Saturday, April 29, 2006
Celebrity Hairstylist He's Not
If my daughter hadn't ruined the media card in my digital camera I could show you the picture. But she did, so I can't. And it's oh-so-worth seeing! You see, yesterday Nicholas - the budding young hairstylist he fancies himself becoming - took it upon himself to give Lauren a haircut. With child safety scissors. Let's just say he needs more training in the art of hairstyling and/or better tools.
I had put Lauren's hair into darling pigtails yesterday. She looked very, very cute at the start of the day. So later when I noticed that one pigtail was now shorter than the other one, I suspected foul play. Further investigation revealed that not only had Nicholas worked his unique safety scissor magic on one of her pigtails, he'd done some serious work on her bangs, too. Her bangs, people! A place you simply cannot hide damage completely.
I took out her pigtails to inspect the aftermath of Project Haircut and chunks of long, full-length hair were falling off Lauren's head. I nearly cried. I had to trim her hair all the way around and had to take off about 1.5 inches of length to even it back out. To make the pigtails the same length again. And then the bangs. Oh, those sad, sorry bangs. Nicholas cut a section, right in the middle, much much shorter than bangs should ever be. All jagged and choppy. I mean, how precise can you be when you're working with child safety scissors?? But the piece du resistance is the section of hair - opposite her natural part - where he just cut a chunk off at the root. THE ROOT! Do you know how long it's going to take to grow back?? Granted, it's bangs so they're shorter than the rest of her hair, but we're talking months of painful (visually speaking) grow-back. Months of it looking strange and wonky. Sure, Lauren doesn't seem to care, but I DO. Can you picture this? An uber-short middle section with longer bangs flanking it (I did my best to try to blend this all together, but you just can't make it even all the way. You just can't), and an area off to the side where there is now a small bald spot. Pretty!
I knew this would happen someday. I did. It always makes me chuckle when I'd hear stories (or see evidence) of a child doing this. It's inevitable, right? I remember getting so frustrated with my bangs - a small section of bangs off to the side - one morning before school that I did what Nicholas did to Lauren: cut it off at the root. Simply eliminated the problem. Period end of sentance. And my bangs did look better.... for that day. But I'm not quite ready to laugh about this episode - yet. I'll get there. It's just that we're having our big housewarming BBQ this afternoon - 30+ people - and I was hoping that the kids would look nice for the event (some of our friends haven't seen the kids in a long, long time). And with her new 'do Lauren isn't quite at the height of her cuteness factor anymore. She looks like a chubby little rascal (super-short bangs have a way of making an already round baby face even more round and chubby looking). She looks funny-cute, not classic cute.
Oh well, it'll make for a good story today and on into family lore.
I had put Lauren's hair into darling pigtails yesterday. She looked very, very cute at the start of the day. So later when I noticed that one pigtail was now shorter than the other one, I suspected foul play. Further investigation revealed that not only had Nicholas worked his unique safety scissor magic on one of her pigtails, he'd done some serious work on her bangs, too. Her bangs, people! A place you simply cannot hide damage completely.
I took out her pigtails to inspect the aftermath of Project Haircut and chunks of long, full-length hair were falling off Lauren's head. I nearly cried. I had to trim her hair all the way around and had to take off about 1.5 inches of length to even it back out. To make the pigtails the same length again. And then the bangs. Oh, those sad, sorry bangs. Nicholas cut a section, right in the middle, much much shorter than bangs should ever be. All jagged and choppy. I mean, how precise can you be when you're working with child safety scissors?? But the piece du resistance is the section of hair - opposite her natural part - where he just cut a chunk off at the root. THE ROOT! Do you know how long it's going to take to grow back?? Granted, it's bangs so they're shorter than the rest of her hair, but we're talking months of painful (visually speaking) grow-back. Months of it looking strange and wonky. Sure, Lauren doesn't seem to care, but I DO. Can you picture this? An uber-short middle section with longer bangs flanking it (I did my best to try to blend this all together, but you just can't make it even all the way. You just can't), and an area off to the side where there is now a small bald spot. Pretty!
I knew this would happen someday. I did. It always makes me chuckle when I'd hear stories (or see evidence) of a child doing this. It's inevitable, right? I remember getting so frustrated with my bangs - a small section of bangs off to the side - one morning before school that I did what Nicholas did to Lauren: cut it off at the root. Simply eliminated the problem. Period end of sentance. And my bangs did look better.... for that day. But I'm not quite ready to laugh about this episode - yet. I'll get there. It's just that we're having our big housewarming BBQ this afternoon - 30+ people - and I was hoping that the kids would look nice for the event (some of our friends haven't seen the kids in a long, long time). And with her new 'do Lauren isn't quite at the height of her cuteness factor anymore. She looks like a chubby little rascal (super-short bangs have a way of making an already round baby face even more round and chubby looking). She looks funny-cute, not classic cute.
Oh well, it'll make for a good story today and on into family lore.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Twitterpated
My kids LOVE the movie Bambi. Love it love it love it. Not even the part where Bambi's mother gets shot by Man freaks them out or scares them in any way. They know that The Great Prince Of The Forest (aka Bambi's dad) will protect him from then on, so no worries.
Remember that part in the movie when the spring comes? After the funny scenes of Bambi trying to walk on the frozen pond? When Friend Owl gets all annoyed because all the birds are chirping and singing and he says, all exasperated, "it's the same thing every spring!"
"What is?" asks naive and bewildered Thumper and Bambi
"Everyone gets all twitterpated! It will happen to you, too." says a knowing Friend Owl
Nicholas really likes that part. The twitterpated part. When we ask him if he's twitterpated, he says emphatically "No! Not until I'm a grown-up!"
Then last night, when I was tucking him into bed, he tells me, "Mama? I'm twitterpated about you."
:: insert goofy grin and melting heart here. I'm twitterpated about you, too, Nicholas ::
Remember that part in the movie when the spring comes? After the funny scenes of Bambi trying to walk on the frozen pond? When Friend Owl gets all annoyed because all the birds are chirping and singing and he says, all exasperated, "it's the same thing every spring!"
"What is?" asks naive and bewildered Thumper and Bambi
"Everyone gets all twitterpated! It will happen to you, too." says a knowing Friend Owl
Nicholas really likes that part. The twitterpated part. When we ask him if he's twitterpated, he says emphatically "No! Not until I'm a grown-up!"
Then last night, when I was tucking him into bed, he tells me, "Mama? I'm twitterpated about you."
:: insert goofy grin and melting heart here. I'm twitterpated about you, too, Nicholas ::
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Slipcovering, or How To Make Your Parents Old Furniture New Again
After a 4 year hiatus, I'm just about finished making slipcovers for the couch and loveseat I "inherited" from my parents. For my entire childhood my parents had these couches in their living room. We nicknamed them "The Bird Couches" because of the fabric they were upholstered in: pheasants. Birds neatly centered on every.single.cushion. They looked good for, like, 5 minutes. And then they were fodder for much teasing. Which we did. Endlessly. I was probably the worst at making fun of The Bird Couches.
And now they're mine.
The Birds have come to roost in my house.
My parents decided, at long last, to get new living room furniture a few years ago. The Birds were out. I eagerly told my parents that I'd take The Birds. Shock ensued - MP wants The Birds?? No way! And yet, I did. I'm no fool. I know those couches, while ugly as sin, were built well and had lots of life left in them. Quality and clean lines never go out of style. AND, I was completely without furniture for my living room. So, The Birds ended up with me. And I immediately set out to find new fabric with which to recover them.
Mr. Chick told me I could spend no more than $300 on fabric, which might seem like a lot, but it's not. Have you priced upholstery fabric lately?? Ridiculously expensive. I might have been able to cover the love seat for $300, but that was it. Thank goodness for my mother, the gifted and experienced seamstress. She was with me to shop for fabric, and remembered that tablecloth linen was sold in the same large dimensions as upholstery fabric, only cheaper. And I needed cheaper or I'd have to live with The Birds, and that simply could not happen. I'd never live it down. So I went with a tablecloth linen that is sort of a tone-on-tone (cream) damask pattern. Formal, but neutral. Something I could work with and build on. And I could get enough yardage to cover both the couch and loveseat. Sold!
My mother showed me how to make cording/piping for the edges of the cushions. We carefully laid out the fabric and selected the pattern to center on each cushion. We salvaged the zippers from the existing Bird fabric on each cushion to use with the new covers. We made 10 cushions (4 for the loveseat, 6 for the couch). We weren't able to make the covers for the side pillows, or start covering the frame of each sofa before Mr. Chick and I moved for law school. We were moving into a much smaller house and didn't have room for The Birds, so The Birds went into deep, dark storage in my sisters basement. They sat, neglected and only half finished, for 4 years. My sister even had to move them once when she sold her house and bought another. I told her she was welcome to use The Birds, but she scoffed at such an idea. The Birds? No way - they're too ugly. Well, the joke is on her and everyone else who made fun of me for taking them. With my mothers help, we've just about finished making the slipcovers for the frames, and you wouldn't even recognize The Birds anymore they look so good.
