valentine juvenility

My daughter and I butted heads over valentines this year. The absurdity of this admission is quite apparent now that she is in bed, safely tucked away from the stack of valentines that she will hand out to her fellow kindergarteners tomorrow. She is five years old. I am thirty-three.

Does anyone else out there struggle with giving their children free reign on projects that are, well, theirs? For some reason, if I am in any way involved in the project, I can't seem to relinquish control of it. Oh, the shame of the other five-year-olds receiving a generic valentine from my daughter. Unbearable enough to warrant my increasingly desperate attempts to align my daughter's valentine vision with my own.

Not desperate at all: presenting in a detached way the brilliant idea I've come up with.
A bit concerned: talking excitedly about my idea... really trying to sell it to her.
Bordering on desperate: pointing out why my idea would turn out better than what she has in mind.
Full-on desperate: "Fine! Nevermind! We'll just go buy boring valentines from the store!"

Oh boy. Did I mention that she is five years old and I am thirty-three?

She insisted on pretending to hold a sucker. I talked her into at least pretending to hold a Hershey's kiss.

Am I planning to grow up a little by next Valentine's Day? As I type this, I am thinking of how soon I can go ahead and finish up my original plan. If it's already done, there's no room for negotiation next year, right?

Did I mention that next year I'll be thirty-four?

Olive You

My daughter's name lends itself quite nicely to valentines, as it turns out.

 

This pillow? Cute idea. And when your name is actually Olive? Voilà - the best valentines ever. Plus, I get to watch her write the E at the end of her name over and over again. She's been known to put as many as 10 lines on it when inspiration strikes. Ah, the thrill of watching her thoughtfully add line after perpendicular line and then pronounce, "There." when it looks just right.

How many years running do you think I'll be able to keep her excited about this one?

a break and some balance

In the end, a three week break from school proved to be rejuvenating after all.

If you sense a tone of surprise, that's because "vacation" and "rejuvenation" have rarely gone together around here. I am going to go way out on a limb and assume that for some parents the peak of enjoyment is traveling with and entertaining sugar-hyped kids. Either that, or there are a lot of parents out there willing to take far more for the team than I tend to be. Either way, the expectation of vacation, not to mention vacation itself, can sometimes put me right on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I generally need a solid week to recover from a long weekend.

I remember vacations before I was responsible for anyone else, and long before I was expected to keep the train rolling on through, as it were. Vacations meant books and naps and hours in the grass, watching clouds. Over the past decade, they have meant extra laundry and food prep on the fly, combined with limited sleep and even less quiet. This has to be some sort of mistake, I find myself thinking. Surely there is a way to vacation that is like, well, a vacation.

More recently I have been trying to learn to simplify and streamline (and plan, oh my); trying to find that elusive middle ground of enough activity and enough relaxation. For all of us.

And this winter break, for the first time in a long long time, we somewhow seemed to landed well in that middle ground range. Visits with cousins and grandparents and books on the couch; skiing and sleeping in. Juggling seven kids downtown for ice cream and a solo trip with the birthday boy for a donut.

Ahhh, balance. I'm always so startled when it happens to show up.

We closed out our break with a trip to the ice rink downtown. A good place to put the finishing touches on balance.

School starts back up tomorrow: early mornings and homework and long miles in the dark on bikes. Back to the rhythm of days and nights and weekends. Back to the rhythm of quiet during naptime and remembering to make dinner.

Back to a renewed search for balance.

homemade tree

At first I planned to just forgo a Christmas tree this year. Our current apartment is far too small for one. We aren't even going to be here for Christmas. But I felt like such a scrooge.

And so the children and I went off to collect sticks. They were in their element. I bowed to their stick-choosing expertise. They revelled in it.

We drilled holes in them and slid them over a dowel. The kids decorated the tree, first with leaves. Then we carried our teetering tower inside and hung the ornaments and strung the lights.

Note to self: next time, use rebar. It lasted a grand total of one day. Our Christmas tree was short-lived, but well-loved.

trees that smell like trees

When I was growing up, our Christmas tree was always freshly cut. Freshly cut, and then flocked and covered in pink lights, pink bows, and clip-on pink birds. To paraphrase a four year-old we once knew, it looked like a flamingo threw up in our living room. Granted this was the 70's and 80's, and granted we were a household of girls, girls, girls, but pink? My aesthetic sensibilities of today recoil, but back then I loved it all -- the colors, the fluff, and most of all the smell.

Ahhh, the smell of fresh pine. Forget cinnamon and nutmeg -- this is the smell of Christmas. Even entombed in gallons of flocking and pink.

