The girls learned to fly their first kite, from Kitty Hawk Kites, which is the way to do it. We're finding that Indiana wind isn't the same as Outer Banks wind, unfortunately. But we have a beautiful kite covered in horses should the Hoosier breezes pick up speed!
We finally made it! A lovely family vacation at the Indiana Oceanside. OK, you caught me. Indiana doesn’t have an ocean, unless you are referring to an ocean of CORN.
My family vacations as a child often took place in the Outer Banks of North Carolina and I’m very happy that Greg’s parents invited us to join them in Hatteras this year. Skin cancer does change how I go about “beaching”, and in all of life, there are kinks, but a change of scenery is good for the spirit. So posting will be light without my Mac and massive iPhoto files this week. I have shells to collect and 5 birthday candles to light for a little angel who surprises me daily with her insight and wit.
Wishing for all of you a wonderful end of the summer adventure too.
There is that occasional summer that is so unexpected. So memorable in its endless list of random, small, wonderfully inconsequential days. It goes on for a lifetime, filled with hours spent in the water, in the berry patch, covered in ice cream…there has been no 1 single thing that has made this summer remarkable. In fact, it started out quite differently. And quietly, without Type A interventions from me, it evolved into the perfect summer. I love being pleasantly surprised by life. I wish these carefree days of this and that and nothing at all could go on and on, but I suppose it’s the ephemeral nature of summer that makes it so special. Soon we will wish for days filled with industrious endeavors. But not today, not yet. I know it’s terribly greedy of me to ask, but I wish for just a bit more…
I LOVE Ponchos on little girls. Who doesn’t love Red Riding Hood? I made ponchos just like these for my girls a couple of years ago, and then I made another last year for a little girl turning 1. And then 3 more this summer for 3 little girls turning 1. It hit me as I made this summer’s batch that I never listen to music or TV when I make these, which is odd because I ALWAYS watch movies upstairs while I sew. The puppet theater? It’s the “He’s Just Not That Into You” theater. Every single thing for the Butterfly Party? Could very well be called the “You’ve Got Mail” party. I watch the same movie over and over through a project…don’t ask me why…it’s my process.
But not for the ponchos…no noise allowed while I make the ponchos. It hit me this summer that I have always silently prayed for the receiver while making them. So this time around, I did so intentionally, and therefore, I started calling these “The Prayer Ponchos”. It felt very renewing to make them this way, and to think about a healthy and adventuresome life for such sweet little children. It was freeing. I didn’t spend time worrying and fretting for them. I felt bold about their futures. Confident. Hopeful. For a person who spends a great deal of the day worrying, praying felt mighty good.
What I really love about this year’s ponchos was my ability to finally repeat myself. You’re actually viewing 3 different ponchos in these pictures, 2 paired in each picture. Even I can’t tell them apart. I’ve never had the skill to copy my work, so these easy-to-make fleece jackets represent a big growth step for me. I feel like I’m really sewing now. Now if I could just get the guts to make something NEW!
As many of you know, I introduce music to the girls via “genre”, or sometimes, “instrument”, and occasionally by “what the heck was I thinking when I played Vanilla Ice?” The girls seem to have a natural sense for how long they wish to listen to any particular type of music. I thought Hawaiian might last until college. They couldn’t run from Bluegrass fast enough.
I have enjoyed our Rock n Roll Summer, but I’m currently on Tom Petty/MJ/Queen overload. I casually introduced “Cats” a few weeks ago, almost surreptitiously, HEY, like a CAT. They didn’t really get the concept at first, and then I showed them the Mr. Mistoffelees scene via YouTube. Actually, the whole idea probably spawned from Sara asking why I keep calling Max by that name. He’s an escape artist of the most cunning kind. And the girls were HOOKED.
A picture of Sara holding her cat while watching “Cats”
Now we listen to the soundtrack almost every day, while the girls prance about singing mish-mashed chopped up random verses, which brings me endless delight. I’m not a huge fan of “Cats” to be honest, but I just don’t think they’re ready for “Evita”, and they’ve begged me to stop playing “Little Shop of Horrors” in the car. “Cats” seemed like a middle ground.
