a belated banner and new pants

The Happy Birthday banner was one of the projects that finally pushed me to get my grandma's sewing machine up and running. I got the idea (and pretty much followed the pattern) in Alicia Paulson's book Stitched in Time. The banner is so bright and happy (and it makes me so proud), we had it hanging today even though it is currently no one's birthday. Liam, however, happily pronounced that his friend Lrtih from Scotland is celebrating his 18th this week. So, twist my arm, I am indulging him and leaving it up.


One of the other things I was excited to stitch this weekend was a pair of comfy elastic-waist pants cut from an old turtleneck. I got the idea and directions in Amanda Soule's book The Creative Family. They were super easy to make and I love that the fabric is from a repurposed cast-off. I originally planned these pants for Elliott but then realized they were too big. This afternoon Liam asked if he could put them on. I figured, why not? It is sheer dumb luck that they fit him perfectly. Tonight they are pjs; tomorrow gymnastics pants. I sense we'll soon be whipping up more.

my grandma's machine

My laptop died a few days ago and I've hardly given it a second thought because all I can think about is what to sew next. And, here's the thing, I have not sat and sewn at a sewing machine since high school. Until Friday. I guess all my cut-and-pinned projects, all the sewing books I've checked out (and renewed and renewed) from the library, all the ideas and dreams finally caught up with me. As if caught in some weird trance, I left my husband on the couch, walked up to my totally disorganized office, cleared a space and took my grandma's sewing machine out of its case. The first time I had ever done this since I inherited it over ten years ago.

For so long I thought it was my insecurity and busyness holding me back. Would I really remember how to sew? Would I even have time to do it? But as I paged through the manual, I began to recognize that storing this wonderful, top-of-the-line Bernina in the basement had more to do with missing the woman who had once loved it than any of my other silly reasons. Although I own many treasures that once belonged to my grandma - the massive dining room table, the cool crushed green velvet couch, the stone cherub on the kitchen shelf, the wrought iron scroll hanging outside by the backdoor - her machine is an intimate piece of history. The manual proves it.


This Bernina makes over 20 kinds of stitches. My grandma stitched each one on a different piece of fabric and stapled it into the manual on the page that explained how to make the stitch. Then she wrote notes to herself, tips and tricks and ways to bend the rules. My grams was an artist not a rule follower. She made up her own patterns and came up with unique embellishments, transforming existing garments into works of art. She knew the power of rick rack.

Even as I type I feel the loss of her sweep over me. I miss her more now than when she died nearly twenty years ago. Because more than ever I am full of ideas. Full of things I want to create and transform and embellish. I know she'd love it. She'd love to see what comes off that machine. And as sad as I am not to be able to share it with her - after hours already spent sewing up a storm this weekend - I think I'm going to continue the legacy with that machine. I hope she knows it.

the many faces of birthday boy

the bordoni boys and too much birthday

Last week on a trip to the library we picked up the picture book The Bearnstein Bears and Too Much Birthday. Considering our plans for the weekend, the title seemed a little ominous. Last night as I lay on the couch, 2 house parties, 48 cupcakes, 1 triple banana layer cake (a birthday MUST), 3 batches of frosting, 7 cans of silly string, 10 bubble wands, 20 diet coke geysers, a giant pile of wonderful birthday presents and many memories of dear friends and family later, I decided I could have written that book.


Saturday, we hosted a mad scientist party for Liam and his friends. I will readily admit that I "stole" the idea from another great blog. And I completely forgot to take photos during the instant snow and atomic slime making, which is a bummer because the scientists all looked so darn cute in their safety goggles, stretching and fake sneezing their florescent green slime. The decorate your own cupcake time, with gummy worms and all other forms of junky candy and sprinkles was a big hit, as well. Most of the resulting creations went uneaten (collective mom sigh).




The biggest excitement of the afternoon was when we set off the diet coke geysers. Eleven screaming kids and one soaked dad was quite a sight! Here is the video that enticed us to do this. Warning: it's kind of addictive. I have never bought diet coke in my life and I am already contemplating my next purchase.



Yesterday we hosted a family party, which centered around food and presents and cake, of course. This morning my dining room floor is still covered in chocolate cupcake crumbs and the the pile of garbage at the curb tomorrow will be embarrassing. But, hey, you only turn 5 and 2 once in the same month.


Now we're off for a bike ride.


For walking practice in squeaky shoes.


And to find some time to finish the happy birthday banner. This year there was just too much birthday.

girl trouble

Everything was going well. Liam and my cousin Kristin's girls, Nora and Maggie, were racing their bikes up and down the sidewalk while third daughter Lucy and my Elliott took turns sitting on the tricycle. Then, suddenly, the drama. Maggie (the 4 year old) came running down the sidewalk in tears.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I asked

"I wanted him to love me!" she wailed, throwing herself on the grass.

Apparently Liam and Nora (the 6 year old) had declared their love for each other and kissed (on the lips) on the neighbor's driveway. Oh, dear. I guess I should have anticipated this growing interest in the opposite sex after our conversation in the car on the way to my cousin's house. It went something like this. (Because, honestly, it was cracking me up so much, I scribbled most of it down at the stop lights.)

