more tiny : babies, knits, and encampments

Spring must be Baby Season, what with all of the friends and family anticipating new arrivals, or recently having welcomed them. Boy, girl, girl, twin boys, and even a few "as yet unidentified." With the chaos that is the end of the school year, I needed a good reason to get my hands moving in some sort of soothing rhythm, a way to calm the interior while the exterior runs circles. Nothing does that so well as baby knits -- small, fast, and incredibly soft.

In the spirit of all that tiny, one of my girls has been spending a lot of time out back. I didn't even realize what she was up to until I stumbled across her Encampment.

Teepees and canoes, fire pits and ponds. She even managed to shift the dirt in one planter enough to provide for the ever-crucial stable. Reminds me of all the summer hours I spent making small encampments in the backyard of my parent's home (although I seem to remember actually lighting the fire pits -- shhh, don't tell her that. We're on High Fire Alert around here). Sometimes "the good old days" don't seem that far off after all.

wednesday's ode

To beautiful surroundings.

Easter for the little man

The last of the Easter outfits (the girls' are here and here). He just took his first steps on Sunday. A tie and vest, complete with a screenprinted boutonniere - absurdly grown up for a baby that is growing up absurdly fast.

i am hope :: white

i am hope :: white

wednesday's ode

To beautiful surroundings.

an evening at the lake

The first year we were here we went up to the lake a couple of times a week. This past year was slower -- more homebound and busy. But this weekend, a good reminder that hiking and mud and cold, cold spring water does us all a lot of good. 

And then some.

i am hope :: tiny things

 . . . in a big way . . . 

or big things . . . in a tiny way . . .

poppies for Easter

image source

My daughter is a compulsive flower picker.

That said, let me now paint a tricky scenario for you: we live on the bottom floor of our landlord's home. Our landlord, a constant presence in our lives, resides on the second floor. Roses of every shape, size, and color fill the small backyard that we share - the first real backyard we've had access to as a family. These rose bushes are constantly laden with the most enticing blooms imaginable. As an added bonus, the backyard is also home to two lemon trees, their branches weighed down with plump yellow goodness at arm's reach - short little kid arms, that is.

What could possibly be wrong with this lovely scene? My three-year-old is unable to spend a minute in the backyard without plucking roses, petals, and lemons. In the interest of amiable relations with our landlord, I have become the scroogiest mom around. Every time I spot my daughter cradling a handful of flower petals I give her a stern look and say, "I hope you didn't pick those!" The pinnacle of scrooginess is when I must reprimand her for her gift of flowers that she has picked just for me.

My flower picking paranoia has apparently rubbed off on the five-year-old. Both my daughters are quite enamored with the California state flower. In fact, they always refer to it as such instead of the poppy.  "Mom, she's picking California state flowers!" has been her watchcry lately with the abundance of rich orange poppies that spring has brought.

I thought poppies would be an appreciated addition to the Easter dress I made for her this year. The dress was made out of the same silk dupioni that made up part of the five-year-old's dress. The three swooping pintucks in the dress echoed the three delicate poppies that I painted onto it.

I was a bit worried it might not be apparent what kind of flower they were supposed to be. But I almost felt redeemed again as a mother when she donned it excitedly on Easter morning, exclaiming, "Look! The California state flower is on my dress!"

wednesday's ode

To beautiful surroundings.

a little rain

We've been waiting two months for rain around these parts. Two months that included March -- the first bone dry March on record -- and all of April. The water began falling last night around dinnertime, and even though the temperature dropped with it I opened a window in every room, and the six year-old headed out for an hour of puddle jumping in the gutter.

Something about the smell of rain in the spring, rain in the drylands, rain on new leaves. Irresistible.

The garden, for the most part is in, the peas are up, and the radishes, as always, are excessive.

Next project: Something to make these chairs from the neighbors slightly more comfortable. Cushions? Re-webbing? Hmmmm.

wednesday's ode

To beautiful surroundings.