Spring Fever Winners!

First, I'm so glad there were so many entries for this giveaway! I knew Sue's necklaces were beautiful but with your sweet comments to bolster her creativity, I'm sure she'll be inspired to keep on keepin' on. Maybe...just maybe...she'll finally become convinced to sell her beautiful work!

I originally intended to give away 3 necklaces, but the whole thing just snowballed into something else entirely once I got started. I used Random.org to determine the winners, and here's how it panned out.

Ready?

Ready?!?

The first winner is commenter #12, Jill!

In a strange, lucky twist of fate, Jill is one of my closest friends in real life. (Jill: GET A BLOG, ALREADY!) Since she didn't say in her comment which necklace she liked best, I called her late last night to squeal and giggle with her about What are the CHANCES?! and also to have her choose her prize. (Since it was nearly 11PM, she was sure I was calling with big news....and her mind made the jump to big pregnancy news...but it was not to be. She had to settle for a necklace.) She chose Desert Lilac.

The second winner is commenter #28, Stacey!

Now, this was where I started looking at my webcam, going Seriously? Who's IN there?! Because Stacey is my uncle's wife. She chose Oasis as one of her favorites, and since she was one of the only commenters who preferred that one, it was a match made in heaven. But...2 out of 3 winners being close to me in real life was starting to freak me out. I clicked the random number generator button again, with one eye closed, hoping for a truly random winner this time.

The third winner is commenter #27, Megan @ Sorta Crunchy!

Whew! I wiped the sweat from my brow; I've never met Megan (Though I'd love to! Have you been to her wonderful blog? It's a must read, each and every post.). She chose Desert Sky as her favorite necklace.

Looking at the winning necklaces, though, I got to thinking...there were other commenters who really liked some necklaces which didn't get chosen. Should I keep going? I SHOULD! And I did. I decided I'd draw more random numbers until the generator landed on a commenter who'd chosen an unclaimed necklace. And, no joke, the next number that popped up was for an as-yet-unchosen necklace.

The fourth winner is commenter #4, Chelsea!

Chelsea is super tall (so I hear on her wonderful blog, Roots and Rings), so out of the two necklaces she liked best, I awarded her with the longest one. And it's perfect for her because she's expecting her first baby! I don't know why that makes it perfect for her, but in my mind...it just worked.

Back to random.org, I clicked the button 3 more times before landing on another unclaimed necklace.

The fifth winner is commenter #1, Erin!

Erin's choice was Mirage. (A popular choice with many commenters. I was surprised it took 5 tries to give it away!)

With one necklace left, I had to click the number generator a boatload of times before landing on someone who'd chosen that last one, Glowing Sand.

The sixth winner is commenter #31, Peter Marie!

Congratulations, ladies! I had a blast reading through comments for this giveaway (perhaps because they told me nice things about myself...?) and even more fun seeing who won. I was seriously smiling the whole time, anxious and excited to see the winners. So thank you all for playing along with me!

Winners -- send me an email with your address, and I'll mail out your prizes. Have a great LAST weekend in February!

Bring on the Spring!

7 Quick Takes Friday, #52

1. There's still time to enter my Spring Fever Giveaway! Click over to take a look at the handmade necklaces, leave a comment before 9PM tonight, and maybe you'll win!

2. I spent WAY too much time yesterday searching for an Easter dress. I haven't bought a dress for Easter in several years; usually I just buy a blouse to go with a skirt or pants I already have, or vice-versa. I'm hoping this year though, to get my ducks in a row soon enough to find a dress I love. As much as I love springy, frilly, lightweight outfits for Easter, I also know that I always freeze my caboose off on our cold Easter mornings. I'm trying to find a pretty dress with longer sleeves and warmer material, and here's what I've found so far:

3. This sweater dress from Arden B. caught my eye for its warmth and cute neckline, but I'm not too sure about the little jeweled thingy off to the side. Is that stylish? I'm clueless.

I know I like the dress, though, and I think if I added a really noticeable necklace or scarf in a springy color, it'd work. Something like this maybe?

Or maybe I could just rip that jeweled thing off the dress and replace it with a flower clip?

4. This Old Navy wrap dress looks springy and fresh, without baring too much skin for a cold Easter morning. I'd definitely need a camisole underneath, but other than that, it'd be fine, as is. My husband likes this one best for its flowy and feminine look. What do you think?

And this necklace would look beautiful with it...

If it doesn't get chosen as the giveaway prize, that is. (It could be yours!)

5. Last night at bathtime, Mia pitched a little fit. For some reason, she's not been wanting to take a bath lately and has gotten upset to the point of tears. I can't figure out exactly why, though I've tried to ask questions and really hear what she has to say. The hard truth is that she must bathe, but I at least feel like listening to her feelings will help her deal with whatever she's upset about. That's the idea, anyway.

When I had to peel her out of her under-the-bed hiding place and haul her into the bathroom anyway, she made me laugh despite my frustration. "No, mama!" she said. "You're just supposed to let me trick you into not giving me a bath!"

And later, after giving it one last shot with discussing they whys of bathtime necessity, she was still not having any of it. "I'm sorry baby," I said. "I know you don't want a bath tonight, but that doesn't change the fact that you have to have one. So let's try to have fun with it, OK?"

Pouting on my shoulder, Mia answered negatively. "But moooooom, you just have to change the fact!"

It's that darn, stubborn fact's fault.

6. Lauren has been quite mischievous this week as well.

7. Now for some exciting news...I'm starting a weekly column for our local newspaper, and my first submission will be running sometime next week! I'll be writing about parenting and family life with the main idea being tips and advice. I must put on my thinking cap and figure out a way to appear knowledgeable enough to advise others. I think I'll probably post a copy of it here after it comes out in the real world, so try not to laugh when I attempt to portray a confident persona. Yay!

Thanks for visiting with me today, and stop by Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes! Have a beautiful weekend!