"The Birds" final roost. I have yet to cover the side pillows, so this is the final look at the original Bird fabric that once graced EVERY POSSIBLE SURFACE OF THESE COUCHES FOR OVER 2 DECADES. Picture that bad boy centered on each and every cushion. You would make fun of the furniture, too, wouldn't you?? But can you see the new fabric that's now covering the cushions? How perfectly the two cushions line up with the pattern?? My mom is GOOD.
slipcovering in process. It's not complicated to make a slipcover, but it's very, very, VERY tedious and time consuming to line it all up just right, pin it, sew it, make adjustments, etc.
The couch - almost finished! Just needs the skirt at the bottom and it's done. Not bad, eh? That's no sloppy slipcover, my friends. That's professional-quality work. No way could I have ever afforded to pay someone to do that. It fits like a glove.
The loveseat nears completion. Like the sofa, it just needs the skirt at the bottom and that's it! As an added bonus, The Birds make excellent napping couches. So soft and broken-in just right.
In fact, I think I'll go cuddle up for a quick nap right now!
And now they're mine.
The Birds have come to roost in my house.
My parents decided, at long last, to get new living room furniture a few years ago. The Birds were out. I eagerly told my parents that I'd take The Birds. Shock ensued - MP wants The Birds?? No way! And yet, I did. I'm no fool. I know those couches, while ugly as sin, were built well and had lots of life left in them. Quality and clean lines never go out of style. AND, I was completely without furniture for my living room. So, The Birds ended up with me. And I immediately set out to find new fabric with which to recover them.
Mr. Chick told me I could spend no more than $300 on fabric, which might seem like a lot, but it's not. Have you priced upholstery fabric lately?? Ridiculously expensive. I might have been able to cover the love seat for $300, but that was it. Thank goodness for my mother, the gifted and experienced seamstress. She was with me to shop for fabric, and remembered that tablecloth linen was sold in the same large dimensions as upholstery fabric, only cheaper. And I needed cheaper or I'd have to live with The Birds, and that simply could not happen. I'd never live it down. So I went with a tablecloth linen that is sort of a tone-on-tone (cream) damask pattern. Formal, but neutral. Something I could work with and build on. And I could get enough yardage to cover both the couch and loveseat. Sold!
My mother showed me how to make cording/piping for the edges of the cushions. We carefully laid out the fabric and selected the pattern to center on each cushion. We salvaged the zippers from the existing Bird fabric on each cushion to use with the new covers. We made 10 cushions (4 for the loveseat, 6 for the couch). We weren't able to make the covers for the side pillows, or start covering the frame of each sofa before Mr. Chick and I moved for law school. We were moving into a much smaller house and didn't have room for The Birds, so The Birds went into deep, dark storage in my sisters basement. They sat, neglected and only half finished, for 4 years. My sister even had to move them once when she sold her house and bought another. I told her she was welcome to use The Birds, but she scoffed at such an idea. The Birds? No way - they're too ugly. Well, the joke is on her and everyone else who made fun of me for taking them. With my mothers help, we've just about finished making the slipcovers for the frames, and you wouldn't even recognize The Birds anymore they look so good.
"The Birds" final roost. I have yet to cover the side pillows, so this is the final look at the original Bird fabric that once graced EVERY POSSIBLE SURFACE OF THESE COUCHES FOR OVER 2 DECADES. Picture that bad boy centered on each and every cushion. You would make fun of the furniture, too, wouldn't you?? But can you see the new fabric that's now covering the cushions? How perfectly the two cushions line up with the pattern?? My mom is GOOD.
slipcovering in process. It's not complicated to make a slipcover, but it's very, very, VERY tedious and time consuming to line it all up just right, pin it, sew it, make adjustments, etc.
The couch - almost finished! Just needs the skirt at the bottom and it's done. Not bad, eh? That's no sloppy slipcover, my friends. That's professional-quality work. No way could I have ever afforded to pay someone to do that. It fits like a glove.
The loveseat nears completion. Like the sofa, it just needs the skirt at the bottom and that's it! As an added bonus, The Birds make excellent napping couches. So soft and broken-in just right.
In fact, I think I'll go cuddle up for a quick nap right now!
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Why I Should Stick To Store-Bought
So last night was Girl's Night. My first one since moving back. My girlfriends and I started getting together every month for a regular "Wine & Dessert" night to counter-balance our husband's poker night. They were never on the same night, but whatever. We would rotate who would host, and the host provided the dessert and a bottle of wine, and everyone else sort of brought additional wine and/or sometimes snacks. There is a core group of us, but many times a new "girlfriend" would be invited to attend. Our group has grown over the years.
Now, Girl's Night has evolved, somehow, into dinner. And some of my friends are truly excellent in the kitchen. Gifted ladies. It still follows a semi-potluck format, and still includes yummy desserts and lots of wine, but now it's also a main course. And sides. And hors d'oeuvres. Which is really fun, actually, and everyone seems to enjoy our own evolution. Last night my friend C hosted - she was making beef tenderloin and has a dining room that can seat 14. I, on the other hand, can seat 4. 4! I covet C's dining room. I volunteered to bring a mushroom risotto for which I have an excellent, easy recipe using the slow cooker crock pot. Her beef tenderloin was to be topped with sauteed mushrooms, so our coordination was perfectly in sync.
Thank God for the Cosmopolitans and the platters full of snacks is all I can say.
I botched the risotto, damnit. Really mucked it up good.
I'm not a horrible cook, but I'm not a fantastic one, either. I fall somewhere in the middle. I do OK. It's rare you can't eat something I've prepared because it's so awful. I'm comfortable with spices and various cooking techniques, and I'm not afraid to try something new (hence the risotto - it was a first try effort). But I'm not "inspired" in the culinary arts. It doesn't always come naturally to me. I can't completely wing it, and must rely on the tried and true guarantee of a step-by-step recipe.
Which even that I can't always do well because the risotto recipe couldn't have been easier and I still managed to screw it up.
I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong - the risotto was a bit too al dente and getting dry in a hurry. But it smelled wonderful and didn't taste bad. Just pasty/dry when it should have been creamy. It bugged. Upon returning home last night (after 5? 6? drinks - couldn't count because girlfriend "Fun J" was in the house and never let your glass become empty. EVER.) I double-checked the recipe. Seems I mis-read the amount of aborio rice required and doubled it by mistake. Oops. No wonder it was thick and dry and pasty.
Doh!
Next time, I think I'll stick to the veggie tray and call it good. Clearly it's safer to have me bring something store bought vs. cook. Live and learn.
Now, Girl's Night has evolved, somehow, into dinner. And some of my friends are truly excellent in the kitchen. Gifted ladies. It still follows a semi-potluck format, and still includes yummy desserts and lots of wine, but now it's also a main course. And sides. And hors d'oeuvres. Which is really fun, actually, and everyone seems to enjoy our own evolution. Last night my friend C hosted - she was making beef tenderloin and has a dining room that can seat 14. I, on the other hand, can seat 4. 4! I covet C's dining room. I volunteered to bring a mushroom risotto for which I have an excellent, easy recipe using the slow cooker crock pot. Her beef tenderloin was to be topped with sauteed mushrooms, so our coordination was perfectly in sync.
Thank God for the Cosmopolitans and the platters full of snacks is all I can say.
I botched the risotto, damnit. Really mucked it up good.
I'm not a horrible cook, but I'm not a fantastic one, either. I fall somewhere in the middle. I do OK. It's rare you can't eat something I've prepared because it's so awful. I'm comfortable with spices and various cooking techniques, and I'm not afraid to try something new (hence the risotto - it was a first try effort). But I'm not "inspired" in the culinary arts. It doesn't always come naturally to me. I can't completely wing it, and must rely on the tried and true guarantee of a step-by-step recipe.
Which even that I can't always do well because the risotto recipe couldn't have been easier and I still managed to screw it up.
I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong - the risotto was a bit too al dente and getting dry in a hurry. But it smelled wonderful and didn't taste bad. Just pasty/dry when it should have been creamy. It bugged. Upon returning home last night (after 5? 6? drinks - couldn't count because girlfriend "Fun J" was in the house and never let your glass become empty. EVER.) I double-checked the recipe. Seems I mis-read the amount of aborio rice required and doubled it by mistake. Oops. No wonder it was thick and dry and pasty.
Doh!
Next time, I think I'll stick to the veggie tray and call it good. Clearly it's safer to have me bring something store bought vs. cook. Live and learn.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Countdown To Dessert
Like most parents, we require our kids to eat a certain amount of their dinners before we agree to let them have any dessert. It's sort of twisted, really, when you think about it. Tonight, I made a simple dinner of kielbasa, steamed broccoli, and mushroom risotto. Dessert, should you "earn" it, is mint chocolate ice cream.
