Bright lights, big city (a marathon of a post)

Myra and I and V went to Minneapolis this past weekend. Now, all of you whom I was supposed to see but didn't should take a deep breath, stop hating me, and read the rest of this. Because you will thank me, in the end, for not bringing our weekend vibes into your life.

For the first 103 miles, V screamed almost non-stop. I wish I was exaggerating, but she was exhausted and wouldn't sleep in the car, and I felt like turning back to home 206 times or so. But we had a wedding to go to on Saturday, and a birthday party on Sunday, and Myra was with us, and darn it, if I turned around then, the terrorist would win.

So we pressed on. One stop at a nearby Target and two complete meltdowns later, we were back in the car (V in her jammies, this time) and she was sound asleep before we were out of the Target parking lot.


The next morning found Myra and Kathy (our gracious hostess) checking out the new boulevard garden, with V toddling along behind.
For me, though, the weekend was pretty much already shot. I mean, any sane person would've downed a pint of whiskey and moved on, but it was just not an option this weekend. The thing is, V was really largely pleasant after the car ride from hell.


Above are some of our friends from brunch, where there was bacon and laughing and three tired mamas with their energetic daughters and two grandmas happy not to be in the "tired mama" camp any more.

Here are photos from the wedding (which reminds me: can Em or Jen or Kathy e-mail the information for Meagan's flickr page so I can add these?). Though I loved our wedding, I tell you what, I loved this wedding, too. Gunny sacks, squash, and candy corn decorations? And check out that awesome red flower (which I think is called a cock's comb, but makes me think of bloody brains). Luscious decorations at a park pavillion on a gorgeous early autumn (technically end of summer) day.
I love this picture of Mark. I remember the day he was born.
The bride and groom. Please note the bouquet: it's a bunch of beets. How brilliant is that? I love beet bouquets, and I didn't even know it.

Here is fearless V on the monkey bars.

Such joy and bravery, eh?

Until the ride home, when the screaming recommenced.

Out of desperation, Grandma Myra sat in the backseat and read the three books we had along over and over and over.

If Grandma hadn't been there? I would probably have parked the car and just started walking, alone, praying for a bus to run me over.

Three looks like it's gonna be a doozy of a year.

My latest obsession

I know, I know. There were coupons, and that fabric thing, and the unfortunate cactus period. But seriously, people, Arts Cow is the most fun I’ve had online in a really, really, really long time. Now yes, it could be that I just haven’t bookmarked the right sites (see Duluth Family Sauna, last post). But I feel giddy when a package I’ve ordered comes from these folks. Okay, I feel giddy when I get a free tampon sample in the mail, but I mean really, really, really giddy. I just kinda hold my breath and open the package and honestly? I haven’t been disappointed yet. Shaun might insist this is because I have unbelievably low standards, but I like to think that it’s because they make pretty cool stuff.

Now a lot of it I can’t show you, because I’ve already gotten some gifts for upcoming holidays. But this? I made this for myself. Or more accurately, I had it made for me. It's double sided, and both of the pictures are photos I took (one of fireworks on my birthday, the other of a collage I made which will be explained, perhaps, in a future post) and the pendant itself feels really good. It’s heavy and smooth, almost like it’s in glass, and I feel artsy and super smart whenever I wear it.


Look at it. LOOK AT IT. (Don't look at the saggyness in that photo. I am much perkier. See earlier photo for perkiness. Don't I have a pretty neck? LOOK AT THE NECKLACE)

Their books are perfect bound and have fabulous color. Their prints are clear and thick and…substantial. I’ve only printed in matte, but I’ve been nothing but pleased so far. Even the larger sizes are crisp and saturated: I’ve gotten about ten 8x10s, and also two 12x18s (which reminds me: any of you have a mat cutter I can borrow?), and even in that near-poster size I’m impressed. I mean, granted, I’m a total genius of a photographer, but the paper these guys print on is outstanding, the colors seem (to my genius eye) to be right on, and so far I’ve gotten some lovely, totally unique Christmas gifts without having to sew my brains out or aggravate my carpal tunnel.

The drawbacks? It takes awhile for stuff to show up. Sometimes two weeks. So spontaneous and quickly gratifying it ain’t. The company’s in Hong Kong, though, so unless the globe starts shrinking as it warms up (what if our planet is made of wool? And we’re all moths?), shipping time will likely stay around 2 weeks. But the other products I’ve seen from other companies really do pale in comparison.

So you do what you want. If you want to have giddy, package opening moments in your future, go play at Arts Cow. As for me, I’m going to continue to send reasonable amounts of money to Hong Kong as long as they send me pretty/funny/neat-o things in return. If you’re nice, and tell me I have a pretty neck, I might make you your own necklace. Or maybe you can borrow mine.

Gitche Gumee

Over Labor Day Weekend, the husbo and I decided we'd had enough of toddling around with V, so we took off for the Big Water.

