Random weekend bits

Both of my boys can be volatile, but in very different ways, as I told Michelle the other night. The Boy is prone to fits of despair where he cries big salty tears and wails at the injustice of the world. The Lad is more likely to pitch a fit of temper, flinging things across the room and screaming in anger at your stupidity.

Michelle's response: Each just a little bit like you.

---

"What's your name?" I asked The Lad. "Who are you?"

"Beesh. Beesh."

"No, not please," I said. "What's your name?"

"Beesh. Beesh."

Before I could say no again, the husband interrupted. "He's not saying, 'please,'" the husband said. "He's saying 'Beast.' Right, Lad? Wesdebeast?"

The Lad nodded his head emphatically. "ES Da Beesh. ES Da Beesh. Beeshie."

---

I highly recommend this recipe from Smitten Kitchen. We made it with a single ribeye for all of us, but honestly, it would have been perfectly OK as a vegetarian recipe; ribeyes just happened to be on sale. The Lad didn't care for the corn tortillas we bought -- remember those fits of temper? Yeah, he pitched these across our dining room -- but ate half the charred corn filling by himself. (I expect to be dealing with THAT for the next few days.)

For dessert: lemon cake via Orangette. Also wonderful.

---

We went to the library Saturday morning. Taking the boys to the library is a mixed blessing for me. On one hand: books, my boys ... of course I love it. On the other hand: quiet library + noisy boys + wanting to look for my own books + grabby hands in the children's section = a cranky momma. The reason I love it though is seeing what the kiddos grab off the shelves. They grab randomly, but will take suggestions. Regardless, they each have very definite opinions about what makes a keeper. Dinosaurs are a universal favorite. The Boy leans toward nonfiction -- the two visits ago, he picked up a book about women in the American Revolution, which made my feminist heart proud -- and The Lad loves a good dog book.

The favorites this time around: See Spot, a flip-up book for The Lad that he can look at only with supervision, but which he loves to page through to try to find the elusive spot; and for The Boy, Dinosaur Babies, a nonfiction guess at what kind of parents dinosaurs were.

Of course, the dinosaur book only talks about the mothers. Deadbeat dino dads.

---

The husband was anything but a deadbeat this weekend. In addition to running 25 miles -- because he's nuts and training for a marathon in December -- he steam-cleaned our floors, dealt with the boys alone for several hours so I could shop and helped me with laundry, cooking and grocery shopping.

Sometimes, I feel like I do a lot more work around our house than the husband. But the reality is more equitable, I think. I read this blog post from Motherlode earlier in the week, discussing a new Time Magazine article that discussed new statistics from the U.S. Department of Labor showing that men and women did about the same amount of work -- in and out of the home -- each day. In families with kids under 18 and both parents employed full-time, women only did about 20 minutes more than men each day. I suspect that's probably the case in our house.

I haven't done an official, down-to-the-minute tally because, partly, I don't want to know the truth. I suspect it won't come out in my favor, to be honest. The husband does a lot that I don't give him credit for because it seems easy -- taking out the trash, cleaning kitty litter. It's like the difference between a manual labor job and an office one: One is harder physically, but you can leave it behind at the end of the day. The other is easier on the body, but you never stop thinking about it. I feel like in our house, I'm the white collar worker. I might not have the toughest jobs physically, but I keep everything running. (Of course, I say that, but then I remember that the husband is our banker soooooo.......

That brings me to the other reason I haven't done a tally. Like one of the follow-up posters on Motherlode, I've decided that keeping score doesn't automatically make things equal. The husband and I each handle the things we do best in our house. Together, we keep all of us clothed, fed and loved.

What about you guys? How was your weekend? Anything fun going on? Do you and your spouse have a chore chart?

The Reading Promise

I read a book recently called The Reading Promise. It's written by a girl named Alice Ozma. If you like books as much as I do -- as much as she does -- that probably sounds familiar to you. Her librarian father named her after Alice in Wonderland and Ozma, the wise girl ruler in L. Frank Baum's Oz books. (If you've only known about or read The Wizard of Oz, get yourself the rest of them. They're lovely.) Ozma's book is a memoir about her and her father and what they called "The Streak." He read aloud to Ozma for at least 10 minutes every single night from the time she was 9 until she moved out of the house for college.

Every. Single. Night.