Here Nicholas is counting down how many kielbasa bites he has left before he can have any dessert, and he's expressing his opinion of all the little hoops we make him go through before he can have any of the good stuff. Yes, that's my son. I'm very, very proud.
Here Nicholas is counting down how many kielbasa bites he has left before he can have any dessert, and he's expressing his opinion of all the little hoops we make him go through before he can have any of the good stuff. Yes, that's my son. I'm very, very proud.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Picking My Battles
I'm happy - no, thrilled - to report that Lauren has slept willingly and peacefully in her own bed ALL NIGHT LONG for the past 2 nights (and 1 nap). I'm not sure what's changed, what's prompted this fantabulous change other than me bitching about it here and determining that it must stop. The first night I decided to take my sisters advice and leave the table lamp on all night. I had been turning it off when we went to bed. She stayed sleeping in her bed the entire night. But last night, sort of as an experiment, I didn't leave the light on (other than the little night-light). The kids both skipped naps yesterday, so it was an early bedtime for both of them, and it was still pretty light outside. We don't have any light-blocking shades yet in Lauren's room, so there was plenty of ambient light at bedtime. She didn't insist on her table lamp being turned on as a result, so I didn't offer. Instead, her room naturally dimmed as she slumbered, and she remained asleep and in her bed all night. I went for a run this morning and when I got back home I glanced up at her window and there she was, all smiles and waving to me. 11 solid hours - I'll take it.
Of course, just because Lauren is not on a hot streak where sleeping is concerned doesn't mean Mr. Chick and I are off the hook. Last night Nicholas decided he needed to sleep with us because of scary dreams involving "bad guys". Sigh. It's a rarity for him to climb into bed with us, and he's not nearly as stealth about it as his sister, but of course we allowed it. It won't be much longer before he's outgrown the need to be so close with us. But man - ! I thought Lauren was a physical sleeper?? No way - Nicholas is way worse. Probably just because he's bigger, but there was lots of kicking of legs, elbows to the boobs, head knocks in the battle for pillow share, and sudden blasts of cold air hitting me as he'd roll over and leave a big, open gap in the covers. Add to that the occasional snore from Mr. Chick who is suddenly out of range for the gentle nudge to roll over, all thanks to our gangly son taking up all the middle of the bed real estate and blocking for his daddy, and I got another terrible night of sleep. I'm hoping the adrenaline from my run gets me through the day. And lots of coffee.
So the sleep battle continues to rage over here, but it's improving. The battle that's just starting, however, will have a much, much longer life: the battle over what to wear. It started a couple of weeks ago, rather suddenly. With no warning, my previously docile girl-child who didn't care one iota what outfit I put on her, suddenly had some very strong opinions about which clothing items were put on her chubby little body. And there's been no looking back. Each morning I brace myself when it's time to get dressed. I've been doing all the things you're supposed to do: present 2-3 choices ONLY and allow the child to select one. Only Lauren will make her choice, quite definitively, only to completely lose it the second the item is on her body. It's exasperating, but not unexpected. All my friends who have older daughters have warned me that this day was coming.
Easter was a pinnacle. It's Easter, for crying out loud, and my children will be dressed nicely. No Blue's Clue's t-shirts, I don't care how hard you cry. I envisioned Lauren getting one last wearing of a sweet floral dress that she wore for Easter last year, Mr. Chick's graduation, my sister wedding, and one or two other special occasions. But sticking to the theory that she should have a hand in deciding what she's to wear, I offer her the choice of the floral dress (pick that! pick that! I was selling it HARD but she was not buying it. AT.ALL.) or a more casual navy corduroy jumper. Not my favorite for the occasion, but I'm all about compromise and I really wanted her to wear a dress, damnit. It was Easter. Lauren picked the jumper (of course), and selected a shirt to go underneath. I got her fully dressed and she flipped out. Sobbing and pulling at the jumper trying to take it off, like it was burning her flesh or something. So I pulled out the floral dress again and told her she either kept the jumper on, or wore the dress. Neither was acceptable to her. She pointed at the cardigan sweater. THAT was what she wanted to wear. Just that. She's sort of in a pants-less phase right now... I told her the cardigan went with the floral dress, and that just sent her hysterics into the stratosphere.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed her sheer pink ballerina skirt from the closet and asked if she would wear this. Through her choking sobs and snotty, running nose she nodded her ascent. Great - a silly ballet skirt and cardigan for Easter. How lovely. So I put on the sweater (which she insisted be buttoned up to the very top button) and some sheer tights and the ballet skirt. Her diaper was now in plain view for the whole wide world. NOT a pretty sight. To solve this, I put on some pink biker-style shorts under the skirt. Are you able to visualize the ensemble? Very 2-yr old. Very not me. But Lauren was finally satisfied and willing to go to Grandma's house. Fit over. Parents shaking their heads over the getup. It was quite the compromise - at least she was in a dress of some sort and not sweatpants, so victory for me, and she was wearing the sweater she insisted on wearing, so victory for her. But I think the general viewing public was the biggest loser having to see her parading around my parents yard for the Easter egg hunt looking like she did. Sigh.
So it's about time to go get the kids dressed for the day, and I wonder what today's choice outfit will be. I know in the grand scheme of things this is not a big deal. It's not worth forcing my choice of outfit on her if it causes this much distress. I must pick my battles wisely, and I'm not sure this battle would be a good one to engage in. It's just that this is my first go-around with the whole clothes thing. Nicholas has yet to care at all what he wears, and in fact still prefers me to choose his clothes for him. But I take pride in the appearance of my kids, and it kills me - KILLS ME - when Lauren chooses something so off-the-wall that I wonder if the child can really see colors and patterns like the rest of us. I know it's just her asserting her growing independence, but I also know that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of self-expression via fashion, and a lifetime of her pushing the envelope and me trying to set limits of what is allowable and appropriate and what isn't. I fear her teen years. For so many reasons.
But for now, this is a battle I'm choosing to sit out. I'm going to try to be a little zen about it and attempt to see the humor in her appearance and the endearing fashion choices she comes up with. Because only a kid can make pink sweats, her brothers blue shoes, and a red sweater look cute. Not so much a 15 year old.
Of course, just because Lauren is not on a hot streak where sleeping is concerned doesn't mean Mr. Chick and I are off the hook. Last night Nicholas decided he needed to sleep with us because of scary dreams involving "bad guys". Sigh. It's a rarity for him to climb into bed with us, and he's not nearly as stealth about it as his sister, but of course we allowed it. It won't be much longer before he's outgrown the need to be so close with us. But man - ! I thought Lauren was a physical sleeper?? No way - Nicholas is way worse. Probably just because he's bigger, but there was lots of kicking of legs, elbows to the boobs, head knocks in the battle for pillow share, and sudden blasts of cold air hitting me as he'd roll over and leave a big, open gap in the covers. Add to that the occasional snore from Mr. Chick who is suddenly out of range for the gentle nudge to roll over, all thanks to our gangly son taking up all the middle of the bed real estate and blocking for his daddy, and I got another terrible night of sleep. I'm hoping the adrenaline from my run gets me through the day. And lots of coffee.
So the sleep battle continues to rage over here, but it's improving. The battle that's just starting, however, will have a much, much longer life: the battle over what to wear. It started a couple of weeks ago, rather suddenly. With no warning, my previously docile girl-child who didn't care one iota what outfit I put on her, suddenly had some very strong opinions about which clothing items were put on her chubby little body. And there's been no looking back. Each morning I brace myself when it's time to get dressed. I've been doing all the things you're supposed to do: present 2-3 choices ONLY and allow the child to select one. Only Lauren will make her choice, quite definitively, only to completely lose it the second the item is on her body. It's exasperating, but not unexpected. All my friends who have older daughters have warned me that this day was coming.
Easter was a pinnacle. It's Easter, for crying out loud, and my children will be dressed nicely. No Blue's Clue's t-shirts, I don't care how hard you cry. I envisioned Lauren getting one last wearing of a sweet floral dress that she wore for Easter last year, Mr. Chick's graduation, my sister wedding, and one or two other special occasions. But sticking to the theory that she should have a hand in deciding what she's to wear, I offer her the choice of the floral dress (pick that! pick that! I was selling it HARD but she was not buying it. AT.ALL.) or a more casual navy corduroy jumper. Not my favorite for the occasion, but I'm all about compromise and I really wanted her to wear a dress, damnit. It was Easter. Lauren picked the jumper (of course), and selected a shirt to go underneath. I got her fully dressed and she flipped out. Sobbing and pulling at the jumper trying to take it off, like it was burning her flesh or something. So I pulled out the floral dress again and told her she either kept the jumper on, or wore the dress. Neither was acceptable to her. She pointed at the cardigan sweater. THAT was what she wanted to wear. Just that. She's sort of in a pants-less phase right now... I told her the cardigan went with the floral dress, and that just sent her hysterics into the stratosphere.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed her sheer pink ballerina skirt from the closet and asked if she would wear this. Through her choking sobs and snotty, running nose she nodded her ascent. Great - a silly ballet skirt and cardigan for Easter. How lovely. So I put on the sweater (which she insisted be buttoned up to the very top button) and some sheer tights and the ballet skirt. Her diaper was now in plain view for the whole wide world. NOT a pretty sight. To solve this, I put on some pink biker-style shorts under the skirt. Are you able to visualize the ensemble? Very 2-yr old. Very not me. But Lauren was finally satisfied and willing to go to Grandma's house. Fit over. Parents shaking their heads over the getup. It was quite the compromise - at least she was in a dress of some sort and not sweatpants, so victory for me, and she was wearing the sweater she insisted on wearing, so victory for her. But I think the general viewing public was the biggest loser having to see her parading around my parents yard for the Easter egg hunt looking like she did. Sigh.