And though I've been in New York's harbor, and Boston Harbor, this still feels to me like the closest I've ever been to the ocean. Because I can't see the other side, so it counts. One of the highlights for me, aside from TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW ALONE WITH MY BEAU (and yes, he wears orange and red together all the time. Clashing is sooooo sexy), was our tour of Glensheen. I first toured this sweet mansion just after we moved into our house, and the themed rooms inspired my own Peacock Room. Because while I may not be a Congdon, I can pretend I have a 39 room Jacobean Revival mansion if'n I want to.
From the lakeside. Mrs. Congdon didn't call this the backdoor, because she didn't want guests arriving by boat to feel second rate. She claimed to have two front doors. I'm pretty sure you can only do that when you're super rich.
Sweet balustrades. "Balustrade" is the kind of word that you don't know you know until you see one. Or at least I didn't.
See? Don't you want to come over to my mansion? And hang out? And play billiards? I would totally give you the key to the liquor cabinet.

Seriously, the man should've been a pirate. Except he likes cable tv and central air. But otherwise, he's pirate matieral all over. (Pirates were notorious for clashing).

Anyway, I could talk about Glensheen all day and all night. But you don't come here for history or architecture lessons, do you? No. You come here to see what other excitement my life offers that yours doesn't. So here you go: an unstaged photo near downtown Duluth. This was just after lunchtime on a Sunday. Why is this sandal on a parking meter? Where is the woman (or man) who was wearing it? Was she standing on the meter and just hopped off in a hurry, like Cinderella? Does she remember at all where her footwear disappeared to?

I don't know. But it was on the way to the Duluth Family Sauna.

The guy in the t-shirt was just leaving, and he didn't look too sweaty. The sign said they opened at 10 on Sundays. Because in Duluth, if you don't feel like going to church, you might just go have a sauna.

[And by the way, I just thought it was a neat old-school sign until I found their website. I'm...um, sorry for bringing you to that site if you thought this was a family blog. At least, I think I'm sorry. "Good clean hot fun" makes me feel dirty, even with the word clean right there.]

It does dovetail nicely with this sign, though, found in a hole-in-the-wall hotdog and chili cheese fries place called Coney Island (further confusing my ocean-side experiences):

I think it means the restroom is for customers only, not the gentlemen. But I thought Duluth Family Sauna seemed wholesome, too. I am not even going to look for the Coney Island website. You go on ahead.

Party!

Presents, with Will cheering in the background.
Cheeseball.
Cupcakes.
Swimming goggles. Birthday crown (modeled by Grandpa).

Uncle Brad, Emmy, Grandma Mary.
Mmmm, lemonade.
Water slide (with Daddy at the bottom for catching).

Three.

The face V gets when we take her to church

I know. Scary.

Three

Dear V,

Three years ago yesterday, a team of doctors grunted and heaved and yanked you out of me after I let them try to induce labor four separate times. The second you cried, I burst into tears of relief. Had I any idea of what you would bring to our life (the drama, the exhaustion, the hilarity) I would've cried for dozens of other reasons, too. I can hardly believe it's been three years. I can barely remember my life before you, which is to say I love you more each day.

We've had a difficulf couple of weeks, you and I. We've both been sick, and cranky, and you just started preschool, and I just went back to work after the summer, so we've had a lot of changes. And you like to see the surprise in my face when you do something unfathomable to me: five weeks after potty training, you looked me in the eye on Thursday while you pooped in your Little Mermaid panties, for example. You even told me you were doing it, and when I said "Well go to the potty!" you smiled and said "No." The next day, when you asked if you could have some pretzels, I said of course. So you looked at me with that same smile and dumped them on the floor. Then you stomped on them. While smiling.

I trust this behavior will pass. And I am learning to be more patient with you. But mercy, child, you don't need to test me every. single. day. Honest.

Tonight, as we played baseball in the backyard (you=Joe Mauer; I=Justin Morneau) we laughed and laughed and laughed, and decided together to start a band called The Lumpy Bubbles. You said you would sing and play drums, and I said I would play the saxaphone, and you said Daddy could play the xylophone. And we laughed and laughed some more. And you threw your arms around me and said "Oh, I love you, Mama!"

I cried again, with relief. I love you too, Sprout. As long as we live, it's you and me baby. And there ain't nothin' wrong with that.

Meow Meow cat witch, meow.

So I added a button to my blog. It's "Save Mister Rogers' Neighboorhood," because apparently PBS plans to pull it to weekends only in several markets. I don't think that's okay, so I want to try to help. Click on the button to find out more.

We watch more TV than I'd like at our house, and a lot of it is kid-friendly and fairly mild. Still, there is nothing on earth that I've found calmer than Mr. Rogers, and he isn't mind-numbingly stupid, either. The Big Comfy Couch? Rather insipid, really. Wow Wow Wubzy? Yeah, um, no.