Can you imagine? How crazy is that? It is a little crazy; Ozma acknowledges that. But it's also amazing. And it had a profound effect on their relationship and her life. In short: they are close and she is a reader.

It seems so simple, but so many children grow up not knowing what a wonderful, transporting, miraculous thing reading is. And even more children grow up thinking of reading as a chore, something they have to do instead of something they get to do.

I believe very strongly in the power of reading. Book-smarts aren't everything, for sure, but books allow you to see things and hear things you might not otherwise. They take you outside yourself and your situation. Being able to read well usually translates into being able to write well, to speak well, to communicate well -- and anyone who's dealt with a nonverbal toddler knows that being able to communicate well is a life skill worth having.

For other people's kids, I push my agenda by buying books as gifts. Every year at Christmas, I buy books for local schools to give to children; it's the only charity I give to without fail.

My own kids go to the library regularly and receive books from us pretty often. They also see us read. It's actually one of few things I dislike about my Kindle: I worry they think I'm messing around on the internet when I'm reading that screen. I feel guilty reading the Kindle when my boys are around, guilt I never have when I let them play by themselves so I can read a physical paper-and-binding book. I nag my husband to make sure he reads in front of the boys so they see it isn't something just girls do. Maybe it's silly, but I think it's important they don't associate reading as something "just Mom does."

But what struck me about The Reading Promise was that reading was never a bargaining chip. Ozma's dad never skipped a night because she was being a brat and had to go to bed early. Even when she was a teenager and chafing at the rules, they read. It made me think about how I was using reading in our house. The Boy loves being read to before bed and some nights, we take that away. I'm not sure I'm OK with that. I mean, reading being a pleasurable enough activity that its being taken away is a punishment is better than reading being a punishment -- which I've heard of some people doing -- but still .... do I really want my kid to not read because he's being a little shit on particular evening? I don't know.

Maybe being read to will develop the listening skills The Boy and The Lad sometimes forget they possess.

What about you guys? Is reading part of your nightly schedule?

7 months old

Now:


Six months ago at 1 month old:



Active. That is how I would describe Gizmo. Very, very active.

She is now crawling, on all fours, all over the place. She can get from one room to the next faster than I expected. I was in the kitchen the other day and she was in the living room. Next thing I knew, she was right behind me. Smiling and so proud that she had made the 20-foot trek.



This is her resting pose. One leg tucked under her, the other sticking straight out. Whenever she stops crawling, this is how she sits. I don't even know...

She also is pulling herself up on things, her favorite being a basket of books. She reaches up and pulls herself so she is sitting on her knees. A few times she has stuck a leg out like she is going to stand.




When I told the doctor that she has been army crawling for about a month, he looked surprised and said that was more of a 8 or 9 month skill. Not our Gizmo.

While her sister had more verbal skills at this age, Gizmo is definitely more advanced in her motor skills.

She is a great eater and has only rejected peas. Not that I blame her.

Gizmo has slept through the night exactly 2 times - both while she was with Gramma while we were out of town. I am glad someone got to enjoy it. I can't complain too much. She has gotten better with us and usually only gets up once to eat. More times than not she goes right back to sleep.

She is still a pleasant kid, fascinated by the cat, in love with her big sister and always smiling when she sees momma and daddy.

Maturity

We probably should have headed home when The Lad pulled his sweaty little hand out of mine and laid down on the boardwalk at the Oceanographic Center. We had been there since mid-morning, playing with the hermit crabs and sea slugs in the touch tanks, splashing in the stingray pool and hopping from one educational game spot to another. The sun was hot and the humidity made The Lad's hair curl up in ringlets under his baseball cap.

The plan was to hang out long enough to see the sea turtle program at 11:30 then head to lunch. When The Lad tried to nap right in the middle of the walkway in the sun, we gave up on the sea turtles -- they were hiding out in a corner of the lagoon, and that walk was more than any of us could take -- but figured we still could do lunch. We didn't have much food at home anyway, because we had skipped grocery shopping in favor of the Oceanographic Center. The husband and I figured once everyone got cooled off in the car's air-conditioning, we all would be fine to stop for a quick, early lunch.

It was the worst restaurant experience we've ever had with the boys. I've written before that being able to take the kids to a restaurant without causing a scene is one of the things I pride myself on as a mother. But this trip was a mess.