Spring Fever -- It's A Giveaway!

THERE ARE ONLY 5 DAYS LEFT IN FEBRUARY!!!

Forgive my yelling, but I'm a little excited. Spring can't come fast enough, and March is just the month to get my hopes all up for sunshine, sprouting plant-life, and warmer temperatures. Oh, and less dry skin. March has a lot riding on it's arrival.

To celebrate, I decided a fun giveaway would help usher Spring into our world and kick February right on out.

Who's with me!? (You don't have to be quite as sick of February as I am to jump on this bandwagon...you can even love it. I promise not to judge.)

Here's what's up for grabs:

One of these lovely pieces of jewelry, handmade by my brilliant and crafty mother-in-law, Sue. (Only, don't blame her for the cheesy product names...those are all my fault. It turns out I can't stop once I've begun naming things, especially if I happen upon a theme. These necklaces spoke to me about sparkling sand, desert-blue skies, and hot breezes: everything a snowbird wants, right? Let's call this The Snowbird Collection!) I keep trying to talk her in to setting up an Etsy shop or even a booth at a craft show, but she's adamant: this is just a fun hobby.

Hobby for her, jackpot for you.

If you'd like to enter, here's what to do:

1) Leave a comment telling me which one of Sue's creations you like best. (Or why you can't wait for spring, or why I'm your favorite blogger of all time, or why you're so darn tired...basically just leave a comment.)

2) Leave a separate comment for blogging about this giveaway. (If you don't have a blog, a Facebook status update with a link to this page will qualify instead.)

3) Leave a separate comment for tweeting about this giveaway.

That's all! You've got three different chances to enter, and you never know -- I may just get crazy and give away more than one necklace. Spring Fever, indeed.

This giveaway will close on Friday, February 26th at 9PM Central time. I'll randomly choose a winner (or 2? or 3?) and post the results on Saturday, February 27th.

(Update: Oops! I wrote the date to draw winners as the 28th, instead of the 27th. Fixed now! Sorry for any mix-up!)

Sue and I can't wait to see who wins!

Are you in?!

The Toddler's Dictionary

Apple - 1: A juicy fruit which is used primarily for biting but is not, under any circumstances, to be swallowed. Example: Lauren bit happily into the apple, chewed vigorously, and spit out a pile of pulp onto the floor.

Blankie - 1: A comforting snuggler. 2: An important dress-up box addition. 3: Your One True Love.

Crayon - 1: A waxy, colorful object used to increase finger dexterity, esp. in peeling away their paper wrappings. 2: A delicious snack. 3: A tool for decorating walls, hardwood floors, baby doll faces, etc.

Dog - 1: The giant thing that's trying to attack you, even if it's a block away. 2: The giant sleeping thing that wants you to explore its eyes, ears, under-tail area, and tongue.

Egg - 1: A ball. You throw it.

Finger - 1: The most superior tool for probing your parent's exposed orifices. 2: The single most important weapon against the dreaded booger.

Gum - 1: A highly desirable treat. 2: The enticingly wrapped bits of squishy material in your mom's purse, of which she probably wants you to unwrap an entire package before licking several pieces.

Hair - 1: A handle by which to turn your sister's head. 2: A convenient place to wipe your dinner-dirtied hands.

Ice - 1: A tiny, elusive treat you believe to be superior to the drink in which it's floating. Example: Lauren shoved her fist into my glass to search for the last piece of ice, and sloshed away my remaining water.

Jump - 1: The coolest dance move, ever.

Kitty - 1: A miniature dog. 2: An animal whose sole purpose is to tempt you into pulling its tail.

Library - 1: The place you go to read books, play with train tables, and scream at your loudest decibels. 2: The place your mom loves above all others. Example: We pulled into the Library parking lot and mom squealed, sighed, and shed a tear.

Mom - 1: Servant.

Night - 1: The opposite of Day. 2: The perfect time to throw up. 3: The light at the end of your parents' tunnel.

Outside - 1: The most desirable of venues. 2: Paradise.

Potty Seat - 1: An o-shaped disk used in the bathroom for peering into the toilet. Somewhat similar to a telescope, but with a closer range. 2: A fun frisbee. 3: A place to rest your behind for no longer than 0.8 seconds before jumping up, declaring yourself to be all done! and running away.

Quarter - 1: A small, shiny object useful for making your mom freak out. Example: Lauren put the quarter in her mouth, making her mom freak out.

Run - 1: The act of moving one's legs quickly so as to distance oneself from one's pursuer. 2: The correct response to be used when approached with fingernail clippers, facial tissue, or a rectal thermometer.

School - 1: A building you sometimes frequent. 2: Your favorite place, except when it's your least favorite place.

Table - 1: A tall piece of furniture whose surface is mainly used for dancing. 2: A dangerous obstacle. Example: Lauren's head fought the table corner, and the table corner won.

Umbrella - 1: The most awesome toy you will ever hope to possess. 2: An object whose use creates great losses of patience in your mother. Example: While trekking across the windy and rain soaked parking lot, mama tried to push the shopping cart full of groceries and cover us both with the umbrella at the same time; she crashed into a cart-corral.

Vegetable - 1: Poison.

Winter - 1: A time of extreme torture requiring you to remain indoors at all times. 2: A season whose weather causes your mother to dress you far too warmly, thereby ticking you off and making your mother wish it were spring already.

X - 1: A letter near the end of your favorite song.

Yellow - 1: A color, correct pronunciation of which is 'Lell-yoh'. 2: Possible description of any object in your sight. Example: Look, mom! The sky is yellow! That broccoli is yellow! My favorite color is YELLOW!

Zen - 1: An unseen force of peace and harmony. 2: Your mortal enemy. 3: Your worst nightmare. 4: The thing you were sent to earth to conquer.

Lauren's Evasive Tactics

I don't think The Terrible Twos heeded my request to leave us alone a few months ago. I do think they thought I was funny and are playing tricks with me, though.

