Pelfies

Oh ... Hi, Hooooman! You're back ...

I thought you'd gone away ... Forever.

I was worried. You know ... because I don't really know how to get food out of all these storage contraptions.

It was a relief that you hadn't eaten all of your lunch when you left before.

Don't worry about that cottage cheese ...

I totally cleaned that up.

No need to thank me.

But you're welcome.




Dogs.

So selfish.

feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme.

On the menu this evening we have starters, non-starters and apps

There we were, sitting across a square table from one another.

A platter of fun food in between us.

The whole family. In a restaurant. Having a nice time.

As is usual for us, a round-robin of non-sequitur arguments changes the course of conversation as if we were speaking in pinball.

I could tell you how we got on the subject of gun control, but it would take too long, and the bells and lights from the silver ball's awkward trajectory would be maddeningly distracting.

Let's just say Jed sprung the ball into the maze, it dinged off Silas, lit up Annabel and got stuck under my flipper, tilting the whole entire game.

Here's the gist:

"Every state should have a Department of Firearms (just like the Department of Motor Vehicles) that licenses gun owners and registers guns by class. Initial licenses would be awarded after successful completion of written, field and background tests, and renewal would require inspection (periodic background checks).  Furthermore, gun owners would be required to carry liability insurance for each firearm in their possession. Let the risk pools float where they may." 

In other words: Let's just put our cards on the actuarial table.

"Sure, you can have that AR-15, but if you are under 25 or have teenagers at home, it is going to put you in a higher risk pool. Accident or not, you will be liable for damages."

Crickets.

The conversation I thought we were having disappeared. I was left alone with my thoughts as my husband furiously typed away on his cell phone and the kids tried to guess when our meals would arrive at the table.

"You know ... I hardly ever speak to other human beings during the day ... the least you could do is humor me at dinner."

He smiled and handed me his phone:

"Thank you for contacting the White House ... "

"I told them 'My wife has a brilliant idea. ...' Betcha didn't know there's an app for that."

What does Fantastic Mr. Fox say?

"Maybe a few of you might even read my column from time to time, who knows. I tend to doubt it."

May the Force be with you

Jingle Bells

Yoda smells ...

Anakin laid an egg ...

X-wing fighter lost a wing ...

..... Aaaaand Darth Vader does ballet

Yes, Ittybit, there is a Santa Claus

He doesn't disappear.

He evolves.

Ten years ago

And still, you are incredibly sweet.



Happy Birthday, Ittybit.

Naughty & Nice

She made me a horse ornament ...




... to apologize ....


for making me a horse ornament ...

A rare sighting

Teenage angst is all around her.

And not just because she rides the school bus with high schoolers.

She's growing up.

Toys are scarce on her Christmas list.

The encroachment of fashions and accessories have pushed them into endangered territory.

And yet, the Ittybit she used to be hop-skipped off the bus today -- past the seniors and sophomores - and into my arms wearing a poinsettia ornament she'd made in art class with construction paper and a clothespin.

"It was just too pretty not to wear in my hair."

There's still time to make HORRIBLE gifts ... usually around 1 a.m.

You know what happens when a person like me can't sleep?

They come up with really horrifying sewing projects that will undoubtedly (and unfortunately) wind up as a school grab bag present.

So ...

Thanks to insomnia, some poor kid will have to deal with ...

THE SNIFFLE PILLOW & BLANKETCHIEF SET

Essentially, it's a pocket tissue pack cover and a double-sided doll action figure blanket made with flannel scraps.

To make the pillow cover:

*Cut two pieces of fabric, the exterior side is 5 1/2 inches by 6 1/2 inches and the lining will be 5 1/2 by 7 1/2 inches.

*Sandwich the fabrics right sides facing each other, ends meeting. Sew first side.

*Adjust the opposite ends so they meet. Sew second side.

*Turn right sides out and press flat so that the lining leaves a 1/4 inch of border on either side.

*Turn lining side out, fold so that borders meet. Sew raw ends closed.

Turn right side out. Stuff with pocket pack.

To make the blanketchief:

*Cut two pieces of fabric the same size. (I used 8 x10)

*Sandwich right sides together.

*Sew around all four sides, leaving a three-inch gap to turn blanket right side out.

*Close end and sew 1/4 border all the way around the blanket to finish.



I'm fairly certain there is a reason this toy has never been invented before.

Smart adults usually discourage children from playing with phlegm.

If you can't laugh at this ...

You might be visited this evening by a few ghosts.

My thoughts exactly

"Why is that woman smiling while her kid vomits into a bag?"

Twenty days

I didn't feel much like writing, I guess.

That's my excuse.

That, and I was feeling sorry for myself.

Sorry that I hurt my stupid ankle.

Sorry that I couldn't run for nearly eight weeks.

Sorry that when I was able to start again I felt like I'd started from square -8.

It is humbling.

Almost as humbling as finding out your fourth grader tells the nurse "Mom is going to be mad if you call her because I feel sick."