The Boy, excited and talkative after petting so many sea creatures, bounced in the booth and talked too loudly. The Lad was just pissed, squealing and flailing. He didn't want to sit in the highchair, didn't want to sit in my lap, was desperately thirsty, but smacked the cup away from his mouth. No less than three pieces of silverware ended up on the floor. We finally got him settled down only for something else -- I have no idea what -- to set him off, and my full cup of water and ice spilled across the table and into the husband's lap.

I swooped The Lad up and took him outside for a walk to calm down -- both of us. When we went back into the restaurant, the boys' food came, and they both settled down to eat. By the time our food came, The Lad was bored again and refusing to sit in his highchair. Both boys ended up in the booth next to me, swishing fries stolen off our plates into ketchup that they smeared on their faces.

We were the only customers in the restaurant for most of our meal, thankfully, but I kept apologizing to the poor waitress. We left a big tip.

Somewhere in the chaos, there was a quiet moment and I told the husband, "I would say something right now -- meaning, LOOK! They're behaving -- only I don't want to jinx it."

On the way home, the husband said he had had a similar thought about me in the middle of the mayhem -- LOOK! You're not throwing a tantrum to rival the kids' tantrums -- only he didn't want to jinx me either.

Apparently, I'm maturing.

Crafty part 3

The inspiration found on Pinterest:




The supplies. Some fabric, scissors, hoop things (I am sure there is a better term but you know what I mean), and wrinkle releaser if you prefer not to iron.




Put the fabric on top of the inner hoop. Spray with wrinkle releaser.



Put the outer hoop in place, tighten down and pull the fabric tight.




Cut the excess fabric close to the hoop.




Repeat with each hoop.




Hang.




This might be one of the easiest crafts ever but looks so cool. I think all of these cost about $10 total to make.

Get away

If you haven't gotten away for at least a night in the past six months, stop making excuses and do it. You need it. It is good for you and your kids. You and your spouse or partner could plan a few days out state to a place you have never been. Send your kids to the grandparents or friends or someone willing to take them so that you can have a break. They will be fine.

Maybe have a four course dinner at a wonderful restaurant where you get a different glass of sangria with every course and the chef comes out and explains what you are eating and how he came up with the concept.

A place that Al Capone regularly frequented. A place where F. Scott Fitzgerald hung out and once got kicked out of for being too rowdy but he still based the hotel in The Great Gatsby on it.

Then you can have a churro dessert with cherry bacon jam and powdered bacon fat on top ... Seriously.

You could go to breakfast at a place like this:



Where they have things like this in the gift store:








(They also had ninja-bread men cookie cut outs that I apparently didn't take a picture of.)

And then go shopping in hipster stores and get this for the baby:





(I think I should get commission for purchases made after I bought this. I posted it on Facebook and referred at least three other people to the website - whylouisville.com - for purchases)

And just a have a good time with your spouse, drinking bourbon, eating good food, seeing Church Hill Downs and watching your husband giddy with delight at seeing the paddock where the horses are kept.

Sleeping in. Sleeping through the night and not the five hour bull the books claim is sleeping through the night.

Even if you need to stop what you are doing every five hours to pump and make the husband keep the cooler stocked with fresh ice, go. You need it. And don't feel guilty.

You will thank me later.

Go.

Love Thursday

Several of the bloggers I read have Love Thursday posts. I'm in a good mood today, so here are the things that are making that happen.

• Last night, after The Boy's basketball class (is it really a practice if they'll never play a game?), we all went to Wendy's for Frostys. He's had one once before with the Daddyman. "Trust me, Momma. They are COLD." After every other bite, he said, "It's cold, so cold, like a fireball." He marveled at his goosebumps and got a Frosty mustache.


• Nutella + salty thin pretzels = best snack ever


• The Lad can say please and thank you. (Peeeeeees and Ko-go)


• I finished reading "A Discovery of Witches." The internet had been abuzz about this new (and rather lengthy) book about witches and vampires. Michelle read it and was very meh. I expected not to like it. Low expectations might be the key to happiness, because I really enjoyed it. The book has some definite flaws, but it's the first one in awhile that's swept me up so much that I have no memory of my husband having a conversation with me while I was reading.


• I have a husband who understands when I completely ignore him for a book.


• I am wearing new dangly earrings that make me happy. Big round navy blue stones surrounded by a thin rim of gold(ish stuff).