When we first got married we didn't even discuss the option of a fake tree. No, we just took a week's worth of grocery money and headed to the tree lot on the hill. Some years we bought trees, others we cut our own on some desert property my dad had. But we always had fresh pine for the holidays.

Then we moved to Indiana.

For seven years we made do with a student-housing-mandated-fake-tree, but only barely. Fake trees, it turns out, don't smell like pine. They smell like plastic. All the simmering cinnamon sticks in the world can't make up for it.

So imagine just how thrilled we were last year to make our way back to pine. And not just any old pine, but family-picked-and-cut-pine from the Forest Service property up the canyon. It felt so good to dig out the saw and hatchet again; so good to get up in deep mountain snow.

So good to have a home that smells like Christmas again, and a tradition reborn.

more (teeny) tiny: doll knits

Judging by all of the matching outfits in that doll magazine that keeps coming (and coming and coming) to our house, I'm going to venture a guess that it's not just my girl who loves to coordinate with her inanimate wee babe. So a little Christmas knitting has been happening around here on the sly.

Remember the sweater I made for this girl? Well, here's my attempt at a matching ensemble.

It just so happens that Premie-sized knits are perfect for a 12" doll. I created a modified version of the "cardigan, beanie, & mittens" in Tina Barrett's Natural Knits for Babies and Toddlers -- shortening the sleeves and adding bobbles and eyelet holes toward the top. I also kept all the buttons near the collar, rather than spacing them down the entire front.

Not an exact match, but close enough. Hopefully.

But. Now that the doll has a hat, it looks like I'm going to have to cast one on for the girl. (I'm thinking that Soulemama's Favorite Hat might be a good, quick, option -- close enough, do you think?) Of course, if I've done a sweater for the doll to match the girl, and I'm doing a hat for the girl to match the doll, does that mean I'll have to do fingerless gloves for the doll . . . to match these ones for the girl?

Oh my. Just don't say the word "socks."

wooden wreath puzzle: a tutorial

We've started decorating around these parts. A little late, I know, but festive enough to make up for the tardiness. This not-so-little boy, in particular, is fascinated by all the new things to look at and pull down and smash with a hammer. Ahhhh, the sweet explosions of holiday cheer.

Post-holidays, we keep all of our decorations in one box in the basement, and every year it's something of a mystery as to what will emerge from the depths unscathed. Something always manages not to. (Speaking of, how is it that a string of perfectly functional lights can be carefully packed into a box in January, and emerge eleven months later no longer functioning? Exactly what happens in that box all year?) But the mysterious state of the contents only adds to the anticipation; a whole year later, everything is brand new again.

But even with the novelty factor, the favorites are the somehow always the same. My animal-girl bolts for "the bird of wisdom" while the youngest girl twirls the star on its stick. The boys dig for lights and the 10 year-old sorts the breakables. Then everyone pulls back and comes to watch as the wooden wreath puzzle emerges, and the pieces are laid out on the table.

Hands down, this wreath is the family holiday favorite.

The wreath was designed and hand carved by my husband the first Christmas we were first dating. I'm telling you, for a girl who begged for a pocket knife and spent hours whittling soap bars in the garage, this was about as impressive a gift as he could have come up with. Every year when we pull it out, the intense smell of wood knocks my mind back twenty years. A good twenty years, and every Christmas between then and now.

The kids always jockey for turns putting the puzzle together and taking it back apart, while it stays down on the table. But once the wreath goes up on the wall, the enjoyment is more of a visual nature.

{See it back there on that bland cinderblock wall? Way off in the distance . . . }

So for today, an attempt at a holiday tutorial.

Wooden Wreath Puzzle

The wreath in its entirety is 16" diameter. You can either shell out for a 1x16 or, as my husband did, use a (much cheaper) 1x10 or 1x12 and cut the puzzle in two sections. Follow the instructions below for both options.

Material:

• A 1x16 piece of wood, at least 16" long, or 2 pieces of 1x10 or 1x12, at least 16" long.
• A hand saw OR scrollsaw/jigsaw OR bandsaw.
• Sanding equipment. Either an electric sander, or plain old sandpaper is fine.
• Beeswax polish, or other finish.
• Ribbon for hanging - at least 1 yard long.

Safety: Wear safety goggles and proper ear protection if using a scrollsaw/jigsaw, bandsaw, or electric sander. Make sure they are in proper working order to ensure safe use.