LIAM: Did you know that I'm in love with Maggie from my school?
MOM: No. You haven't talked about Maggie before.
LIAM: Well, Paige is still my girlfriend but Maggie is going to be my wife!
[pause]
LIAM: I haven't kissed Maggie but I touched her today.
MOM: Where?
LIAM: I touched her with my leg at circle time. When she standed up I was totally going to touch her again but she walked away. That was crazy.
MOM: So, what makes Maggie so special?
LIAM: I don't know.
MOM: Well, why are you in love with her?
LIAM: I don't know.
MOM: Does she feel the same way about you?
LIAM: I don't know. [sigh] It's too many questions.

::
On the way home from Kristin's house, I told Liam that it would be better not to kiss any girls on the lips. I said he could cheek kiss but lip kissing spread germs and it would be easy to get sick, plus parents of girls his age wouldn't like the lip kissing.

"But mom, what about Ava?" he asked in a panicked tone (referring to his lifelong "girlfriend" across the street).
"What do you mean?"
"I always kiss Ava on the lips."
"Well, you need to start kissing her on the cheek instead."
"Oh, man," he sighed. "Ava's not going to like that."

Oh, dear.

summing it up

One boy turned five today (five!). His observations inspire us, his dancing brings us to tears and his agility leaves us speechless. One part stunt man, one part guitar shredder, one part aeronautical engineer, one part theologian, one part naturalist. Where will he land? I cannot even fathom.


The other boy, a week from two, finds plenty to do with two chubby feet outside of walking. If it involves water, all the better. Cuddler, destroyer, singer, greeter, avid Good Night Moon reader, with a penchant for anything bitable in the vicinity of his teeth. Every day a little less a mystery, a little more a boy, loud and silly and mischievous. Where will these feet take him in another year? I cannot even fathom.

My life is filled with mayhem, mystery, marvels and madness, every single day. Some days I like it. Some days I am too tired to even notice. Some days I think someone is going to be hurled out a window if I don't get a minute to myself. But most days I can't believe I got so lucky. NPR's Steve Simon wrote it perfectly in his essay At My House, Every Day is Mother's Day. No one would ever apply for this job. But that's the big secret. If it IS your job, you'd never trade it. Not for five seconds. Not in a million years.

beyond green

Today was the final day of our semi-annual church rummage sale and I spent a few hours helping out. As I folded heaps of clothes, I pulled along a shopping bag, sticking in an occasional find. Days before I had helped with the sorting and had sneaked in my pre-sale shopping, proud of the incredible bargains and the fact that I was reusing rather than buying something new. I was feeling like an all-around resourceful and resource-saving gal.

While I worked today, I noticed a shopper hauling her finds - baskets and garbage bags full of clothes and shoes - to a corner of a room where she began the long and tedious task of folding and rolling each individual item so she could fit as much as possible into brown grocery bags. Today you could fill a bag with anything that was left for a flat $5. She was smartly trying to stretch her dime as much as possible.

Throughout the morning I kept peeking at the bag lady, checking her progress and trying to guess what she might be doing with all the clothes. I figured she must own a resale store or somehow plan to turn a profit. She clearly had done this before.

When the woman was finished packing her bags - nearly an hour after the sale had ended - a worker graciously brought over a cart and helped her load up the eleven bags. After she left, I asked a woman who had worked the rummage sale longer than I if she knew anything about the lady who was buying all the clothes and shoes.

"Oh, she's been doing that for years," she said. "I don't remember the exact story, but she sends most everything to Europe - to Poland and the countries in the former Soviet Union - where clothes are incredibly hard to come by."

As I stood packing up boxes with unsold items, my eyes welled up with tears. Stretching my dollar, being environmental with my purchases, even giving my time for a good cause (while working in an opportunity to scan the dirt cheap merchandise for the last good buys) was really still all about me. And here was a woman giving her time and energy and money to do all this same kind of good . . . for someone else.

Tonight as Liam and I did our new bedtime ritual, asking each other the questions, "What are you most thankful for today?" and "What are you least thankful for today?," I remembered the bag lady. I thank God for her because she reminded me of how much more good there is to do, and that giving of yourself (not so you can pat yourself on the back and say, "look how good I am," but really giving of yourself) blesses not only the people who receive the gift but also the people who stand back and watch.

letting grow

There are these moments when a person grows right before your eyes and you can hardly believe what you're seeing. When that person is your son, and he is determined and excited and patient and truly in his element, watching involves a lot of magic sprinkled with just a little sadness. He is blossoming and becoming and, quite possibly, headed for the ER. It is so bittersweet.

down-with-busy manifesto

I will not fill my calendar until nothing's blank.
I will leave space to dream.
I will not blow past the moments I am quick to label "a waste of time."
I will lay in the grass and watch the clouds, dig in the dirt with a stick, contemplate the virtues of a dandelion.
I will not wake up one day and wish I had been busier.
I will be sad I didn't join in the ridiculous, nonsensical card game and let the laundry wrinkle in the drier and the email go unanswered one more night.
I will not wear a busy life like a badge of honor.
I will proudly tell people that I prefer leisure.
I will not trade what's important for what's admired.
I will let go of appearances.
I will not feel one shred of guilt.
I will be fully in this world and with the people I love.
I will not be sorry.