So it's about time to go get the kids dressed for the day, and I wonder what today's choice outfit will be. I know in the grand scheme of things this is not a big deal. It's not worth forcing my choice of outfit on her if it causes this much distress. I must pick my battles wisely, and I'm not sure this battle would be a good one to engage in. It's just that this is my first go-around with the whole clothes thing. Nicholas has yet to care at all what he wears, and in fact still prefers me to choose his clothes for him. But I take pride in the appearance of my kids, and it kills me - KILLS ME - when Lauren chooses something so off-the-wall that I wonder if the child can really see colors and patterns like the rest of us. I know it's just her asserting her growing independence, but I also know that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of self-expression via fashion, and a lifetime of her pushing the envelope and me trying to set limits of what is allowable and appropriate and what isn't. I fear her teen years. For so many reasons.
But for now, this is a battle I'm choosing to sit out. I'm going to try to be a little zen about it and attempt to see the humor in her appearance and the endearing fashion choices she comes up with. Because only a kid can make pink sweats, her brothers blue shoes, and a red sweater look cute. Not so much a 15 year old.
Picking My Battles
I'm happy - no, thrilled - to report that Lauren has slept willingly and peacefully in her own bed ALL NIGHT LONG for the past 2 nights (and 1 nap). I'm not sure what's changed, what's prompted this fantabulous change other than me bitching about it here and determining that it must stop. The first night I decided to take my sisters advice and leave the table lamp on all night. I had been turning it off when we went to bed. She stayed sleeping in her bed the entire night. But last night, sort of as an experiment, I didn't leave the light on (other than the little night-light). The kids both skipped naps yesterday, so it was an early bedtime for both of them, and it was still pretty light outside. We don't have any light-blocking shades yet in Lauren's room, so there was plenty of ambient light at bedtime. She didn't insist on her table lamp being turned on as a result, so I didn't offer. Instead, her room naturally dimmed as she slumbered, and she remained asleep and in her bed all night. I went for a run this morning and when I got back home I glanced up at her window and there she was, all smiles and waving to me. 11 solid hours - I'll take it.
Of course, just because Lauren is not on a hot streak where sleeping is concerned doesn't mean Mr. Chick and I are off the hook. Last night Nicholas decided he needed to sleep with us because of scary dreams involving "bad guys". Sigh. It's a rarity for him to climb into bed with us, and he's not nearly as stealth about it as his sister, but of course we allowed it. It won't be much longer before he's outgrown the need to be so close with us. But man - ! I thought Lauren was a physical sleeper?? No way - Nicholas is way worse. Probably just because he's bigger, but there was lots of kicking of legs, elbows to the boobs, head knocks in the battle for pillow share, and sudden blasts of cold air hitting me as he'd roll over and leave a big, open gap in the covers. Add to that the occasional snore from Mr. Chick who is suddenly out of range for the gentle nudge to roll over, all thanks to our gangly son taking up all the middle of the bed real estate and blocking for his daddy, and I got another terrible night of sleep. I'm hoping the adrenaline from my run gets me through the day. And lots of coffee.
So the sleep battle continues to rage over here, but it's improving. The battle that's just starting, however, will have a much, much longer life: the battle over what to wear. It started a couple of weeks ago, rather suddenly. With no warning, my previously docile girl-child who didn't care one iota what outfit I put on her, suddenly had some very strong opinions about which clothing items were put on her chubby little body. And there's been no looking back. Each morning I brace myself when it's time to get dressed. I've been doing all the things you're supposed to do: present 2-3 choices ONLY and allow the child to select one. Only Lauren will make her choice, quite definitively, only to completely lose it the second the item is on her body. It's exasperating, but not unexpected. All my friends who have older daughters have warned me that this day was coming.
Easter was a pinnacle. It's Easter, for crying out loud, and my children will be dressed nicely. No Blue's Clue's t-shirts, I don't care how hard you cry. I envisioned Lauren getting one last wearing of a sweet floral dress that she wore for Easter last year, Mr. Chick's graduation, my sister wedding, and one or two other special occasions. But sticking to the theory that she should have a hand in deciding what she's to wear, I offer her the choice of the floral dress (pick that! pick that! I was selling it HARD but she was not buying it. AT.ALL.) or a more casual navy corduroy jumper. Not my favorite for the occasion, but I'm all about compromise and I really wanted her to wear a dress, damnit. It was Easter. Lauren picked the jumper (of course), and selected a shirt to go underneath. I got her fully dressed and she flipped out. Sobbing and pulling at the jumper trying to take it off, like it was burning her flesh or something. So I pulled out the floral dress again and told her she either kept the jumper on, or wore the dress. Neither was acceptable to her. She pointed at the cardigan sweater. THAT was what she wanted to wear. Just that. She's sort of in a pants-less phase right now... I told her the cardigan went with the floral dress, and that just sent her hysterics into the stratosphere.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed her sheer pink ballerina skirt from the closet and asked if she would wear this. Through her choking sobs and snotty, running nose she nodded her ascent. Great - a silly ballet skirt and cardigan for Easter. How lovely. So I put on the sweater (which she insisted be buttoned up to the very top button) and some sheer tights and the ballet skirt. Her diaper was now in plain view for the whole wide world. NOT a pretty sight. To solve this, I put on some pink biker-style shorts under the skirt. Are you able to visualize the ensemble? Very 2-yr old. Very not me. But Lauren was finally satisfied and willing to go to Grandma's house. Fit over. Parents shaking their heads over the getup. It was quite the compromise - at least she was in a dress of some sort and not sweatpants, so victory for me, and she was wearing the sweater she insisted on wearing, so victory for her. But I think the general viewing public was the biggest loser having to see her parading around my parents yard for the Easter egg hunt looking like she did. Sigh.
So it's about time to go get the kids dressed for the day, and I wonder what today's choice outfit will be. I know in the grand scheme of things this is not a big deal. It's not worth forcing my choice of outfit on her if it causes this much distress. I must pick my battles wisely, and I'm not sure this battle would be a good one to engage in. It's just that this is my first go-around with the whole clothes thing. Nicholas has yet to care at all what he wears, and in fact still prefers me to choose his clothes for him. But I take pride in the appearance of my kids, and it kills me - KILLS ME - when Lauren chooses something so off-the-wall that I wonder if the child can really see colors and patterns like the rest of us. I know it's just her asserting her growing independence, but I also know that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of self-expression via fashion, and a lifetime of her pushing the envelope and me trying to set limits of what is allowable and appropriate and what isn't. I fear her teen years. For so many reasons.
But for now, this is a battle I'm choosing to sit out. I'm going to try to be a little zen about it and attempt to see the humor in her appearance and the endearing fashion choices she comes up with. Because only a kid can make pink sweats, her brothers blue shoes, and a red sweater look cute. Not so much a 15 year old.
Of course, just because Lauren is not on a hot streak where sleeping is concerned doesn't mean Mr. Chick and I are off the hook. Last night Nicholas decided he needed to sleep with us because of scary dreams involving "bad guys". Sigh. It's a rarity for him to climb into bed with us, and he's not nearly as stealth about it as his sister, but of course we allowed it. It won't be much longer before he's outgrown the need to be so close with us. But man - ! I thought Lauren was a physical sleeper?? No way - Nicholas is way worse. Probably just because he's bigger, but there was lots of kicking of legs, elbows to the boobs, head knocks in the battle for pillow share, and sudden blasts of cold air hitting me as he'd roll over and leave a big, open gap in the covers. Add to that the occasional snore from Mr. Chick who is suddenly out of range for the gentle nudge to roll over, all thanks to our gangly son taking up all the middle of the bed real estate and blocking for his daddy, and I got another terrible night of sleep. I'm hoping the adrenaline from my run gets me through the day. And lots of coffee.