• The husband and I are planning a date this weekend. Tapas and Harry Potter and no children -- YAY!


• I made salsa this week for black bean burritos. They were heavenly.

What are you loving this week?

He is listening

My nephew nearly lost his first tooth last night in traumatic fashion. We found out about it after The Boy was in bed, but I was excited to tell him about it in the morning. He's always telling us, "Someday, when I'm older, all my teeth will fall out." I knew he would be impressed.

In the usual morning whirl, I forgot until the husband reminded me. I was getting ready to dry my hair. I thought The Boy was across the house in his bedroom.

"Boy! C'mere," I hollered. "I have a funny story to tell you."

"What!?"

"Boy! Come here now. I want to tell you a story."

He shouted something back, but I couldn't make out the words. I was starting to get irritated, thinking he couldn't even listen the first time for something simple. The story was meant to be a laugh and the way it was going, I was going to have to punish him before I told it. I went to the bedroom door, waiting for him to emerge from his bedroom's closed door.

"WHAT TIME DO YOU LISTEN?"

"OK, but I can't sit on your lap."

He shuffled out of the hallway, coming not from his bedroom, but from the bathroom, his pants around his ankles. He was just finishing going poo.

No. He certainly was not going to sit on my lap.

Apparently, we're getting through to him that he has to listen.

Not that bad

We went to a certain place where you can get pizza and kids can play games while creepy animatronic animals sing bad songs like "Walk the Dinosaur" for a birthday party this week.*

Before we went, I had flashbacks to my childhood of a dark place with lots of blinking lights , a suspect ball pit where any amount of diseases could be contracted and creepy stuffed animals making herky-jerky movements while playing instruments. I wasn't ready to scar Peanut or Gizmo for life but knew it was important for them to attend the birthday party of our little friend who shares the same birthday as Peanut.

I was pleasantly surprised. Peanut had a blast, running around with the kids, acting like she was playing games, actually playing games and climbing in the indoor gym equipment. And there was no germ-infested ball pit.

The husband and I even got in on some of the action, trying to win as many tickets for Peanut as possible. I found one game that made me feel like I was back in Vegas playing the slots.

They even had great security to keep anyone from leaving with the wrong kid.

The only bad part was when the person inside of the mouse costume got a little too close to Peanut. The husband shielded her and turned to me to say, "Did you see that? She looked at him like he was a sex offender."

*When "Walk the Dinosaur" came on, I had flashbacks to my fourth-grade dance recital which included bad neon lycra and a side ponytail. I even did some of the moves for the husband, who promptly turned and walked away from me. I don't really blame him.

Laying down the law

The Boy is having issues with the No. 1 rule in our house: Listen the first time.

"Boy! For the love of Pete, how many times have I asked you to get your jammies on?"

"Seven," he said, flipping his pajama bottoms to shake out the legs.

---

The husband and I are having issues being consistent with discipline. We've blamed The Boy's poor listening on age and the grandparent high from vacation. (He did spend two weeks with people who think just about everything he does is cute and who are making up for the 50 weeks a year when they don't see him.) But mostly, the problem stems from us. There are too many times -- like the pajama incident -- where we tell him to do something and then let him dilly-dally to the point of not listening. It's not like we set out to cut him slack; we just see him start to comply (clothes off, jammies out, for example) and usually we're wrangling The Lad and the next thing you know, 15 minutes have passed and he's still poking along in his underwear.

I'm not a patient person and generally speaking, I am the mean parent when it comes to discipline in our house. The not listening drives me bat-shit crazy. When The Boy doesn't follow directions the first time, it takes every bit of self-restraint not to yell or be sarcastic -- and unfortunately, there have been a few times when I was unable to find that last vital bit. Meanwhile, the husband is more likely to give him umpteen warnings before finally punishing him. "Boy .... what did I tell you to do? What time do we listen?"

Forget having a come-to-Jesus talk with The Boy about his behavior. (Have you tried rationalizing with a preschooler?) The husband and I had to have a serious conversation with each other. I need to ease up; he needs to clamp down.

And we both need to stifle the giggles when The Boy busts out with an inadvertently funny pronouncement.

Are you and your spouse always on the same page with discipline? Who's the mean parent?

Three

Dear Peanut,
How is it possible that we are celebrating your third birthday? It doesn't seem that long ago that I woke in the middle of the night to my water breaking and realizing you were on your way. My first baby.