• Print out and trace the above pattern pieces. (If you have any trouble with the pdfs, please email me or comment below and I will send them to you directly.)
• Lay the puzzle pieces out on a table, making sure the places where they meet fit well together.
• If you are working with a 1x16 piece of wood (or have printed the pattern smaller and can fit the entire wreath onto a smaller width board), lay the entire puzzle, completely put together, on the wood. If you are working with a board that is too narrow for the entire puzzle, put it together in two halves (4 pieces each) and lay them on the board/s in two separate places.
• Trace carefully around the pieces, one at a time.
• Cut out each piece using either a hand saw, scroll saw, or band saw. (Note: if you are using a hand saw, be very careful to cut between the pieces as vertically as possible. Any slant in your cut will make it difficult to get rejoin the pieces from both the front and the back). If you have cut out the pieces in two sections, make sure that the end pieces of each section join to the other section well. Adjust the cuts on these outside pieces as necessary.

Finishing the puzzle pieces:

• If using power sanders, gently and evenly rotate each puzzle piece along the sander. Be careful not to remove too much from the points of attachment, so the pieces still fit snugly together.
• If using sandpaper, start with a coarse grit (60) and sand all surfaces until smooth. Use progressively finer grit (higher number) sandpaper until you are happy with the feel of the surface.
• Wipe the sawdust carefully from all pieces.

Finish the pieces.

1. Protect with beeswax.

• Apply beeswax with a soft cloth, working it into the wood.
• Let dry.
• Apply additional coats as desired.
• To maintain your puzzle, periodically reapply beeswax.

2. Protect with paint, stain, or other sealant. [Note: If you prefer to finish the pieces with a clear polyurethane or paint, be cautious with the joints; any build-up between pieces can make them difficult to fit together.]

• Apply with a fine bristle brush.
• Let dry.
• Apply additional coats to surface (not between pieces) as desired.
• When finished, double-check that pieces are able to fit together smoothly, and sand lightly at attachment points if necessary.

Hanging puzzle.

• If your pieces fit snugly together, it should be safe to hang your wreath on the wall. Make sure to first attempt hanging it against the wall very close to the ground, with a soft surface to catch any pieces that might slip out. If your wreath does not stay together when vertical, you can put a small piece of finish-safe tape at the joints to keep it from coming apart.
• Put puzzle together on a solid, movable board or piece of cardboard, on a flat surface such as a table.
• Slide ribbon under the puzzle and tie at the end.
• Carefully move the horizontal board to the wall and attach the ribbon to the hook or nail on the wall. For the safety of your wreath, do not hang it on a door or other mobile surface.
• With the wreath weight on the ribbon, hold the pieces to the board with your hand while you shift it from horizontal to vertical, hanging against the wall. If the wreath is secure, remove the board.

And enjoy.

the art of leftovers

I've never really attempted food photography. Food presentation has never been my strong point - my energy goes into making it taste good, not necessarily look good.

But please give this concoction the benefit of the doubt.

Year after year when I make pumpkin pies, I can never quite squeeze all the pumpkin pie filling I've prepared into a pie. But of course there isn't enough to make another pie, so, at a loss as to any alternative, I regretfully pour it down the drain. This year I saved it just in case I felt ambitious enough to make mini pumpkin pies with the children.

I did not.

So on Sunday as I was poking through the fridge for Thanksgiving leftovers, I decided to try concocting a "leftover pie" pie. I had about a half a cup of leftover fresh cranberries from the cranberry apple pie in addition to about a cup more or less of pumpkin pie filling. I had no desire to rain down chaos on my kitchen by making a pie crust, so here is what I did.

Mix together about:

1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
2 Tbsp. melted butter
2 Tbsp. brown sugar

Press this down in the bottom of a pie dish. Pour the leftover pumpkin pie filling over this. Mix the fresh cranberries with a tablespoon or two of brown sugar, then pour these into the pumpkin pie filling. Add some chocolate chips (1/4 cup?) as well. Bake at 375 until the pie filling is set (I think I baked this for about 25 or 30 minutes). Let cool completely.

This turned out as a tasty, almost cookie/bar-like treat (a gluten-free thanksgiving pie, if you will). Not overly sweet, it was perfect for a breakfast indulgence the next morning. And I didn't feel guilty at all, knowing I had made use of my thanksgiving pie leftovers that were otherwise bound for the garbage disposal.

Don't forget to check out the Etsy Shop sale going on now!

thanksgiving preparations at our house

 Last night found my 5-year-old and I in a passionate debate. Topic of said debate: is her recently acquired rubber chicken (thank you, random person on the street disposing of Halloween paraphernalia) a representation of a dead chicken, or merely "a baby chicken who doesn't have feathers yet."