So the sleep battle continues to rage over here, but it's improving. The battle that's just starting, however, will have a much, much longer life: the battle over what to wear. It started a couple of weeks ago, rather suddenly. With no warning, my previously docile girl-child who didn't care one iota what outfit I put on her, suddenly had some very strong opinions about which clothing items were put on her chubby little body. And there's been no looking back. Each morning I brace myself when it's time to get dressed. I've been doing all the things you're supposed to do: present 2-3 choices ONLY and allow the child to select one. Only Lauren will make her choice, quite definitively, only to completely lose it the second the item is on her body. It's exasperating, but not unexpected. All my friends who have older daughters have warned me that this day was coming.
Easter was a pinnacle. It's Easter, for crying out loud, and my children will be dressed nicely. No Blue's Clue's t-shirts, I don't care how hard you cry. I envisioned Lauren getting one last wearing of a sweet floral dress that she wore for Easter last year, Mr. Chick's graduation, my sister wedding, and one or two other special occasions. But sticking to the theory that she should have a hand in deciding what she's to wear, I offer her the choice of the floral dress (pick that! pick that! I was selling it HARD but she was not buying it. AT.ALL.) or a more casual navy corduroy jumper. Not my favorite for the occasion, but I'm all about compromise and I really wanted her to wear a dress, damnit. It was Easter. Lauren picked the jumper (of course), and selected a shirt to go underneath. I got her fully dressed and she flipped out. Sobbing and pulling at the jumper trying to take it off, like it was burning her flesh or something. So I pulled out the floral dress again and told her she either kept the jumper on, or wore the dress. Neither was acceptable to her. She pointed at the cardigan sweater. THAT was what she wanted to wear. Just that. She's sort of in a pants-less phase right now... I told her the cardigan went with the floral dress, and that just sent her hysterics into the stratosphere.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed her sheer pink ballerina skirt from the closet and asked if she would wear this. Through her choking sobs and snotty, running nose she nodded her ascent. Great - a silly ballet skirt and cardigan for Easter. How lovely. So I put on the sweater (which she insisted be buttoned up to the very top button) and some sheer tights and the ballet skirt. Her diaper was now in plain view for the whole wide world. NOT a pretty sight. To solve this, I put on some pink biker-style shorts under the skirt. Are you able to visualize the ensemble? Very 2-yr old. Very not me. But Lauren was finally satisfied and willing to go to Grandma's house. Fit over. Parents shaking their heads over the getup. It was quite the compromise - at least she was in a dress of some sort and not sweatpants, so victory for me, and she was wearing the sweater she insisted on wearing, so victory for her. But I think the general viewing public was the biggest loser having to see her parading around my parents yard for the Easter egg hunt looking like she did. Sigh.
So it's about time to go get the kids dressed for the day, and I wonder what today's choice outfit will be. I know in the grand scheme of things this is not a big deal. It's not worth forcing my choice of outfit on her if it causes this much distress. I must pick my battles wisely, and I'm not sure this battle would be a good one to engage in. It's just that this is my first go-around with the whole clothes thing. Nicholas has yet to care at all what he wears, and in fact still prefers me to choose his clothes for him. But I take pride in the appearance of my kids, and it kills me - KILLS ME - when Lauren chooses something so off-the-wall that I wonder if the child can really see colors and patterns like the rest of us. I know it's just her asserting her growing independence, but I also know that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of self-expression via fashion, and a lifetime of her pushing the envelope and me trying to set limits of what is allowable and appropriate and what isn't. I fear her teen years. For so many reasons.
But for now, this is a battle I'm choosing to sit out. I'm going to try to be a little zen about it and attempt to see the humor in her appearance and the endearing fashion choices she comes up with. Because only a kid can make pink sweats, her brothers blue shoes, and a red sweater look cute. Not so much a 15 year old.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Project GLTSANIHODR
...must live here or something. Because more often than not, Lauren won't sleep the whole night through in her own bed. Instead, she wakes up and comes to our room, preferring to sleep with us. And it's getting worse. This all seems to have started when we moved in because she never really did this before. Last night was the worst.
She's always slept with a night-light. No biggie - both kids have them. And she's always insisted that her door be shut. Strange request for a wee one, but oookkaayyyy - whatever you want, Lauren. But in this house, she has trouble opening the doors. The knobs are different - bigger - and the latch tighter or something, so she can't always get herself out of her room. I think this freaks her out. We now fake shutting her door all the way and don't let it latch so this isn't an issue in the middle of the night. A week or two ago she started requiring that the overhead light stay on at bedtime. The night-light was no longer sufficient. Fine. We'd leave the big light on while she went to sleep and then turn it off when we went to bed ourselves. But that's when she started coming to our bed at night. And last night? She outright REFUSED to sleep in her bed. Period. She just kept repeating, "I sleep in Mama & Daddy's room" through her tears. Such a sad face! I caved (probably a huge mistake) and put her to bed in our room, and she was out almost as soon as her head hit my pillow. When Mr. Chick and I were ready for bed I carried her back to her room. Only the transfer didn't work - she woke up. So I got in her bed with her, intending to lie down with her until she fell back to sleep. Which it seemed she did right away, but she's just a little faker. It was fascinating to watch, really. She was out (or so I believed), but then it was like sheer determination took over and she willed her tired eyes to open. They were practically rolling back in her head she was so tired, but she refused to go to sleep in her bed. She sat up and began whimpering about sleeping in our bed. The whimpering escalated to full crying. Then sobbing. Great big heaving sobs. It was as if she was scared to be in her room, even with me there. It made me wonder if the Boogeyman himself has taken up residence in her closet or something. Not even me promising to sleep with her in her bed was enough to soothe her ruffled feathers. She HAD to be in our bed or they'd be no sleeping that night. That much was clear. So I took her back to our room where she was immediately all smiles and she fell blissfully back to sleep, snuggled in the middle of us. I KNOW it was the wrong thing to do and I'm only making it worse, but it was late and we were all beat from our big Easter day. Shut up.
Lauren, when she naps, will nap in her room. Hassle-free. Most of the time she goes to bed in her room, too. It's now the challenge of keeping her in her own bed all night long that's the issue. It's like she has an internal alarm that goes off and she wakes up and decides she MUST be with us, so she makes the long-ass trek from her room to ours. Truly - it's a long night-walk. She has to go down one 1/2 flight of stairs (about 6 stairs), then go down a hallway and then climb up another 1/2 flight of stairs to our room. It's not like we're just across the hall. But she makes that trip every.damn.night. and does it so stealth-like that most of the time I don't even hear her or know she's gotten in bed with us. And that sort of freaks me out because I'm not usually a heavy sleeper. I wake up at the first sound of baby/kid. I'm on high-alert for the sounds of a child needing me. But Lauren? She's better than me. She flies under my mom-radar. She navigates the house - in the dark - without making a sound. She's able to climb into the bed (going via Daddy's side because he sleeps through anything) and get under the covers without me being the wiser. I wake up at some point from an arm being flung, or a leg kicking me, or the peculiar stench of her beloved blankie getting to close to my face, or lately the hard plastic appendages of her "baby" smacking me in the head and realize she's in bed with us again. I should, at that point, take her back to her bed. I know that's what I should do. But it's usually like 4 or 5am and at that point I just choose to roll over and try to go back to sleep. I tell myself I'll deal with it later.
Well, later is now. This is ridiculous. It's not "fixing itself" as she's getting used to our new house. It's getting worse and more frequent. It's becoming a bad habit.
Mr. Chick is gone tonight on a business trip. I'm thinking tonight will be Night 1 of project Get Lauren To Sleep All Night In Her Own Damn Room. Or GLTSANIHODR for short. I'm thinking I'll camp out in her room tonight. Stay in there with her. Maybe not in her bed, because that might create another bad habit, but on her floor. Not very comfortable for me, but neither is sleeping perched precariously on the edge of my bed because there is a huge 32-pound 2 yr old taking up the entire middle. Or having body parts, human or doll, hit me during the night. No, no, enduring a night or two of slumber on the floor for the greater good is worth it in the end. Unless anyone else has a better suggestion?? Is there a better way to gently encourage my daughter to stay in her bed and not be scared? I hate the idea of forcing her to stay where she doesn't want to be, or that she's scared to be. That's terrible. I want to show her that her room in her sanctuary. I want it to be a place she prefers, not dreads. How does one accomplish this??
Because once Nicholas realizes that Lauren is getting to sleep in our bed with us, he's going to insist on getting in on the action. And if that happens, there will be no alternative but to sacrifice our bed to the kids and Mr. Chick and I will each move into their respective rooms. I guess that's one way to ensure we don't have another baby - sleep separately in the kids rooms.
Hey, maybe that's not such a bad idea after all!