Lauren is such a sweetheart -- loving and funny, shy and playful -- that I can't help but think her toddler years will continue to be easy breezy. But I'm no sucker. (Stop that snickering.) There's no rule that says the sweetest of children can't also be a handful, and I think that's where we're about to go with Lauren.

When she grabs something she's not supposed to be playing with (which happens, like, every other second these days) and sees me coming after her in hot pursuit, she spins those little legs and darts quickly away. The exhilarated smile on her face and naughty twinkle in her eye tell me she's a stinker. A sweet little stinker.

As soon as I catch up to her, she does what any cornered animal does in such a situation. She protects her contraband. Whatever's in her hand goes immediately into her mouth.

Chapstick? In the mouth.

A Quarter? In the mouth.

My cell phone? In the mouth.

I try hard to scold her, but...well...it's pretty funny trying to see how quickly she'll shove the stolen item in her mouth. Especially when it's just not the right size to fit in there. I think she just figures, well I'm already in trouble, I might as well go all out.

I've gotten wise to her tactics lately though. I try to sneak in and steal the item back from her without spooking her into inhaling it first. This is only as hard as faking left, then going right, but it's important nonetheless. Because sometimes the little thing she's playing with illegally is really better off NOT in her mouth.

Camera battery? Not good.

A dollar bill? Not good.

Banana chunk dropped and then rolled behind the trashcan? SO NOT GOOD.

Although I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going about this the wrong way. Maybe the simpler way would be to catch her attention with something she wants worse than the outlawed item in her hand. The old 'bait & switch'.

Now if I only knew what to use as bait...

He's Scandinavian, I'm Argumenative

After getting our double-sick daughters (one with pink eye, one with nearly spent pink-eye and a previous night of vomiting, pajama changes, sheet changes, and sleeplessness) down for bed last night, Justin and I settled in for some Olympic downhill skiing and rousing conversation.

He jumped right in with an old favorite topic: Where Did I Come From? Wherein he expounds on the likelihood that his genetic makeup is more Scandinavian than anything else. It didn't hurt that we'd just watched a buff, blond Norwegian man win gold in the Super G. Of course he wanted to identify with that dude.

"See!" he insisted. "Look at that guy! We have the same basic facial structure, right?" His eyes were filled with a puppy-like quality that made me want to pat him on his button nose. But, not willing to be swayed by the 'doggy in the window' syndrome, I held my ground.

"Uhm, I don't think so." I said. I swore, if we had to have this conversation one more time, I was going to win it. "Besides, all I see when I look at him is a tall blonde. And you are definitely not blonde." Justin has dark hair and eyes, a small nose, and a strong jawline. See what I mean? (Just ignore that gypsy on the left. Nobody knows where she came from.)



I don't know what background the facial features hail from, but his dark-as-night hair is nowhere close to looking Norwegian.

His dark eyes narrowed. "I'm telling you, all Norwegians and Swedes are NOT blonde. I'm sure there are some dark haired Scandinavians. Like the 'Black Irish'? Anyway, I think my great grandmother was Scandinavian. Google it. I'm from Norway."

My own eyes narrowed in response. Was that a challenge? I was on top of it quicker than you can say Neutrogena.

I clicked over from my internet page and searched for Do all Norwegians have blonde hair. Because I'm from the School of Internet Query styles which supposes the web is a giant Magic 8 Ball, when I ask a direct question, I expect a direct answer. And the beauty of this system is that I can filter out the answers I don't want. A very superior way to win an argument. Usually.

This time it was a bit harder to grab hold of my magic answer, because nestled among the hair coloring advertisements and hair selling forums (!) was a link to a Norwegian Blog whose writer claimed a high presence of dark haired Norwegians. Crud, I thought. I'm bound by scientific, bloggerific, and matrimonial honor to inform Justin of my discovery.

By this time (internet research takes me awhile), Justin was setting up his indoor cycling trainer and I could have just skipped over my new-found information entirely while he exercised. I was trying to decide just how reliable of a source the blog link was, when Justin noticed my worried expression.

"What'd you find?" he asked, sidling up to me at the computer.

"Nothing! I'm still right! It's just...this one girl...she says therearelotsofdarkhairednorwegians. But she's just a blogger! She might have NO idea what she's talking about! A blogger's word isn't the gospel truth."

He looked at me sideways and I realized what I'd just admitted: Bloggers might have no idea what they're talking about. My pride wouldn't let the argument end there, so I poked around in a few more links (in a highly scientific way) to find something I could take to the bank.

And here's what I found:

An anthropologically-based map showing the areas with the highest concentration of blondes in Europe. (All the maps on that link held my geeky attention for quite awhile, actually. More proof that my Friday nights are TERRIBLY exciting.) The brightest yellow indicates 80% or more blondes, the next yellowest indicates 50% or more blondes, and the peachish-yellow covering most of the rest of Europe indicates a 20% or higher blonde population. My highly scientific conclusion was that most Norwegians are BLONDE.

I felt pretty good about showing this map to my so-dark-it's-nearly-black haired husband. I felt correct, which is a very good way to feel -- sort of like biting into a smooth, creamy truffle and having to lick your teeth clean of the dark chocolate left behind. That's how being proven right feels to me. Justin was sweating his life away on the bike by then, so I unplugged my laptop and carried it over to him, being careful to not let his athleticism infect my couch-potatoism. But he was working so hard, he couldn't see what I held in front of him. The map! The truth!

"I can't..." he croaked. "I'll look later..." His sweat-darkened hair was now so far from blonde, my map's data seemed to scream WINNER at me. I sat back down to peruse the maps some more, kicking my feet up in self-congratulation.

When his heart rate was finally evened back out to life-sustaining levels, he looked over and asked what I'd tried to show him. I explained the map with proud satisfaction, but the hard work he'd done on the bike trainer had drained him of any fight. He merely nodded and kept pedaling for the cool-down.