And nearly as humbling as learning your first grader walked like a robot to lunch last week because he'd tied his shoes together. And then he cried when the teacher couldn't untie them.

But perhaps not nearly as humbling as being mistaken for a grandmother, being called a housewife, or being asked to have my husband call to authorize this transaction.

But here we are. ...

Hobbling into the Thanksgiving season no worse for actual wear, which I've decided has to mean I need to take all of this discomfort and walking it off.

It's hard to believe we're related

Beauty

... and The Beast.

Zombie Hunter

... and Safety Gnome.

Game on

Don't forget to stretch. ...

Staying limber is important.

Size up the situation ... but don't worry about the competition. We like to keep things friendly.

Don't jump the gun.

Get the best angle.

Even if it hurts.

Don't be afraid to sink your teeth into it.

Words

Deciduous



Industrious



Pathfinding



Pride

A bicycle (bag) built for two

 

Annabel has been wanting a basket for her bike ever since the training wheels came off. When we couldn't find anything that suited her "style" she decided I could make one with our sewing machine.

I procrastinated for a while, but then I had an idea. I could quilt one using scrap fabrics and a length of high-loft batting I had found in a remnant bin.

I pieced together the top to fit the width of the batting, basted it to the batting and quilted it along the seam lines. Next, I pinned in place the backing, attached a homemade bias tape to the edges and stitched all the way around. Folding the quilted side together so that about four inches remained unmatched, I sewed the long edges and turned it inside out to form the bag. I toyed with the idea of boxing the corners (as might notice in the picture) but I decided to keep it simple.

I top stitched along the back of the top edge to made a crease in the flap for easier folding. Finally I cut two 12" strips of grosgrain ribbon and stitched them to the outside edge of the flap (three inches from each side of center) so the basket could be tied to the handlebars.

It was such a success that Silas demanded one for his bike.

  

Of course I was out of batting  ... and he wasn't really keen on the pretty quilted look (he wanted man-eating sharks on his basket)... So I procrastinated again.

Until today, when I found some olive-drab twill at the local junk shop (three yards for $6) and thought it would make a nice temporary "bike basket" that I could put on my bike if he didn't want it. 

I used the same basic design as before -- two rectangles of fabric (outer and lining) but without the interfacing or batting. I made the exterior of the bag first, leaving a four-inch section at the top for a flap and then sewed the lining. I boxed the corners for both bags before inserting the lining, turning the bag inside out and stitching around the opening. I then stitched the bias tape around the flap and opening. Finally, I stitched the straps (ribbons that I'd saved from some of our wedding gifts, actually) to the back of the bag. 

Silas took one look at the bag I was now coveting, and decided he didn't care about sharks after all.

Just my luck.

Abandonment issues

Someone mentioned that today was the 26^th anniversary of the famous October snow storm that took out power in the northeast for about a week.

I couldn't believe it. It seemed like a lifetime had passed. I was in college (first year) and realizing for the first time I had options. Namely, a friend who lived in the city (with power) who would let me crash on her couch while I went to school.

My parents might have had some nostalgic hopes of being together as a family through the hardship.

But I jumped at the chance to abandoned them.

Who wouldn't pick hot showers and late-night-television marathons with friends over studying by candlelight with the parental units as they tried to cook dinner over a Coleman stove?

Turns out I'm more of an opportunist than a survivalist.

These things don't change.

I struggle with what to write here, especially with so much going on in the corner of the Earth that I call my own.

Do I tell you that I worry? Or that I'm not sure I'm happy? Do I tell you I feel anxious and ineffective? That I miss my mother? That I hate feeling any comfort at all that the woman who took her place is delightful. It makes me feel disloyal to the woman she was.

It makes me feel like I've abandoned her again.

Do I tell you that I am not prepared for the future?

I try to push it out of my mind. Think about cheerful things.

The kids are fine and growing like weeds.

Silas went from 32 pounds on his birthday in June to 39 pounds just this past week. It's making me sad that I have trouble hefting the former flyweight.

Annabel is practically a teenager, and acting like one (in the pre-teen positive sense) as she cares about the condition of her clothes and the state of her hair. Tangles are becoming a thing of the past as are mismatched colors and prints.

More often than not, I find I can't recognize either one of them when I search across the soccer field. She's taller than I remember. Her hair is longer. She plays with more assuredness. He is just as fast as the other boys and nearly as tall.

Soon they will be going to high school … and college …

The bus won't drop them here at the end of the day.

Too soon, their homecomings will be brief visits. They will have their own homes elsewhere.

I feel guilty. Like I have abandoned them too, as I spin off into the future where the ground is uncertain.

I need to stop jumping ahead. I need to stay put in the here and now.  

Tandem

Tantrum ...



Triumph.

As soon as the doctor ordered crutches ...

I knew this was how they were going to work.

It's just a flesh wound

But in case you're keeping track, the score is as follows:


Apple Tree, 1

Silas, 0