She's always slept with a night-light. No biggie - both kids have them. And she's always insisted that her door be shut. Strange request for a wee one, but oookkaayyyy - whatever you want, Lauren. But in this house, she has trouble opening the doors. The knobs are different - bigger - and the latch tighter or something, so she can't always get herself out of her room. I think this freaks her out. We now fake shutting her door all the way and don't let it latch so this isn't an issue in the middle of the night. A week or two ago she started requiring that the overhead light stay on at bedtime. The night-light was no longer sufficient. Fine. We'd leave the big light on while she went to sleep and then turn it off when we went to bed ourselves. But that's when she started coming to our bed at night. And last night? She outright REFUSED to sleep in her bed. Period. She just kept repeating, "I sleep in Mama & Daddy's room" through her tears. Such a sad face! I caved (probably a huge mistake) and put her to bed in our room, and she was out almost as soon as her head hit my pillow. When Mr. Chick and I were ready for bed I carried her back to her room. Only the transfer didn't work - she woke up. So I got in her bed with her, intending to lie down with her until she fell back to sleep. Which it seemed she did right away, but she's just a little faker. It was fascinating to watch, really. She was out (or so I believed), but then it was like sheer determination took over and she willed her tired eyes to open. They were practically rolling back in her head she was so tired, but she refused to go to sleep in her bed. She sat up and began whimpering about sleeping in our bed. The whimpering escalated to full crying. Then sobbing. Great big heaving sobs. It was as if she was scared to be in her room, even with me there. It made me wonder if the Boogeyman himself has taken up residence in her closet or something. Not even me promising to sleep with her in her bed was enough to soothe her ruffled feathers. She HAD to be in our bed or they'd be no sleeping that night. That much was clear. So I took her back to our room where she was immediately all smiles and she fell blissfully back to sleep, snuggled in the middle of us. I KNOW it was the wrong thing to do and I'm only making it worse, but it was late and we were all beat from our big Easter day. Shut up.
Lauren, when she naps, will nap in her room. Hassle-free. Most of the time she goes to bed in her room, too. It's now the challenge of keeping her in her own bed all night long that's the issue. It's like she has an internal alarm that goes off and she wakes up and decides she MUST be with us, so she makes the long-ass trek from her room to ours. Truly - it's a long night-walk. She has to go down one 1/2 flight of stairs (about 6 stairs), then go down a hallway and then climb up another 1/2 flight of stairs to our room. It's not like we're just across the hall. But she makes that trip every.damn.night. and does it so stealth-like that most of the time I don't even hear her or know she's gotten in bed with us. And that sort of freaks me out because I'm not usually a heavy sleeper. I wake up at the first sound of baby/kid. I'm on high-alert for the sounds of a child needing me. But Lauren? She's better than me. She flies under my mom-radar. She navigates the house - in the dark - without making a sound. She's able to climb into the bed (going via Daddy's side because he sleeps through anything) and get under the covers without me being the wiser. I wake up at some point from an arm being flung, or a leg kicking me, or the peculiar stench of her beloved blankie getting to close to my face, or lately the hard plastic appendages of her "baby" smacking me in the head and realize she's in bed with us again. I should, at that point, take her back to her bed. I know that's what I should do. But it's usually like 4 or 5am and at that point I just choose to roll over and try to go back to sleep. I tell myself I'll deal with it later.
Well, later is now. This is ridiculous. It's not "fixing itself" as she's getting used to our new house. It's getting worse and more frequent. It's becoming a bad habit.
Mr. Chick is gone tonight on a business trip. I'm thinking tonight will be Night 1 of project Get Lauren To Sleep All Night In Her Own Damn Room. Or GLTSANIHODR for short. I'm thinking I'll camp out in her room tonight. Stay in there with her. Maybe not in her bed, because that might create another bad habit, but on her floor. Not very comfortable for me, but neither is sleeping perched precariously on the edge of my bed because there is a huge 32-pound 2 yr old taking up the entire middle. Or having body parts, human or doll, hit me during the night. No, no, enduring a night or two of slumber on the floor for the greater good is worth it in the end. Unless anyone else has a better suggestion?? Is there a better way to gently encourage my daughter to stay in her bed and not be scared? I hate the idea of forcing her to stay where she doesn't want to be, or that she's scared to be. That's terrible. I want to show her that her room in her sanctuary. I want it to be a place she prefers, not dreads. How does one accomplish this??
Because once Nicholas realizes that Lauren is getting to sleep in our bed with us, he's going to insist on getting in on the action. And if that happens, there will be no alternative but to sacrifice our bed to the kids and Mr. Chick and I will each move into their respective rooms. I guess that's one way to ensure we don't have another baby - sleep separately in the kids rooms.
Hey, maybe that's not such a bad idea after all!
Finished!
Whew! It's done! It's finally, finally done. And only about 6 weeks or so AFTER my targeted due date of early March. The Aran sweater I started back in February for my sisters birthday survived the move and at long last I found the time to finish it.
This sweater is infused with all sorts of memories and emotions: the tension and thrill of the Winter Olympics as I spent many evenings working on the sweater while watching the athletes do their thing, and the stress of anxiety leading up to our move as I worked on the sweater to help me find some calm. The sweater is sort of an instrument of peace. I can't find the book that has the pattern for the sweater, which has been misplaced during the move, and had to finish it using what I had already completed as my guide. Not always the best way to go.... And then I discovered, to my horror, that I moved without making sure I had enough yarn to finish. I was one skein short, damnit. The pattern really sucks up a truckload of yarn. I had to call all around the Greater Portland area in ever-widening circles calling yarn shops looking for the yarn I needed to finish. A few stores stocked the brand (Plymouth Encore worsted weight), but didn't have the color. I finally found one store - way the hell out, of course - that had what I needed. But it was worth it, because the sweater got finished and came together beautifully. I really wanted to finish it by Easter so I could give it to my sister then (since I blew right past her actual birthday of March 9).
My sister is a little bigger than me, so it looks rather bulky and boxy on me, but when she tried it on it fit really well and looks great on her. Not so much on me, which had me worried, but all for naught. She looks beautiful in it, as I knew she would, and I hope she finds an occasion or two to actually wear it. Please pardon the terrible picture - I would have taken the advice of a helpful poster and taken a picture of the sweater outside, but it was pouring down rain on Saturday and there was no way to stage a photo shoot out in that monsoon. This will have to do.
Happy late birthday, Mo! You are a gorgeous Irish beauty and I wanted to make a rich Aran sweater to compliment you. It took longer to make, and used more yarn than I imagined, but it was worth it. YOU are worth it. Wear it well, dear sister. I loved making it for you.
This sweater is infused with all sorts of memories and emotions: the tension and thrill of the Winter Olympics as I spent many evenings working on the sweater while watching the athletes do their thing, and the stress of anxiety leading up to our move as I worked on the sweater to help me find some calm. The sweater is sort of an instrument of peace. I can't find the book that has the pattern for the sweater, which has been misplaced during the move, and had to finish it using what I had already completed as my guide. Not always the best way to go.... And then I discovered, to my horror, that I moved without making sure I had enough yarn to finish. I was one skein short, damnit. The pattern really sucks up a truckload of yarn. I had to call all around the Greater Portland area in ever-widening circles calling yarn shops looking for the yarn I needed to finish. A few stores stocked the brand (Plymouth Encore worsted weight), but didn't have the color. I finally found one store - way the hell out, of course - that had what I needed. But it was worth it, because the sweater got finished and came together beautifully. I really wanted to finish it by Easter so I could give it to my sister then (since I blew right past her actual birthday of March 9).
My sister is a little bigger than me, so it looks rather bulky and boxy on me, but when she tried it on it fit really well and looks great on her. Not so much on me, which had me worried, but all for naught. She looks beautiful in it, as I knew she would, and I hope she finds an occasion or two to actually wear it. Please pardon the terrible picture - I would have taken the advice of a helpful poster and taken a picture of the sweater outside, but it was pouring down rain on Saturday and there was no way to stage a photo shoot out in that monsoon. This will have to do.
Happy late birthday, Mo! You are a gorgeous Irish beauty and I wanted to make a rich Aran sweater to compliment you. It took longer to make, and used more yarn than I imagined, but it was worth it. YOU are worth it. Wear it well, dear sister. I loved making it for you.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Setting The Bar Low
Easter is just a few days away. Now that we're "local" and live near(er) to my family, we've been tagged to help with the Easter feast with a more elaborate dish (vs. the easy "just bring the rolls" assignment we had for years since we had to drive a couple of hours). I'm being asked to make the potatoes au gratin - enough for 11 adults and 5 kids (none of whom really like potatoes, so fine - more for the grown-ups). With this task in hand, I went to the grocery store yesterday afternoon to stock up on the ingredients.
This lovely store, Fred Meyers, has a Playland. It is wonderful. It's attended and stocked with kid-friendly activities which your kids get to enjoy for a solid hour FOR FREE. Really, it's been a savior for me on more than one occasion. Yesterday, I employed it so I could purchase the Easter supplies without an audience. Not only for the dinner, but for the Easter baskets. I just couldn't have my oh-so-curious children spying the goodies ostensibly coming from the Easter Bunny in advance. Oh no - I must maintain that ruse and illusion for as long as possible, right?
