the perfect storm

In my former life I read books. 

I read book after book, practically inhaling each page. Over time the stories have come together, sometimes overlapping, pieced together in my memory to form a haphazard version of a literary quilt. 

Looking back, I can see that there was a franticness about the way I read. As if I subconsciously knew what was to come.

What came were babies.  Two babies. Ten months apart.  A virtual whirlwind of diapers and formula and onesies and bottles.  This storm I live in is beautiful. Somedays I marvel at it's magnitude. Somedays I cower. 

I find, lately,  that my literary quilt is getting holes.  Parts of stories are gone. Names of characters and dates and places are eroding.

I think it is time to patch things up. I think I will pick up a book.

I should have done it sooner. The best way to weather a storm is with a good book and a comfy quilt.

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.

more fun with dick and jane

My great-grandfather was a elementary school principal. My father happened to go to the school that he resided over. The same school, incidentally, that I went to some thirty years later. The school itself was built around the turn of the century. It had ornate brass hardware and black and pink penny tiles in the girls bathroom. They tore down my school last year to make way for a new fandangled building which will have automated sinks instead of the charming little asterisk knobs for cold and hot water. I am bothered by the fact that the town I grew up in has so little respect for historic buildings.

And I can guarantee they aren't using Dick and Jane readers anymore. They probably threw those out like so much trash. Little did they know their worth. A vintage Dick and Jane reader sells for hundreds of dollars now. The same readers that I learned to read with. The same readers that I wrote little hearts on and doodled my name.

Most people that learned to read with Dick and Jane are my parents age. But my little town didn't more out of the fifties until the early nineties. And so I have a soft spot in my heart for Dick and Jane and Sally and Spot and what was the cat's name? Fluffy? No Puff.

I started a little project yesterday and I'm almost finished.

I pieced the top and I'm crocheting around the edge. My scallop edge isn't as "scallopy" as I'd like but it'll do.

It's not as girly as the other things I've been making for our baby, but it will match our new stroller that Ben ordered. It came this morning and I was able to assemble it even with my melon brain.

I was so proud of myself I took myself out for sushi.