From the first day you entered our life, you had us wrapped around your little finger. You didn't want to sleep on your own, so we held you. Lots. Daddy was determined to make you say his name first, and you did but soon you followed it up with mama.



You could spell your name, sing you are my sunshine and get through most of your ABCs before you were two. Your mind is like a sponge, picking up everything we say ... including damnit. That was my fault.



You weren't so sure when we told you would be a big sister. It is probably best you had a few months to get used to the idea. But that early morning (that felt so much like the day I gave birth to you) you popped out of bed when we told you your sister was coming. You cried when you realized you weren't going to the hospital with us. And the moment you laid eyes on her, you said she was beautiful. I don't think my heart could be filled with anymore love than it was at that moment.

You are willing to share everything with her. You birthday doll and your pacis. Your love for your sister knows now bounds and I hope you two will always be close.



You've been waiting in patient anticipation for your swing set to come. When the delivery man brought it in boxes last week, you immediately asked if you could play with it. When I explained to you that Daddy had to put it together, you didn't whine at all.

You have Opinions about everything. Your hairstyle. Your clothes. Bath or shower. Your turn to switch on the lights. I keep telling myself I will appreciate your assertiveness when you are in your 20s, making a career for yourself or doing whatever you decide to do.

You are sweet and sassy and amaze me with your grow up ways every day. Your imagination is endless. You love to tell stories where daddy is the prince, you are the princess and Gizmo is the dragon who turns into a princess.

I love you sweet girl and I am so happy I get to see you and help you grow up.

The birthday party

The balloons:



The cake:



The present that took daddy about 12 hours to put together:



The birthday girl (well almost. Her birthday is Monday):



The gift opening:



The excitement:



The look:


The singing:



The sister who slept through most of the party and opened her eyes just as I took this picture:


A big thanks to our family and friends for helping us celebrate Peanut's 3rd birthday. All weekend, she told me, "I want to celebrate my birthday."

Celebrate we did.

Morning without Daddyman

1 timeout
1 whine-fest
2 water bottles forgotten
3 mouths unbrushed

This is karma for all the times I said to the daycare ladies, "Oh Daddy dressed them today," or "Can you tell Daddy loaded the bag this morning?"

I used to think people who had toothbrushes at work were weird. Now, I'm thankful for my own desk hygiene set.

Things to remember: The In-Law Edition

When were at my parents, I posted a list of things I wanted to remember from the vacation. I didn't have time to do that while we were at my in-laws. (They, unlike my parents, are night owls, so we stay up chatting with them, rather than futzing on the computer.) So, let's catch up.

1. Sorting baseball cards. The Boy sat on the couch with his Daddyman for at least an hour looking through dusty boxes -- plural! -- of baseball cards the husband collected when he was a kid. Granny Annie knew she saved those for a reason. Each of them took home a box to keep.

2. Feeding squirrels. I am not a fan of squirrels. They are rats with fuzzy tails as far as I'm concerned. But the in-laws have befriended the neighborhood squirrels, feeding them oyster crackers and naming the regulars. One -- Brownie, I think they call him -- is so bold, he'll come beg at the door. I'll admit: I was a little weirded out. But my boys thought the squirrels were hilarious. And seeing The Lad try to get close to squirrels, chasing after them and yelling, made everyone else giggle.

3. Dirty toes. The in-laws were nice enough to host a cookout for my husband's best friends one night. Everyone has kids about the same age, and as the adults all sat around catching up and trying to figure out which of the guys had the least amount of hair left, the kids ran around the yard playing ball and catching fireflies. The Boy was barefoot. His toes were black when we gathered them up for bath and bed. The water turned gray almost instantly.

4. The tent. My father-in-law does historical re-enactment and put up the 18th century tent in the backyard for the kids. I don't know who was cuter or more excited about this: Papaw or my boys.

5. Reading with Grandma. My mother-in-law was a teacher. Like me, she loves reading to the kids. She picked out a special book at the library for The Boy -- one about a grandma living far from her grandson -- and when she read it to him, The Lad shouted, "Ree! Ree! Ree!" He insisted on having his turn with Granny Annie, and she loved it.