As I was perusing the aisles of all the Easter crap, er - stuff, the words of my sister came back to me: set the bar low. Follow the "less is more" mentality. Why go overboard when kids this young will be just as thrilled with a few jellybeans and a small hollow chocolate bunny? They will never miss what they didn't get. And so that's just what I did. I exercised extreme restraint (because me? and chocolate? things can get ugly right quick!) and only bought a single bag of jellybeans, a single bag of Whoppers eggs, and two small hollow chocolate bunnies. I steered clear of buying any candy that had individual wrappers - too much hassle for little kids and too many tiny bits of foil left all over the place. Which was really hard because the Reeces peanut butter cups were calling to me VERY LOUDLY. I even triumphantly declined to purchase a single Cadbury egg. Because those? Are the best.easter.candy.EVER!
But I couldn't, just couldn't, leave their baskets so skimpy. I had to include something - anything - else to jazz them up. My mother always included a little gift. Something small. So I found two coloring/activity books, complete with new crayons, and got those. The kids will love them. Add a few dyed Easter eggs and we're all set.
And that, my friends, is setting the bar low. And they'll never know the difference. And they'll be just as thrilled with their baskets. More than anything, Nicholas was most impressed with the carrots I bought, ostensibly for the Easter Bunny. He's suggesting that we also leave some Ranch dressing out for the Easter Bunny, because while carrots are good all by themselves, they're just better when dipped in Ranch. And I agree, don't you?
So instead of hopping my kids up on loads and loads of sugar (don't worry - they'll get PLENTY of that at my parents house, complete with a full Easter egg hunt for all the grandkids), I'm going to follow the tradition established by my parents for us as kids of hiding the baskets. We had to search high and low to find our basket on Easter morning. It made it so much more fun each year. Rules evolved as we got older, and that just added to the enjoyment. I know my kids will have as much fun as we did searching for their baskets. And since we're in a new house, the options for hiding spots are endless!
So no matter how limited the contents of your Easter basket, the fact that it is the grand prize of the big search makes it a true treasure. I can't remember the contents of my Easter basket as a kid each year, but I remember vividly the various hiding spots in which my parents, er - the Easter Bunny, hid my basket each year. Which only proves the point that it's not the stuff you remember most, but the experiences. I don't know who's more excited about it - the kids or me!
This lovely store, Fred Meyers, has a Playland. It is wonderful. It's attended and stocked with kid-friendly activities which your kids get to enjoy for a solid hour FOR FREE. Really, it's been a savior for me on more than one occasion. Yesterday, I employed it so I could purchase the Easter supplies without an audience. Not only for the dinner, but for the Easter baskets. I just couldn't have my oh-so-curious children spying the goodies ostensibly coming from the Easter Bunny in advance. Oh no - I must maintain that ruse and illusion for as long as possible, right?
As I was perusing the aisles of all the Easter crap, er - stuff, the words of my sister came back to me: set the bar low. Follow the "less is more" mentality. Why go overboard when kids this young will be just as thrilled with a few jellybeans and a small hollow chocolate bunny? They will never miss what they didn't get. And so that's just what I did. I exercised extreme restraint (because me? and chocolate? things can get ugly right quick!) and only bought a single bag of jellybeans, a single bag of Whoppers eggs, and two small hollow chocolate bunnies. I steered clear of buying any candy that had individual wrappers - too much hassle for little kids and too many tiny bits of foil left all over the place. Which was really hard because the Reeces peanut butter cups were calling to me VERY LOUDLY. I even triumphantly declined to purchase a single Cadbury egg. Because those? Are the best.easter.candy.EVER!
But I couldn't, just couldn't, leave their baskets so skimpy. I had to include something - anything - else to jazz them up. My mother always included a little gift. Something small. So I found two coloring/activity books, complete with new crayons, and got those. The kids will love them. Add a few dyed Easter eggs and we're all set.
And that, my friends, is setting the bar low. And they'll never know the difference. And they'll be just as thrilled with their baskets. More than anything, Nicholas was most impressed with the carrots I bought, ostensibly for the Easter Bunny. He's suggesting that we also leave some Ranch dressing out for the Easter Bunny, because while carrots are good all by themselves, they're just better when dipped in Ranch. And I agree, don't you?
So instead of hopping my kids up on loads and loads of sugar (don't worry - they'll get PLENTY of that at my parents house, complete with a full Easter egg hunt for all the grandkids), I'm going to follow the tradition established by my parents for us as kids of hiding the baskets. We had to search high and low to find our basket on Easter morning. It made it so much more fun each year. Rules evolved as we got older, and that just added to the enjoyment. I know my kids will have as much fun as we did searching for their baskets. And since we're in a new house, the options for hiding spots are endless!
So no matter how limited the contents of your Easter basket, the fact that it is the grand prize of the big search makes it a true treasure. I can't remember the contents of my Easter basket as a kid each year, but I remember vividly the various hiding spots in which my parents, er - the Easter Bunny, hid my basket each year. Which only proves the point that it's not the stuff you remember most, but the experiences. I don't know who's more excited about it - the kids or me!
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Frog Song
Each night as I tumble, exhausted, into my bed (which is still just the mattresses thrown on the floor with the frame sitting neglected and dismantled across the room), I am lulled to sleep not by the crickets as before, but by the throaty rrribbbittt rrribbbitttt of the nearby frogs. They sing their lullaby to me every night. I've never lived somewhere that had frogs so close you could hear them. They drown out the chirping crickets, the evening sound of which I'm most familiar. Surprisingly, I like it. I don't find it annoying, but soothing. The new sound of night at home.
I'm not sure where the little reptilian songbirds actually dwell as I've never caught of glimpse of them - yet. But they're close, and I'm sure it's just a matter of time before one, or both, of my kids manages to catch one and proudly bring the slimy critter home to show me. To which I'll do my best not to freak out (because ewww! slimy things stay OUT!) but calmly ask said child to put the frog back outside so s/he can continue to sing us to sleep.
I'm not sure where the little reptilian songbirds actually dwell as I've never caught of glimpse of them - yet. But they're close, and I'm sure it's just a matter of time before one, or both, of my kids manages to catch one and proudly bring the slimy critter home to show me. To which I'll do my best not to freak out (because ewww! slimy things stay OUT!) but calmly ask said child to put the frog back outside so s/he can continue to sing us to sleep.
Monday, April 10, 2006
The Floor Upon Which I Tread
So you may remember my tales of woe concerning all the dry rot discovered in our new house. It was so insidious that it crept under the threshold of the door to the back deck and rotted out some of the subfloor of the back hallway and the hardwood flooring to boot. A total mess. The contractor, Old Ivan, had to pull up the hardwoods in that back hallway and literally cut away a portion of the subfloor in front of the door and replace it. But then troubles erupted with Old Ivan and we had a parting of the ways. We moved into the house with the back hallway stripped down to nothing but the subfloor and the doorway to the back deck covered with a simple sheet of plywood. It's oh so pretty!
But now we're faced with deciding what to do with the flooring of the back hallway, and by extension, the kitchen. The back hallway links the kitchen to the stairs to the master bedroom. It wouldn't really work to just replace the flooring of the hallway and not do the same in the kitchen. The kitchen floor, as it currently exists, is a lame vinyl/linoleum (I can't tell the difference between the two for the life of me!) It's old, but bland enough you sort of don't notice it unless you really start looking. And I've been looking. And now I think it's ugly and I'm glad we have to get rid of it. Otherwise, knowing us, we'd live with it for the next 5-10 yrs.
Much discussion later, we've decided on tile for the back hallway and kitchen. Hardwoods in the back hallway, like what was there before, would be lovely, but expensive. We'd have to have someone come in to install them and hope that they could stain them to match the existing hardwoods. That can be tricky. With tile, we can install the floor ourselves and therefore afford to do the kitchen, too. So that's what we're doing. We've been scouring the DIY big box home stores buying samples of tile flooring to take home and see if we like it. The cabinets in the kitchen are oak with almond-colored countertops. The kitchen floor touches the hardwood floor of the family room/dining room, so it has to flow well. We think we may have found what we like. And as a bonus, it's on clearance! It seems to be a simple system of tiles pre-mounted onto boards that fit together tongue-in-groove like with 2 tiles per board. There are 5 boards (10 tiles) per box, and each box costs $12.94. We haven't officially measured yet, but we think we'll need to cover about 175 sq. ft. So really, all you need to grout are the perfectly pre-spaced grooves between the tiles vs. spreading out the glue stuff underneath. The floor can "float" with this system.
Anyway, here are pictures of the tile we're considering and I would love any and all feedback. It's an earth-toned color scheme with hints of green in it. I'm thinking I would paint the kitchen a pale, pale green to pick up on that (it's currently a warm yellow). So, thoughts??
a view of the tile flooring we're considering, plus one darker option. This represents 3 boards of the tile system.
a different view - can you see the darker tile better? I like the darker tile, but keep getting drawn back to the lighter toned one. It seems to be nicer quality to boot.