 Though the controversy was never formally settled, it seems I may have swayed her opinion. Suddenly focused, as she gets when inspiration strikes, she began making place cards for each member of our family. She then arranged the rubber chicken in the center of the table because, as she explained, "it was almost Thanksgiving."

into october

I unboxed all the quart jars this week. For an entire year they sat huddled in a corner of the basement, empty and (I'm quite sure) thoroughly depressed. A whole year without homemade jam or applesauce; months and months without bottled peaches. I ask you, what is a box of jars without peaches? Oh, how I missed those peaches last winter.

So I unboxed the jars on wednesday and hauled the girls to the home of a friend-of-a-friend. Her apple trees were being cut down, and she was looking for a loving home to send the year's harvest. For the first time in my life, I picked apples at a stoop rather than a stretch. But considering I had three young girls along for the picking, ground level access was a decided boon. Less romantic, to be sure, but much more effective.

All day thursday I made applesauce (with my "helpful" little boy reaching for the knife at every turn -- how does he always know just where the knife is when he can't see onto the counter?!?). Friday I passed and then turned back to a farm stand selling local peaches and tomatoes, and just like that a busy saturday became much busier. Tomato sauce, bottled peaches, apple butter, and peach jam, all in the name of a tasty winter.

Saturday evening our round of fall birthday celebrations belatedly began, complete with requisite piñata in the neighborhood tree.

Happy birthday my boys. Consider the peaches an extra gift.

today

The kids are out of school today, which has made for all kinds of anarchy and chaos (mainly good chaos, but, well, you know). Today we are in the midst -- making, riding, playing, cleaning, dirtying, building, waiting -- in hopes that by sunday we can wrap up in a little calm as we celebrate Easter.

The grass is up in the baskets:

The eggs are ready to be dyed and filled:

And the backyard is begging for a few raised beds:

Between our projects and keeping all these little (and not so little) tummies filled and refilled today, I am thinking we're definitely going to need a good movie to detox and relax with tonight. Any suggestions?

growing wheat

The mowers were out today, blowing leaves and trimming hedges and raking debris. And mowing. I thought I must have missed a month -- what can there possibly be to mow in March? The grass outside is still all sorts of brown, but freshly mowed it smells, well, green. Sweet and fresh and green. I love the daffodils and tulips just sneaking up through the dirt, and the new leaves are even starting on the trees. But it's the grass starting to green that finally feels like the ground is breathing again. Finally feels like Spring.

So to mark the shift, and to get some of that sweet green inside, we thrifted some easter baskets this week, lined them with old bags and dirt, and sprinkled wheat. I've read about people growing grass seed in their easter baskets, but I don't happen to have any on hand. I do, however, have about a dozen buckets of wheat ready for the sprouting (and grinding, and throwing, and chewing -- did you know that a mouthful of wheat chews into gum? or so the kids tell me . . . ).

The five year-old is in charge of watering. She's been using the spray bottle from the laundry room, and apparently misting is the magic touch. Either that or wheat is awfully quick to sprout. In three days we've gone from this:

To this:

At this rate, we're going to have to mow it before Easter ever arrives.

pinata [of the indestructible variety]

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point in the past decade and a half, a pinata became absolutely mandatory in our family birthday celebrations. And I, having made more than my share of pinatas in the 6th grade (we sold them to raise money for a field trip -- now that's my kind of child labor), became the official pinata maker.

I initially went the balloon and paper mache route. For those unfamiliar (what? this isn't the main skill you picked up in 6th grade?), the paper mache route takes about three days and includes, a large round balloon, paper mache, and shredded newspaper. Just mix these three ingredients together (not really -- you blow, tie, dip, plaster), let dry overnight, add more of the last two ingredients, let dry another night, and then cover with fringed crepe paper (and anything else you might want to add). Streamers, pictures, stickers, cones. After hours and hours, the pinata might look something like the top row of these superb examples:

But after a few (one), my pinatas became much simpler. More of the plain egg-shaped variety, to be exact. We did an Ice Cream Cone and then an Eyeball, and at least one Princess Face (for the boys to smash, of course), before the pinatas became simply Colored Circles.

And then, inevitably, we ran into another problem -- longevity. Homemade pinatas of this type just didn't last all the way through an entire line of kids, especially when it comes to growing boys with a wooden baseball bat. Three strikes, and the candy was out.

Add to that a much smaller amount of time I was willing to devote to Pinata Creation, and a new variety of pinata was born: The Box.

I'm telling you, The Box is the best pinata idea since . . . round pinatas.

Take a shoebox, fill it up with candy or pencils or bouncy balls -- whatever your prize of choice, duct tape it shut, let the birthday kid decorate it, and you've got one superb pinata. Even with a handful of tweens in line, these boxes take round after round to destroy.

Sometimes we even have to call in the Big Guns to open it up.