But my favorite time was hanging out at Grandma's house. My husband's grandma is just about the sweetest woman you could ever meet. She loves baseball and reading. She raised three boys who gave her 10 grandkids -- eight of which are boys. She has four great grandchildren -- all boys -- who, unfortunately, live far away from her. She doesn't get to see them often, but revels in it when she does. She insisted on cooking us dinner -- making sure she had ice cream for dessert -- and then just laughed as my boys raced around her living room after dinner, chasing balls and tackling Papaw.

My children are so lucky. They have more grandparents than they know what to do with. There's my parents and the in-laws, but then all of my grandparents (and there's five because of divorce) and the husband's grandma still are around and doting on my boys. They might not see all those grandparents all the time, but there's a lot of love swirling around my boys. As I said, we're lucky.

Off topic: Books

The year is half over. You might remember from my first quarter reading round-up that the husband and I have a "race" going: He runs 20 miles for every book I read. At the midpoint, I'm holding onto my lead, having finished 50 books to his 940 miles.

Some high (and low) lights from the last three months:

Hard Laughter, Anne Lamott: I love her writing, but this was not my favorite. I just didn't particularly like the main character, who seemed lazy to me. Although, now that I think about it, I think Lamott often writes about unlikable people.

The Double Bind, Chris Bohjalian: Years ago, I read a book by this author -- Midwives. I've never forgotten it, but never read any of his other books. This book was just as haunting. I honestly did not see the twist coming, and that rarely happens for me.

Triumph, Carolyn Jessop: Not a great book, but I couldn't pass up this memoir from the woman who escaped a polygamous life in the FLDS.

Sunset Park, Paul Auster: The main character in this book is a college dropout who is cleaning up foreclosed homes in Florida. That plot point guaranteed I would check it out from the library; the housing crisis hit our area hard. This ended up being a thoughtful look at family and success in modern America. Auster's writing is a bit slow -- deliberately paced, a real critic might say -- but his people are real and his books are short, so it's not too heavy.

Composed, Roseanne Cash: For a celebrity memoir, not bad. She offers up some fabulous anecdotes about life with her famous father and the life he afforded her. She also has some really interesting insights on writing, marriage and Sept. 11.

One Day, David Nicholls: UGH. Everyone gushed about how good this book was, and, being fair, it will be a fine chick-flick. (Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess are well-cast as the main characters.) However, the ending was terrible. TERRIBLE. Excuse the caps, but I felt like I was being cheated because the author didn't know how else to end it. I haven't been this disgusted with a book since reading Nicholas Sparks.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot: Everyone raved about this nonfiction book about cell research. It was good, very fascinating and not nearly as dry as it could have been, given the subject. I'm still surprised so many people liked it. It's pretty thick and technical. I suspect this might be one people claim to have read, when really they've just skimmed.

On Folly Beach, Karen White: Eh. Light summer reading. I saw the ending coming a mile away. I also read The Beach Trees, which was better, but still ridiculously predictable.

The Tiger's Wife, Tea Obrect: I loved the fable-like style, the magical realism and the way it forced you to just be with the characters, whether you knew everything that was going on or not. The pacing is a little slow, I'll admit, but I'm sad so many of my friends did not like this book, which was my favorite of the year.

Room, Emma Donoghue: I was really excited for this book and enjoyed reading it. It didn't blow me away though. By about halfway through, the device -- narrating from the sheltered child's perspective -- was more irritating than insightful.

Caleb's Crossing, Geraldine Brooks: This book purported to be about the first American Indian who graduated from Harvard. Really, it was about the imagined woman who was his friend and desperately wanted to study at the university. Good book, excellently written, but horribly misnamed. It's like she didn't have enough information -- and couldn't or wouldn't dream it up -- to write about her first topic, but never bothered to change the title.

The Butterfly's Daughter, Mary Alice Monroe: Meh. Chick lit.

In The Garden of Beasts, Erik Larson: Have you read Devil in the White City? If you did and enjoyed it, definitely pick up Larson's latest nonfiction account. This time, he takes on pre-World War II Germany, showing Hitler's ascent to power through the eyes of a reluctant diplomat and his socialite daughter. Fascinating.

Three Cups of Deceit, Jon Krakauer: I have not read Three Cups of Tea, which is the book that started the charitable organization that Krakauer calls out for being fraudulent. I respect Krakauer as a journalist and a writer, though, and this longish-essay, shortish-book was really interesting.

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen: Reread for the umpteenth time. Still love it. If you want to read one of the redone version by a modern author, I recommend Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife for sheer silliness. Mr. Darcy's endowment (ahem!) is a major plot point.