Should we keep looking, or just go for it?
But now we're faced with deciding what to do with the flooring of the back hallway, and by extension, the kitchen. The back hallway links the kitchen to the stairs to the master bedroom. It wouldn't really work to just replace the flooring of the hallway and not do the same in the kitchen. The kitchen floor, as it currently exists, is a lame vinyl/linoleum (I can't tell the difference between the two for the life of me!) It's old, but bland enough you sort of don't notice it unless you really start looking. And I've been looking. And now I think it's ugly and I'm glad we have to get rid of it. Otherwise, knowing us, we'd live with it for the next 5-10 yrs.
Much discussion later, we've decided on tile for the back hallway and kitchen. Hardwoods in the back hallway, like what was there before, would be lovely, but expensive. We'd have to have someone come in to install them and hope that they could stain them to match the existing hardwoods. That can be tricky. With tile, we can install the floor ourselves and therefore afford to do the kitchen, too. So that's what we're doing. We've been scouring the DIY big box home stores buying samples of tile flooring to take home and see if we like it. The cabinets in the kitchen are oak with almond-colored countertops. The kitchen floor touches the hardwood floor of the family room/dining room, so it has to flow well. We think we may have found what we like. And as a bonus, it's on clearance! It seems to be a simple system of tiles pre-mounted onto boards that fit together tongue-in-groove like with 2 tiles per board. There are 5 boards (10 tiles) per box, and each box costs $12.94. We haven't officially measured yet, but we think we'll need to cover about 175 sq. ft. So really, all you need to grout are the perfectly pre-spaced grooves between the tiles vs. spreading out the glue stuff underneath. The floor can "float" with this system.
Anyway, here are pictures of the tile we're considering and I would love any and all feedback. It's an earth-toned color scheme with hints of green in it. I'm thinking I would paint the kitchen a pale, pale green to pick up on that (it's currently a warm yellow). So, thoughts??
a view of the tile flooring we're considering, plus one darker option. This represents 3 boards of the tile system.
a different view - can you see the darker tile better? I like the darker tile, but keep getting drawn back to the lighter toned one. It seems to be nicer quality to boot.
Should we keep looking, or just go for it?
Thursday, April 06, 2006
6 MPH
That's what the electronic sign thingamajig said my speed was when I went for a run this morning. 6 mph. I don't know if I should be impressed that I was running fast enough for the electronic speed radar to actually clock me (the speed kept changing between my lowly 6 and the 29 of the car coming up behind me), or depressed because I'm only running 10 minute miles. That's fairly pathetic. I've never been a speed demon - far from it. But in the past I can usually muster running in the high 8 min. miles or low 9's. 10 is the high end of slow for me. But that's what I was technically clocked at this morning.
I guess I only need to worry about getting a ticket on that stretch of road near the school in my car (I tend to be a lead foot, especially when school is obviously out at, like, 9:30pm but the zone is 20 mph at all times and they permanently installed the electronic radar to announce your speed to the world so you'll slow down) and not one when going on my morning run.
Clearly I'm another kind of lead foot in that capacity.
I guess I only need to worry about getting a ticket on that stretch of road near the school in my car (I tend to be a lead foot, especially when school is obviously out at, like, 9:30pm but the zone is 20 mph at all times and they permanently installed the electronic radar to announce your speed to the world so you'll slow down) and not one when going on my morning run.
Clearly I'm another kind of lead foot in that capacity.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Choices and Decisions
Good news! At long last, we have CHOICES of jobs. The Portland law firm, the one we thought was dead but then wasn't, came through with an offer!! OMG, this makes everything so much better! The salary is better than the Redmond firm, and the benefits are good. Quite good. There is even talk of such things as bonuses. We haven't seen such perks since law school began nearly 4 yrs ago. This feels REAL. Mr. Chick is likely going to accept this offer and start work as an honest-to-god attorney in about 30 days. But the real kicker is that we can stay in this house and don't have to move again. Can I get a HELL YEAH?!?!
I can finally start unpacking and getting settled in. As a nod to this nice, new, huge development I unpacked/unwrapped 2 wine glasses and we toasted to our good fortune. You know I think we're staying if I'm busting out the wine glasses. And, might I add, it's SOOO much nicer to drink wine out of wine glasses instead of pint glasses or coffee mugs, as we have been doing since moving in 10 days ago. That's just uncouth.
As weird as it sounds, the idea now of not going to Central Oregon feels strange. A loss, in a way. I'd been trying my damndest to build it up to be great to soften the blow when we ultimately had to pull the trigger and move there. And now, I'm sort of OK with the idea of living there and now NOT going is a little odd. I'm clearly a whack-job. What's wrong with me? I've been wanting to stay here since we started looking for a house, so this is what I want. And it really is. But at the same time I know have to "give up" the Central Oregon fantasy? Illusion? Propaganda? I'd created for myself. I'm sure it won't take long to get over myself and get good and happy I'm staying put. Maybe after clearing out a few boxes it'll feel real.
So that's our big, huge, exciting, monumental development. Let the Next Chapter begin. Hooray!!
I can finally start unpacking and getting settled in. As a nod to this nice, new, huge development I unpacked/unwrapped 2 wine glasses and we toasted to our good fortune. You know I think we're staying if I'm busting out the wine glasses. And, might I add, it's SOOO much nicer to drink wine out of wine glasses instead of pint glasses or coffee mugs, as we have been doing since moving in 10 days ago. That's just uncouth.
As weird as it sounds, the idea now of not going to Central Oregon feels strange. A loss, in a way. I'd been trying my damndest to build it up to be great to soften the blow when we ultimately had to pull the trigger and move there. And now, I'm sort of OK with the idea of living there and now NOT going is a little odd. I'm clearly a whack-job. What's wrong with me? I've been wanting to stay here since we started looking for a house, so this is what I want. And it really is. But at the same time I know have to "give up" the Central Oregon fantasy? Illusion? Propaganda? I'd created for myself. I'm sure it won't take long to get over myself and get good and happy I'm staying put. Maybe after clearing out a few boxes it'll feel real.
So that's our big, huge, exciting, monumental development. Let the Next Chapter begin. Hooray!!
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Like A Warm Hug
Moving back here feels like walking into a warm hug. This week, despite all the drama surrounding the job situation (do we stay or do we go?? The Portland firm is back in play - possibly - and we're waiting to hear more from them while trying to negotiate some with Redmond and buy a little time. It never ends!) I have been embraced back home and it feels so good. Not only have my new neighbors welcomed us and made us feel even better about our location, but I've had two friends over for playdates and dinner, and went out with one of them just last night for cocktails and dessert. We've been invited over to another friends' house for dinner tonight, and Mr. Chick is out playing golf with a buddy. And my dad and sister dropped by with my living room furniture and my sister and I did a table swap (she wanted my smaller round table and I wanted her larger rectangular one that seats 6). It's just so cool to be able to see them on the fly like that. I love being back "home" and am falling into a nice groove already. Does it get better than that??
You know you live somewhere - really live there - when you have to clean it. And by that definition we have definitely christened this house our own. Just yesterday Lauren decided to do something new. She's not potty training yet, but she clearly understands the concept, as demonstrated when she emptied the contents of her diaper - the solid contents - onto the stairs and then tried to "fix" it by taking some upstairs to the toilet. Where she then peed on the bathroom floor and then tried to wipe the floor and herself. Lovely, no? While I'm glad that she's demonstrating her comprehension of how the whole process works, and I'm happy to see some problem solving skills, I just wish she would have actually SAT on the potty vs. depositing stuff after the deed was done. Having to clean turds off a carpet and cleaning the bathroom floor and toilet while guilty daughter soaks in the bathtub is a clear sign that you now live in the house. It's no longer new and pristine. Oh no - no longer shiny. So much for the fresh, new carpet staying that way.....
That part wasn't so much a warm hug, actually, but more like a slap. Oh well - with the good comes the bad!
You know you live somewhere - really live there - when you have to clean it. And by that definition we have definitely christened this house our own. Just yesterday Lauren decided to do something new. She's not potty training yet, but she clearly understands the concept, as demonstrated when she emptied the contents of her diaper - the solid contents - onto the stairs and then tried to "fix" it by taking some upstairs to the toilet. Where she then peed on the bathroom floor and then tried to wipe the floor and herself. Lovely, no? While I'm glad that she's demonstrating her comprehension of how the whole process works, and I'm happy to see some problem solving skills, I just wish she would have actually SAT on the potty vs. depositing stuff after the deed was done. Having to clean turds off a carpet and cleaning the bathroom floor and toilet while guilty daughter soaks in the bathtub is a clear sign that you now live in the house. It's no longer new and pristine. Oh no - no longer shiny. So much for the fresh, new carpet staying that way.....
That part wasn't so much a warm hug, actually, but more like a slap. Oh well - with the good comes the bad!
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