Max is less than pleased, listening to these humans sing about his esteemed species, and off key at that! He’s just tolerating us until it’s his turn to go to the Heaviside Layer. I’m posting a video so you can see what kind of torture he must endure.
If I’ve answered this question once this summer, I’ve answered it 100x: yes, it was Kelly’s choice to wear that sweater. Kelly wears button up sweaters…everywhere and at all times (she won’t wear pull overs…again, I have no answer). Our AC isn’t working very well right now, and she still sleeps upstairs, in winter pj’s, under covers, with slippers on. She was born this way, that’s all I can say. I don’t argue with her, although I do think I’m the only Mother in America drip drying sweaters on a day with a 115 degree heat index.
Last week Kelly realized that her American Girl Doll, Kaya, did not come with socks. I tried to explain to her that the buckskin moccasins keep Kaya’s feet more than warm, and HEY LOOK, she’s dressed in ALL LEATHER…how on earth could she be cold? But it was to no avail; Kelly was immovable from the “Kaya is freezing to death” emergency. I left for my college roommate reunion in the midst of her breakdown, and I returned home to view Daddy’s solution. Apparently, after Daddy helped Kelly put her own socks on Kaya, everyone was happy.
A huge thanks to Uncle Rex and Aunt Mary who gave Kelly a lovely array of button up sweaters for her birthday. As she opened each one, she ran it upstairs, and laid it out perfectly wrinkle free on her bed. She told everyone she just wanted to “wook at dem”. She sat on the end of bed, gazing over her birthday bounty with a look a dreamy satisfaction.
It’s supposed to be in the 90′s today. It’s going to be hot, so bundle up everyone and stay warm.
Greg and I were having a short chit chat last night about the whole Wikileaks hub bub, and yes, we both feel that people who leak Top Secret documents are guilty of treason. I’ll have outlive my own life expectancy to find out what Greg did in the Air Force (I think his job description becomes unclassified near my 88th birthday). You don’t hear us gabbing over a glass of wine about his old job…BECAUSE WE DON’T. I don’t care if the documents do contain the menu served at the Prime Minister’s last visit; an oath is an oath. Anyone who doesn’t take the protection of my country seriously will never get invited over for pie at my house, and SERIOUSLY, I make DELICIOUS PIE.
Whew, enough of that serious stuff. So, as is one of my hobbies, I like to invent ways to sniff out a Communist/Terrorist/Otherwise Ne’er Do Well using simple, home grown techniques. My newest? The Jam Overdose Test. You’re now viewing my 3rd batch of summer jam: Bumbleberry. This is a mixture of my neighbor’s black raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries. I didn’t have enough of any to make a batch, so I got daring and threw them all together. I can’t wait to taste it.
Here’s my thought: give those in question A LOT of jam. If they say, “Oh no, I’ve had enough”, or “I could never eat this much jam”, they are SUSPECT. He/She is a bad apple. You might be able to sentence off this incriminating evidence alone. How do I know? Because no self-respecting American would ever utter the phrase, “too much jam”. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH JAM.
The only other nation who might be impervious to this test are the French. They also like jam, and I can’t slam it folks. I’ve been to France more than once, and apricot preserves on a croissant just about makes my day. BUT, as we well know, we need not worry about the French. They can’t even win a war with themselves….SO, we let the French go with a nice jar of blueberry jam and our apologies.
God Bless America. And Jam. You would see a batch of red raspberries next, but the girls and I picked and ate them all. Oh heavens to Betsy Ross they were good this year.
If you’d like to know how a kid as funny and joyful as Kelly might have spent her 3rd birthday, I have (yet another) photo essay. Warning, reading this post in and of itself might wear you out, so make sure you’ve had a good night’s sleep prior to viewing… [Read more →]
Do you sometimes wonder if I have friends as wacky-crafty as I am? Oh yes, yes I do; my best friend, in fact. Amie is a woman who knows how to take a good theme and take it to the next level. If you want to see an enchanting and one-of-a-kind party, join me on tonight’s photo journey. [Read more →]
Our littlest butterfly is refusing to stay little. Monday she turned 3, but she spent the day telling me she was 5. She was extraordinarily cute at 2, and while I’m sure 3 will be just fine, I’m going to be happy for now that this tiny spitfire didn’t turn 13. Yet.