Unbroken, Laura Hillenbrand: This nonfiction account of the 1930s track star Louis Zamperini and his survival as a Japanese POW in World War II was hard to read in parts, but ultimately uplifting.

Zeitoun, David Eggers: More nonfiction. This one, about a Muslim American jailed in post-Katrina New Orleans, got me all riled up. I think it even would get my conservative relatives all riled up.

The Paris Wife, Paula McLain: I picked up this fictionalized account of Hadley Richardson's life with Ernest Hemingway in 1920s Paris after seeing the new Woody Allen film, Midnight in Paris, which deals with that time period. The book was so good -- meaning, felt so real -- it made me reread A Moveable Feast, Hemingway's memoir of that time in his life. And now I'm reading The Sun Also Rises, his first novel which was written then. I liked the book. I love it for reminding me how much I loved Hemingway. (Though, I must say, I have a much less romantic view of him and his work now than when I first read it, in high school.)

What should I be reading?

Signs

I am a skeptical person. It’s in my nature. But there are some things that are just unexplainable and in this case, I am OK with that.

As you may know, Peanut was name after my grandfather – Emery. He died when I was in middle school after a short, but painful battle with cancer. He was quick with a smile and hug and I always enjoyed visiting him. His back yard was filled with fun for us – a tree swing, an apple tree from which I ate so many apples I would get a stomach ache and a strawberry patch where I was known to eat more strawberries than actually put in my basket. He had four sons who each had two daughters. His granddaughters could do no wrong.

Emery was a name my sister had picked out but decided not to use. When we found out we were having a girl, she offered it to me. My sister is a giving person. This was probably the best gift she could have given to me.

When I was pregnant with Peanut, I was cleaning out some bags and came across something I thought I had lost. It was a tie tac that both my sister and I wore when we got married. Two hands praying. I was sick with worry for a long time because I couldn’t find it and I wanted to give it back to my sister. It belonged to my grandfather. I cried with relief having found it in a purse.

Shortly after Peanut was born, the husband took her out back to the patio. The air was still but the wind chimes began moving, making their music. My grandfather loved wind chimes.

This weekend, my parents came to visit and brought things of mine that had been in their basement. One was a simply wooden box my grandfather made me when I was kid. I left it on the dining room table, not think much about it.

The husband called me at work and asked me what was up with the box. Thinking he was going to get on my case for not putting something away (I have a habit of that) I cut him off and told him not to worry about it. I would put it away when I got home. He told me Peanut wanted to look at it.

Later, after he put Gizmo to bed, he came downstairs to find that Peanut had closed the doors to the kitchen and dining area. He found her inside, sitting at the table playing with the box. When he asked her why she shut the doors, she told him she didn’t want anyone to bother her.

And when they went to bed, she told him the box needed to go with her because the box would be sad if she left it downstairs with the cat.

Peanut will never meet her namesake but I like to think that somehow, she still knows him.

Crafty part 2

OK here are the button letters.

First, the inspiration.






And now for how I did it.

I got two 8 x 10 canvasses although you could do whatever size you want and bags of buttons. I had a hard time finding the color of buttons that I wanted. I need to find a store that sells big bags of buttons. I had about 150 buttons total for both letters






I first arranged all of the buttons without glue to make sure I had enough. Once I had what I wanted, I started gluing using a hot glue gun.








I put one layer down and then added another.







And that is it. Here is the M:







Pretty easy and something you could do with older kids. I would like to do something more elaborate/elegant for our dining room or living room using old buttons.

These cost me about $7 each to make and it took about 90 minutes to make both.

Do you have any craft projects that you like to do?

Crafty part 1

I had planned to show you how the husband and my dad did an amazing job putting together a swing set for the girls in the back yard followed by photos of the girls with looks of pure joy on their faces as they played on the swings, slide, climbing wall and in the sandbox.

However, apparently when the deliver company on Friday said they would deliver it tomorrow, they had a different tomorrow than Saturday in mind.

Boo. (We still don't know where the swing set is.)

Then I planned to tell you that Hillary and I had a great time out our friend's wedding Saturday night but that is kind of a one fact post (except for the drunk chick who fell in the fountain. No, it wasn't either one of us.)

We are all a bit older, a bit more gray, but it felt like those at our table had never left happy hour even though we haven't seen each other in years.

