But I also know that a pack of cigarettes isn't cheap. I was ready to reimburse whomever need be. No one ever claimed ownership and the incident was glossed over by our super nice hosts.




But here's what's been bothering me: Where in the world did my son learn to call cigarettes "smokes" like some kind of hardened criminal?




Here's the little rodent modeling my latest embroidery project. As you can tell, he is thrilled to have his picture taken.

Sugar Daddy thinks I am crazy for spending so much time on a T-shirt for our grubby son. Now that it's finished, I think he might be right.

34

Today is my birthday. I really don't feel 34, more like 27 or 26. Thirty years ago and thousands of miles away I posed for this photo in my backyard. My father had just started to dabble in photography and his two daughters, Irish twins at only eleven months apart, were one of his favorite subjects. I'm the one on the right with lighter hair and an impish grin.

I had a magical childhood that I can only hope to recreate for my own children. It's a work in progress.

I have glimpses of magic in the quiet moments with Thomas. Today, as I sat working on a pair of earrings, we had a long discussion/debate on how pill bugs sleep. These are the things that are important to a four-year-old.

I wonder as I look at this photo what was important to me then? Thirty years later, I'm sure the things I value have changed, but it is still the small minutiae of life.

These are a few of my favorite things:

The sound of Thomas laughing

The sun on my bare shoulders and a cold drink in my hand

Getting under fresh clean sheets

M&M's first thing in the morning

Rocking a baby to sleep

Eating Sushi with my husband

Long runs on sunny days

Shopping with my sisters

A streak free kitchen sink

Laying under a Christmas tree

A really good flee market

A secret stash of gummy bears

Picking out plants for our yard

Watching Finn yawn and stretch in the morning

Guffawing with my girlfriends

Fireworks on the beach

Redbull

Except for a small episode this morning that involved laying on the bed to get my jeans buttoned with the peanut gallery (namely one small boy and his dog) cheering me on, this has been a good birthday. I finished these earrings, which I am rather proud of. I think they are romantic.

My Blue Heaven Earrings

Treasures

Today I cleaned out my son's nightstand drawer. He says it is his "safe keepin'" place, where people can't get it. What people he is concerned about we're not quite sure. Amongst numerous candy and bubble gum wrappers (household contraband) this is what I found:

One Spiderman valentine from Grandma and Grandpa

One small tub Winnie the Pooh lip balm

Four unsharpened pencils with various themes

One tongue depressor with magnets glue on the end

One sea shell

One SpongeBob plastic wallet

One half painted wooden rocket

One plastic pizza box holder upper

One Chucky Cheese token

The token is an enigma. We have only been to Chucky Cheese once, when he was like two or something.

I also found this set of drawings that I thought very curious. I wonder if he was experimenting with facial expressions or could this be his first attempt at journaling?