"Did I just kick you when you were down?" I asked, tilting my head a bit to show proper concern.

Breathing hard, sweating profusely, and handsome as a devil, he just nodded at me again.

Later, after he'd been off the bike for long enough to regain consciousness, he started the conversation again. "I guess you're right." he sighed. "I'm probably not from Norway, even if I am just like Norwegians."

Finally! My research and steam-blowing had won me the debate. I was right.

Justin then looked at me confidently and declared, "I always thought I was more French anyway."

7 Quick Takes Friday, #51

1. If you haven't noticed yet, it's February. And you know what that means, right?

February means I am beyond ready for spring to get here. I've been holding in my desire to defame and badmouth February for the past two weeks, and it's getting the best of me. I don't want to let it all rip though, for fear of frightening you with my ferocity, so I'll just mention a few things about this month that are wearing me out.



2. First, the dry air, and not even what it does to my hair and nostrils, which is substantial enough. I'm talking about the dry air's effect on my hands. They're so unbelievably dry that I've removed all rings but my thin wedding band in order to better apply lotion several times a day. Even with all that lotion (I'm on my third bottle this winter!) my hands are still too dry, and for that I blame February. With such dry hands, I've endured countless paper cuts this winter and February has only made it harder to maintain my cool when a cut happens. The dry skin would be bad enough, but....



3. Second (and perhaps more importantly), is the lack of color in the world. Barring an infrequent bright blue sky, the color in my part of the world has been sucked out by February's dreary weather. Oh, spring. Oh, color. Come back to us now, I beg of you!

OK. I'm done griping for now. As you were.



4. Wait, scratch that. There's one more gripe. Justin has been busier than usual this week and I've barely seen him. I know it's good that at least we get to sleep under the same roof and give quick hugs in passing, but not having him here any evenings for help with the girls or to simply catch up on each other's day has been maddening. He's only gotten home before 10 o'clock one night this week, and it's felt...lonely around here. I think a date night is in order, stat.



5. If I have my way about making a date night happen, I know exactly what we'll do. The same thing we did on our last date night: head to the movie theater, buy outrageously priced tickets, slap on a pair of goofy 3D glasses, and watch Avatar.

When we were trying to decide what to see last time, I really didn't want to go to Avatar. There were at least 4 other movies I would have chosen first, but their times didn't match up with when we could go to the theater. I may have pouted a bit when we decided Avatar was the only available movie for us; I was not interested in a movie that was being hailed as a technological masterpiece but had been criticized for having an underdeveloped plot. Plot and I? We go hand in hand. I need plot. What I don't need is technology which makes me wear silly goggles in order to be made car-sick and dizzy and disoriented.

Maybe because my expectations were so low, or maybe because I am a movie-lover at heart...I can't really explain what happened when we got into the movie, other than to say I LOVED it. It drew me in and made my heart race and made me laugh and made me almost cry happy tears. It was beautiful. I was a little sad when it ended and we walked out into a world (a FEBRUARY world, at that) with no glow-in-the dark plant life. I wanted more, immediately. The 3D aspect was subtle and unobtrusive, not like things were jumping out at us, but like we were being drawn into that world. Like live theater, maybe, if you were on stage while the play was being enacted.

The story I was so afraid would be shallow and lacking was anything but, from my perspective. If it was shallow, it was deep enough for me. If it was lacking, it was full enough for me. I loved every minute of Avatar. Keep in mind that I like movies like Lord of the Rings and Star Trek, but I also like Pride & Prejudice, Dirty Dancing, Atonement.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I would search for piles of lost coins in order to pay the hefty ticket price again. Avatar would be my pick for date night, hands down.

(Wow, I really can go on about a movie, huh?)

6. Yesterday Mia hauled her plastic, primary-colored, alphabet-naming, toy laptop onto the kitchen table, and told Lauren that it was her BLOG.

7. Those infrequently bright blue-skyed days of February? We were blessed with one yesterday, and took full advantage of it to play outside.

I hope your weekend will include lots of playing outside, and a visit to Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!

What We Found At The Library, #11

Lauren's Favorite: Birdsongs by Betsy Franco & Steve Jenkins (Illustrator)

Of course Lauren would pick the book that makes the reader sound ridiculous with all the various required bird calls. From the large, squawking seagull, to the sweetly tweeting Chickadee, to the tiny, quiet hummingbird, Lauren loved listening to all the birds' sounds (which are spelled out phonetically for my sound-effect-pronouncing pleasure). A bonus is that the artwork is just stunning. Done in fantastic collages, the birds seem to ruffle up right off the page; the skies and trees they live in come to life. Despite the crazy noises coming from my throat in order to read this book, I really enjoyed it.




Mia's Favorite: Big Chickens by Leslie Helaskoski & Henry Cole (Illustrator)

This book is simply hilarious. A quartet of chickens who are terribly chicken become forced with every move they make to find their courage. One by one, they each state their fears in an adorable repetition that really makes the book wonderful. But despite their attempts to avoid fearsome tasks, they seem forced into them anyway until one last fright stands in their way: a wolf. In a truly funny ending, the chickens are so scared of the wolf that they end up scaring him off. And boy are they proud of their deed. They're suddenly full of the courage -- pride-puffed BIG chickens. The best part, though, was something not on the pages of the story. When Mia gets nervous or scared of something, she hides her face, peeking out the side of her hand to see what happens next. This happens fairly often in stories or movies with anything even slightly frightening. And this story -- while funny and simple -- had that small dose of fear in the wolf creeping out to get the chickens. Eyes were hidden, then relieved laughter was released. So cute.