Here is a picture of us having a great time:




Hey look. We are both looking at the camera and not wrangling kids who refuse to cooperate.

All of that was a very long way to tell you that in this post, I will show you my craftiness. I found two things I wanted to make for the girls on Pinterest. I'll show you one today and one tomorrow.

Here is my inspiration:


Cute, right?

I got two 12-inch styrofoam wreath forms and about 120 yards of ribbon and tulle in various colors, textures and sizes. (Keep in mind. That is for 2 wreaths.




Here is another shot.




Then I decided to cut the ribbon in about 12 inch strips.




That seemed a bit short after tying it around the form so I made them 14 inches.




Then I decided the form was too thick and I would just make my own circle to tie the ribbon on from wire. That was a 10-minute detour that ended in a dead end and I didn't even bother documenting it with a photo.

Back to the ribbon cutting.







There was a lot of ribbon to cut.

Finally, the tying. The first wreath I did was willy-nilly tying. The second, I did more of a pattern. You can't tell the difference.

So I tied.



And I tied some more.




And I tied some more until I got this:




Total time for both was about 90 minutes, not including the shopping. Each cost about $12 to make.

They are a bit, um, more wild than my inspiration but I am pleased with the results.

I am going to hang them on the girls doors as soon as I get something to hang them with.

Tomorrow, I will show you how I did the first letters of each of the girls' name with buttons on a canvas.

homesick

Sitting on the in-laws couch yesterday, I kept thinking about my chair. Their couch is comfy. The house was quiet. I had plenty of time to read my book, which was just getting good. It was a nice moment. But all I really wanted to do was sit in my chair.

I miss my pillow.

I miss my shower, even with the nasty grout I keep putting off cleaning.

I miss looking out the finger-printed sliders to the drought-brown backyard.

I miss listening to the boys fight while I handle the after-work, pre-dinner rush.

Pretty sure that's a sign it's about time to go home.

What's the first thing you miss about home?

Bits

In my 100 books in a year conquest, I've realized two things.

One, a book needs to have a very good reason to be more than 250 pages or else I stew the entire time I'm reading it, making me dislike it even it if is a decent book.

And two, series books make me angry. Stop trying to cash in so much and just write one book. It doesn't have to be a trilogy or an endless series (I'm looking at you Sookie Stackhouse series.) Because after about the fourth book, it starts losing it's appeal. This comes after reading A Discovery of Witches, which I know a lot of people liked but I just didn't. And I liked it even less when I realized it was the first in a trilogy.

Climbing off my soapbox now...

****

We are planning Peanut's 3rd birthday party. What was intended to be a little get together has turned into a party with almost 30 people, mostly family.

It's about a week and half away and I just ordered the decorations. I didn't bother with invites, just called people this weekend and said, "Hey, our kid is turning 3. You want to come to a party?"

I'm struggling to find a downloadable picture but we are going with a pink pirate theme. That's right. Pink pirate. Nothing says happy 3rd birthday like skulls, crossbones and hearts in black and pink.

I still have no idea what we are going to eat or what I am doing about the cake. I should probably figure all of this out soon.

****

The husband and I are planning a night out with some friends in a few weeks. We still haven't taken the plunge with a teen babysitter for the girls but we figure now is a good time.

A co-worker has a teen daughter that we are trying to coax into staying with the girls while we go to a restaurant in town. She doesn't like the idea of changing diapers though so we will see if she agrees.

I'm willing to pay her just about anything if it means the husband and I can get a night out more regularly.

****

Peanut did use the potty this weekend. Once.

She was in the pool at my in-laws without a swim diaper (because I only packed the one that she used early in the day.) We told her she had to tell us if she needed to potty.

She eventually said she needed to so I scooped her up and rushed her to the bathroom. She sat on the big potty and peed. I squealed with delight, clapped and tried to give her high-5.

She freaked out and not in a good way. It was like she was afraid. We figure the thought of giving up control has her scared.

I don't know if it makes me happy or more frustrated that she knows when she needs to use the potty. Probably a little bit of both.

Reunited

After not seeing each other for two years, this is what our afternoon together looked like:




































It was everything Hillary said. While we didn't have an in-depth conversations, it was so good to see her and watch our kids play together.

Even better, we get to have some grown-up time next weekend when we all go to college friend's wedding.