Mama's Favorite: Apples To Oregon by Deborah Hopkinson & Nancy Carpenter (Illustrator)

I must admit: I angled to read this story any chance I got. In an adorable narrative voice, the daughter of a fruit-growing pioneer tells of her family's grand adventure across the plains. Weighted down with apples, pears, plums, and many other fruit trees, the family encounters trouble and excitement across wide open prairie, guarding their cargo all the way. Hail storms, raging rivers, drought, and frost try to stop them, but the father is determined to succeed with his impossible dream. His family supports his hare-brained idea fully, even to the point of giving up their own comfort to save the fruits. This book sweetly illustrates the importance of love, hard work, and the benefits of a positive attitude. But more than anything, it's just a wonderfully fun story.




Daddy's Favorite: Guji Guji by Chih-Yuan Chen

This was another one of Mia's favorite's, too. Somehow, a wayward crocodile egg winds up in a nest full of duck eggs (this seems to be a common theme...). Once hatched, the animals grow up together, never seeming to care that there's a crocodile -- Guji Guji -- in their midst. They all play together and become a happy, if strange, family. Before long, the rest of Guji Guji's real relatives show up and make fun of him for pretending to be a duck. Worst of all, they tell him that crocodiles were made to EAT ducks...and they intend to use his trustworthy relationship with the duck family to lure them right into the crocodile family's toothy mouths. But Guji Guji has a plan of his own. He tricks the crocodiles with duck-shaped rocks, and they all flee in pain and humiliation. Daddy and Mia's favorite part comes when Guji Guji is given the official title of CrocoDuck. Much laughter ensues at the combination of two different words, and the book is read again...and again...and again...




I hope you all are enjoying our book swap as much as I am! I'd love to have you add your linked post of favorites to the Mr. Linky, or just leave a comment with what books you've been enjoying lately. As always, I'm interested in any books, not just children's books -- so let your suggestions fly!

If This Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Those words would be something along the lines of:

EVEN THOUGH MY VOICE IS GONE, I STILL HAVE FEELINGS! IF YOU INSIST IN YOUR 4-YEAR-OLD WAY ON FIXING MY HAIR, DO I NOT WINCE IN PAIN? IF YOU BARRETTE ME, DO I NOT CRINGE? IF YOU REPEATEDLY STAB ME WITH HAIR ACCESSORIES, DO I NOT SCREAM A SILENT WAIL OF PAIN? But still I stand here, allowing you free access to my scalp, mostly because it would be pointless to refuse. Partly because you wouldn't be able to hear my feebly whispered plea anyway over your constant chatter about 'all these beautiful barrettes'. Entirely because I love you and wish to make you happy. I hope you like my hair, darling daughter. When my voice comes back, we'll do it again and see if we can't make it painless, okay? Because gosh...I sure do look purty.

And so on and so on, right up to the thousandth word.

He Loves Me

Sometimes, I confuse myself. I am a study in opposites. I am unreadable, even to my own mind.

My poor husband.

Do you remember when I wrote about not liking to receive flowers? I went on and on about them being too expensive, too useless, too expected. I wanted something heartfelt if I was going to get anything at all (which I don't really deserve anyway, seeing as how I'm so terribly picky) and flowers just didn't do that for me. I thought, if I'm going to be getting a gift, I'd rather have something that matters to me. And isn't it reasonable to assume that the gift-giver would want to know my feelings on what matters?

Oh, how I made sure my husband knew how I felt about flowers. They were nice, but they kind of fell on blind eyes where I was concerned. Especially roses. Blech. Like I said, though: I confuse myself. Because almost as soon as the anti-flower words were out of my mouth, I started regretting them. How shallow do I have to be to refuse a show of affection just because it's not my favorite showing? How difficult must I be to live with?

I feel pretty strongly that if I want my husband to adore and treasure me, I need to be someone he wants to adore and treasure. I need to be the light at the end of his tunnel, the honey in his cup of bitter tea, the sweet flower in his field of thorns. Not picky and demanding and unappreciative. I need to be treasure-able.

Thinking back over all the times I told him 'and whatever you do, please don't get me flowers!', I wondered if he'd been planning to do that very thing. I wondered if I'd crushed his hopes of pleasing me with a thoughtful gift, thereby pushing his willing affection a little further away and causing him to worry about ways to please his bossy, heartless wife.

Before Valentine's Day last week, my ashamed thoughts reached the boiling point. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd not be getting any flowers. I'd made sure of that over the past few years. I knew Justin would do something sweet, get some small token for me to celebrate this silly, overblown holiday.

But as I thought about what I'd done by being so specific in my distaste for flowers as a gift, I suddenly wished for the very things I'd forbidden. My attitude about flowers hadn't changed: yes, they're beautiful, but they're still too expensive and too fleeting and too expected. What had changed was my attitude towards my husband's feelings. I felt like I'd crushed his ability to show affection in such a simple, time-honored way.

I tried to hint around that if he wanted to get flowers, I'd actually appreciate them. And I'm pretty sure my hints were none too hidden. He'd have to have been deaf and blind to not pick up what I was putting down. But I felt so awful about shutting out the possibility of him showing his adoration for me with flowers that I didn't want to waste any time in clearing up my unfortunately stubborn past opinion.

That husband of mine, that handsome, sweet, thoughtful husband saw right through my regret and did the once-unthinkable: he got me flowers for Valentine's Day. Even though I barely deserved such a sweet gesture after being so obstinate, he sought out the prettiest bouquet he could find, for me. To show his love. To prove that even though I'm confusing and unreadable, he still appreciates me. And what's more, he tries to understand me.

A task which may take him all of eternity to unravel.

Oh, and the flowers? I've never gotten flowers as beautiful as these. He picked out three different colored tulips: bright, soft, spring-like, perfect. They were in a sweet, round, lavender vase that made me gasp with pleasure. He knew I'd appreciate that the money he spent wasn't going to be thrown into the trash right along with the wilted flowers several days from now. He knew me well enough to know that I'd love some part of the gift to last.

And it will last -- right along with my new resolve to appreciate every loving action of my husband's, no matter what form they take.

Dumbstruck

In my Senior year of high school, I was in show choir. Yes, yes, laugh it up.

But save some of your laughter because it wasn't only my Senior year, but my Junior and Sophomore years as well. I sang and danced and wore be-sequinned costumes with shimmery tights and teardrop-shaped cubic-zirconium earrings. We used jazz hands on occasion, we attempted swing dance moves, and we learned the leprechaun kick. We went to competitions and sang in choral tournament-like things.

Before one super fun tournament in my Senior year, a handful of of my like-voiced choiriffic friends and I practiced and practiced to get our song selection right. We needed to be on pitch and on time and on smile in order to get a high score, and boy did we want that high score. All was going well -- our voices harmonized nicely and our song selection was impressively difficult enough to catch the judge's attention -- until I woke up on the morning of the competition with no voice. It was just gone. No sore throat, no attendance at a screaming concert the night before, just a lack of voice for no apparent reason.

I panicked and fretted about letting my friends down at the big competition, but they assured me it would be no big deal. (Which was kind of worse -- I'm one voice out of 4 or 6 singers? And they won't even notice my absence?) But I showed up and stood in front of the judges anyway. I pretended to sing my heart out, putting in a pretty hideous performance but hoping to be overshadowed by the girls with bigger voices. It was a good plan.

It failed. As soon as we were done singing, the lead judge started her criticisms and looked directly at me. "Second soprano? Yes, you there. Would you please sing your opening measures for me again?"

Oh the humility. I squawked out a few bars before admitting that my voice had failed me on this important day, and we wrapped up our session. Needless to say, our score was low and ugly. I've never forgotten that day and how embarrassed I was to have been singled out as the reason for failure. I had been pinning my hopes on a high score to rocket me to stardom! Or at the very least, to make me cool. The simple fact that I thought a high score at a choral competition would make me cool should be a good indicator that I was never going to achieve those ranks.

---------------

10 years later, back in my present state, I've lost my voice again. Whatever came over me at the end of last week has just kept throwing punches, the latest one being to de-voice me. Mia is worried that Ursula's taken my voice. I whisper to her that I'll be fine and that my voice will come back soon, but she's mighty suspicious.

I spent much of my yesterday whistling to catch someone's attention. Usually Justin's attention. The problem is, when he wasn't aware I was trying to summon him from another room, I ended up whistling quite forcefully (which is harder than it sounds) and snapping my fingers violently (which didn't really make a difference in my overall snap-volume) to no avail.

Somehow, he didn't catch my drift. Or maybe he just ignored my drift. I think he's enjoying my silence.

So while Justin's been lounging in the Garden of Wifely Silence, I'm stuck here in the Tar Pits of No Words. I have to be directly in front of someone's face for my feeble whisper to be understood, and in the meantime nobody wants to look at me.

I've become invisible.

---------------

The girls were running around like mad hatters before lunch. They'd pulled every DVD out of the cabinet, spilled handfuls of stolen cocoa krispies on the carpet, and stashed groups of stuffed animals all around the living room. Justin got started making lunch (the supposedly easier task) while I supervised the clean-up. With no voice, though, I ended up picking up most of the mess myself rather than trying to hold Mia's distracted face in my hands for whispered encouragement (as in, instruction).

When lunch was ready, the girls abandoned the now only half-messy room for their food while I kept at the cleaning. Plugging away in silence, I wandered where the trail of messiness led me, back to the other -- quieter -- rooms.

I heard Justin fielding the never-ending toddler and preschooler questions and requests that would normally be my job. Not a job, really, just something I do without thinking. I talk. But for Justin -- a strong, silent type -- the constant flow of girly conversation he must keep up with has got to be overwhelming.

He called out to me: "Babe? What're you up to back there?" I smiled in silence, knowing I couldn't answer. "Whistle if you're OK," he yelled. I quietly chuckled, and was therefore rendered whistle-less: can you whistle while you're smiling? I can't. (True story: I only learned to whistle when I was about 19. Justin taught me. To think the whistle would one day be our only available form of communication...) "Stomp on the floor if you're OK!" he yelled again.

I pounded the floor and got back to untangling the pile of blankets on Mia's floor.

I guess I like being invisible. For a day, anyway, it's not so bad.

Berry Berry Deep Dish Pie

Happy Valentine's Day! For you, because I love you all so much, I'm posting the recipe for my favorite, favorite, favorite pie. You deserve nothing but the best.

To make this, I looked up 3 or 4 different berry pie recipes, and just hoped for the best in taking a few ideas from each. My main inspiration was Emeril's Mixed Berry Pie, so we'll say this is an adaptation of that. I hope you like it!




Berry Berry Deep Dish Pie

Crust:
2 cups flour
pinch of salt
¾ cup shortening
4 - 6 Tbsp Ice-cold water

Filling:
6-8 cups mixed berries (frozen or fresh) (cooks down to 4-ish cups berries + liquid)
½ cup water
1 ½ cups sugar
¼ cup cornstarch dissolved in ¼ cup water

Method:
Combine flour and salt in a large mixing bowl and add shortening in small chunks. Cut shortening into flour with a fork or pastry blender until flour mixture is coarse and uniform in texture. Slowly sprinkle one tablespoon of icy water at a time over flour mixture, dragging a fork through mixture until it's moist enough to be formed into a ball. Divide ball into two halves, wrap them each in plastic wrap (or a ziploc baggie), flatten slightly, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

In a large pot on the stovetop, combine berries, sugar, and water. Stir gently and bring to a boil. In a small bowl, whisk cornstarch and water until dissolved. Slowly pour into boiling berries, stirring constantly. Stir while boiling for 2 minutes or until the liquid is thickened to a sauce.

(Note: When I followed Emeril's recipe, it called for adding 1 ½ cups water to the berries in the beginning. I ended up with WAY too much liquid, and strained the berries out before thickening the liquid with cornstarch. Then to make the pie, I put the strained berries into the pie crust, and ladled some of the thickened sauce over until it seemed like a good sauce-berries ratio. I had quite a bit of sauce left over this way, and I'm glad I didn't pour it all into the pie.)

Roll each disk of pie dough out on a lightly floured surface to about a 12 inch circle. Fold into quarters to lift into deep dish pie plate. Pour berry mixture into bottom crust, then add top crust, pressing it lightly down on top of the berries. Trim and crimp the edges of the crust, and sprinkle the top with a few pinches of sugar. Bake (on an edged cookie sheet in case of spillover) at 350 for 40 - 50 minutes.

(I didn't trim my edges, I just folded them down and had a really thick edge, which I love. Also, I didn't have enough berries to start with, so I could have made this in a regular pie plate...but then all that extra crust would have been wasted. And the crust is my favorite. Well, the berries too. This PIE is my favorite. The end.)

Valentine's Day Heart Pillows

For a few weeks now, Mia has been asking to make heart pillows. I don't have any idea where this scheme originated, but she was so set on making it happen that I couldn't let Valentine's Day pass without at least trying to make them.


I got some felt squares from the craft store, traced big heart shapes onto them, and cut out the (not perfectly matched) pieces.

Then I used a big, fat needle to sew two hearts together with pink yarn. And I admit it: this was all done by yours truly. I tried to think of ways to incorporate Mia's help, but nothing seemed simple. Poking holes in the felt for her to lace the yarn through just didn't sound promising. Plus, I didn't think our hole-punch would work on felt, so I settled for Mia sitting right next to me, watching carefully.

Lauren was happy in her highchair for at least a few minutes working on a Valentine for Daddy. Or, should I say, centering her concentration on peeling the wrappings off her crayons while her princesses looked on approvingly.




Then I did find something Mia could help with on her craft: stuffing the mostly-sewn hearts with cotton balls.

Lauren was out of her chair by this time, and enjoying herself thoroughly.



After the heart was stuffed to capacity, I finished sewing the edges and tucked the knotted ends of yarn up into the cotton. Mia was quite pleased with the result. And I was quite pleased too -- I think I spent about $5 total on the supplies. (Yes, that is a real, live bicycle in my KITCHEN. No, I don't want to talk about it.)

A successful craft with zero instructions. I amaze myself.



I don't care if the hearts were absolutely simple and fool-proof; I'm still proud.

7 Quick Takes Friday, #50

1. Thank you so much for all the get-well wishes over the past couple of days! I did feel better the day after my awful sickness set in, but not good enough to stop complaining. I hope it's out of my system today, but as luck would have it, today is the day I should be sick. Justin has the day off, so he could be the lone parent while I slept off the cold or whatever it was that had me in the throes of agony (hey, it was a nasty cold, OK?!). Oh well. Maybe some FUN is in order, instead.

2. Speaking of fun, what are your Valentine's Day plans? I have a hankering for a movie -- rental or theater, it doesn't matter. Any suggestions?

3. One morning this week, Lauren woke up crying, just at tad bit too early. I wasn't happy about it, but as it was within the realm of normalcy (7, instead of her usual 7:30-ish), I didn't try to tuck her back in like I usually do in the early mornings. I stumbled into her room, croaking out a Good Morning, Sunshine! in my still sleepy voice. At her bedside, I reached in to untangle her from her blankies as she whined for her lambie. Then -- miracle of miracles -- Lauren asked to be covered back up. I almost didn't understand her, but as soon as I did, I lifted the blanket back over her with complete nonchalance so as not to startle her into a retraction of her wishes. I tiptoed out as she rolled over and re-snuggled with her sleeping paraphernalia. She slept for another half hour.

I was dumbfounded. A 22-month old who asks for more sleep? Yes, please.

4. I came home from a meeting one night last week after the girls had been bathed and put to bed by their daddy. I was missing them. I missed smelling their lavender-lotioned skin and their freshly shampooed hair, missed snuggling with them for stories. I walked into the bathroom and there, on the bathmat (aka: thickly folded towel) was a perfect set of Mia's footprints. It was just the sight to make me feel like I hadn't missed anything after all.

I know this is a bad picture, but I loved it anyway.

5. We've had the best kind of snow several times this week: beautifully falling down in big, fluffy, silent flakes -- and then not sticking at all. I feel almost blasphemous writing that last part down. The 'not sticking' part. I used to be SO excited to see the snow build up (and I still am deep down), but I'm getting surprisingly sick of it this winter. We've had more snow than I remember us getting in years past, and it's not quite as fun as it used to be when I could curl up and go back to sleep at the declaration of a snow day. Now, I have to go about my regular business -- the business of motherhood.

Which never seems to stop for snow days.

6. We made these cute heart pillows yesterday for our Valentine's Day craft:

I'll have more details up later if you want to check in again -- hopefully by tomorrow at the latest. Try to contain your excitement until then!

7. Happy Valentine's Day!

Have a lovely weekend and visit Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!

Sick

I knew I was sick when I passed the warm oven and had an overwhelming desire to curl up on its open door and bask in its heat to vanquish my chills. Justin knew I was sick when I didn't bother to check anything on the internet each time I passed the computer. Mia knew I was sick when I let her watch tv all afternoon. Lauren knew I was sick when I fell asleep on her bedroom floor while Daddy took care of dinner. (She even covered me up with her blankie, patting my shoulder with her sweet little hand.)

You'll know I'm sick because pasodkj;origj;vmekwla'wiefm.

I'm off to sleep it away. I WILL be better in the morning.

I will.

Childbirth According To Mia

"Someday I'll have a baby in my belly. When I'm bigger and I have big, big feet, then I'll be able to have a baby in my belly."

"Mama bellies are like eggs. When the baby starts squirming around in there, I'll say hehehe, what's going ON in there? And then when the baby gets too big, and it's time for it to come out, my belly will just CRACK open. 'Cause it's like an egg. That will hurt a little bit, huh? But I won't mind. Because I'll be a mama."

"There will be a daddy with me, when I'm a mama. But I'm not sure what his name is. And I'll just name the baby....uhhhh....I'll name the baby....uhhhh....I'll name the baby....Jack. And I'll be his mama."

"Then when I'm big enough, I'll drive too. And I'll take my baby with me wherever I go in the car."

At this point, my husband burst into tears and left the room. OK, not really, but he had that look in his eye.

Perfectly Poetical Tuesday (Shakespeare)

This month's poetry challenge for Perfectly Poetical Tuesday is Shakespeare. Yeah. I know. I felt quite intimidated, too. But, since it is almost Valentine's Day, I decided to try my hand at some sort of heartfelt, romantic poem dedicated to my loving, gorgeous, tender husband.

Isn't Iambic Pentameter every guy's dream gift?

Now, this is only very loosely based on anything Shakespearean. But it's the thought that counts with PerPoTues. Plus, if I can write something short and sweet and mildly evocative of The Old Bard, you can too! Go see Stephanie at The Little Stuff of Life to play along and write your own poem.

Lovely snowflake image courtesy of annu.chan

As when the snowflake falls onto the earth,

And spears its crystal brow 'pon deadened grass,

I lay myself before thy waiting heart

With trust in thee to melt my frozen past.

But see the flakes which build a deepen'd drift?

Perhaps it is their fate I should desire.

For it would be a shame to melt so soon

When I could gently seep into your fire.

How To Speak To A 4 Year Old

Or rather, how to speak to this 4 year old.

Approach the creature with indifference. If you are happy to see her, feign boredom. If you are irritated by something she's done, feign boredom. In all things, feign boredom. The time for emotional displays will come later*, and you want to have plenty in reserve.

Begin the conversation by not speaking directly to her. For instance, you could talk to a toy on the floor or a shoe on your foot or even the voices in your head. Do not give in to the temptation to speak directly to the child though, or you might just scare it away along with any chance of eliciting information about her day or of what she's thinking.

Once she's been made aware of your physical proximity due to the private conversation you are holding with, say, her favorite princess figurine, the child will most likely initiate some words with you. A good way to guarantee this is to mis-speak some vital bit of information to the figurine. For example, "Oh, Snow White, I see you have a lovely dress on today. You must be getting ready to go to the ball with The Beast!" The perceptive 4 year old will be mortally offended at your slip up in General Princess Activities 101, and may interject the corrected information at once. (Hint: Make sure your gaffe isn't so dorky as to forever cement you into the loser's corner of the child's mind. This will happen later, around the time of adolescence, no matter what evasive measures you take. But there's no need to rush it; form your mistakes carefully.)

As soon as the 4 year old is speaking openly, you may wish to keep conversing about the subject at hand (a valuable tool for gaining the child's trust) or gently change the topic to something you are actually interested in. Be careful! This is a tricky maneuver and should only be undertaken with great skill and dexterity of mind. Only attempt to steer the conversation on your best parenting days, or the child will sense your desperation and shut herself up post-haste.

However, in the miraculous event that the creature is willing to speak her mind about a topic of your choosing, you have only a few minutes to get in...and get out. For example, if you wish to understand how much of her preschool lessons she's retaining, but fumble the question to make it seem like she's under interrogation, you'll either be met with firm resistance or a lengthy discourse from her about something entirely different. At no point should you give the appearance of actually desiring the information you're seeking. Instead, use your creativity to beat around the bush, so to speak.

Let's say you wish to know how many sounds the letter 'G' can make, and are hopeful that she's mastered the concept. As above when you snuck into conversation with her by mistaking Snow White for Belle, you may choose to sneak into this question. A good way to do this is to mispronounce something simple so the 4 year old can correct you. (Hint: 4 year olds, if allowed, will take the correction of adults very seriously, to the point of extreme bossiness. At present time, there is no known workaround for this malady. May God protect you on your journey.)

Once the 4 year old has corrected your mistake, you will be allowed the opportunity to see how extensive her knowledge is in the area in which you've chosen. If you'll remember, you were warned above to get in...and get out. The 4 year old's mind is a frightening terrain filled with valleys and veering paths so uncharted that your own sanity may be tested unless you remain rooted firmly in your adult reality. If you've gained the information you came to find, you may now retreat either by well-timed enthusiasm or deeper questioning. Either approach will shut you out of the 4 year old's mind immediately.

If, for whatever reason, you find yourself being dragged into the 4 year old's headgames, don't despair! Remember: YOU ARE THE ADULT. You CAN escape unscathed, though doubtlessly frustrated and confused. For example, if you accidentally fall prey to the child's 'Why?' trap, wherein you are subjected to a hall-of-mirrors situation of never ending, always recurring whys, there is only one way to extract yourself from the pit before being lost forever: explain the thing in such great detail so as to short-circuit the 4 year old's thoughts. Once she is lost in pondering your scientific and wordy explanation, you may leave quietly and become busy with a comfortable adult activity. Such as tax preparation or snow shoveling.

When you've become proficient in navigating the mind of a 4 year old (in regards to acceptable conversation, anyway), your time will be free for more weighty matters such as (but not limited to) How To Feed A 4 Year Old, How To Discipline A 4 Year Old, or How To Make A 4 Year Old Wipe Her Own Backside. All of which are lofty endeavors, indeed.


* Please don't make the mistake of never showing enthusiasm or appreciation to the 4 year old. Only be sure to understand that in moments where your desire is to open a channel of communication, the child will not be receptive unless your attitude conveys the appropriate amount of carelessness. Some obvious exceptions to this are birthdays, reunions after long absences, and tear-inducing injuries. In those cases, showing love and adoration are the only ways to proceed. You may love freely without worrying about either being shut out of, or sucked into the 4 year old's mind.


Best wishes to you, my fellow parents. (Hint: Best wishes can be loosely translated to mean, 'We're all a bunch of suckers.')