But Mr. Rogers, with the tour of the teddy bear factory? Mr. McFeeley's Speedy Delivery? Trolley and the land of Make Believe? X the Owl and Henrietta Pussycat? Yes, thank you. It is an oasis in television land, and I want it to stay.

First day of pre-school

Shaun said to V this morning, "Are you excited about school? You're going to meet so many new friends."

"And boys!" V said.

Maybe this preschool thing wasn't such a good idea.


Truly, though, I don't know what on earth made her think "friends" didn't include boys. Most of her friends ARE boys, actually.

When he picked her up, Shaun said, "Did you meet any boys?"

V said, "Yep. And girls, too." So I guess that's good news.

Today went really, really well. She waved us away as soon as she got to school, and though worn out afterwards, she seems really happy with the whole deal so far. I hope it lasts. As a bonus, I didn't cry, either.

But look at her up there on those lousy crumbling front steps of ours. I feel like in 10 minutes we'll take her first day of junior high photo there. I know it's that stupid parental cliche, but she's growing up so quickly. She'll be three years old in less than two weeks. How did this happen? I still feel like such a new parent: I have no idea how to do this right!

But most of the time, I just feel so lucky to know her.

Front Yard Maple Tree

I had to be up and out of the house at 7:40 during inservice days. The good thing, though, was getting to see the sunrise for a change.
Good morning.

A couple weeks of catch-up

I know I've been gone awhile. Faculty inservice started this week, and it's always a shock to my system...and Shaun's, and V's. So let's recap.

V uses the big girl potty at Mexican Village South
Pile of kids in the bathtub, as their doting mothers look on.
A Mama Long Legs at the lake
My wounded finger from awhile ago (it doesn't look this bad anymore. Honest). There's a needle-sized hole all the way through there, under the skin.
V learned to love the lake. A lot.

The grandmas and the cousins. I love this picture because it's so chaotic...like life at a lake with two almost three year olds.
V had another Senior picture taken.

My beautiful girl. (less than an hour after this picture was taken, she had a total meltdown at a nearby restaurant and wouldn't stop screaming until they brought her ice cream. Nice. But she is still beautiful.)

Questions I can't answer

V and I are on vacation. My in-laws are in Vegas, so she and I decided to guard their lakehome while they're away. It's tough work, but someone has to do it.

In the end, we'll have been here 2 nights and 2 1/2 days alone together by the time the family returns tomorrow night. The last time we were both away from V's daddy this long, he was in California and she was three months old. We've been pretending we're having a three-day party, where she can drink lemonade, and I can drink lousy pre-made pina coladas, and we can swim into the night and eat pizza on the dock. I'm not sure which of us is having more fun.

I didn't bring the camera cord to hook into the computer, so photos will need to wait. You'll have to use your imagination.

I've been trying to help her be excited to be outside (though the lake helps a lot in that department) so I've been talking to her about different trees, and loon calls, and anything else we notice outdoors. Today she pointed to a spider and looked at me expectantly, asking "What's THAT?" "That's a Daddy Long Legs," I answered, confident in at least this species of spider*. She totally stumped me with her follow up question, though."Where's the Mama?"

*confidence which, it turns out, was misplaced, as they aren't even spiders. Stupid internet, always proving me wrong.

Cousins

They often hold hands. If one is in the stroller and one is walking, they still hold hands. My heart grows three sizes every time that happens. They are each other's best friend.

Two totally unrelated things worth blogging about

First, 30 minutes after that last blog post, V quietly went into the bathroom and then several minutes later called for my help. I thought maybe she'd dropped her circus book, but noooo....Ladies and Gentlemen, V has now successful used the toilet for both of its intended purposes. As promised, she got her cupcake as well as a ridiculous Happy Poop Dance her father and I made up for her. And no, I will not do the happy poop dance for you, even if you poop like a big girl.

Also, um, please don't tease her about this when she's 11. She'll have enough problems as it is.

The second blogworthy thing is a historic event in my sewing career. (I mean, 7th grade home ec was historic in that I missed the day we got instructions for our sewing project so bought a perfectly lovely jumper pattern and plaid fabric, not realizing that I would then need to MATCH PLAIDS...oh, the humanity). I have been using a sewing machine with some regularity for 17 years, almost half my life. I've lost track of the number of quilts I've made, and have shared here on this blog some of my adventures in softie, backpack, and diaper making, to name a few. This is not to say I'm an expert, by any means, but just to illustrate I am no stranger to my sewing machine.

Tonight, I was finishing my version of Amanda Soule's Gratitute Wrap (find the pattern on the lefthand side, under "For You!"), moving along at a good clip, and in putting the binding on the last corner, I moved my finger in to tuck in some fabric and ....ow....sewed through my finger tip.

Now calm down, all you non-sewers and sewers alike: it just went through the fleshy part on the tip of my left index finger (though I'm finding it quite painful to type right now...must stop using t, f, g, r, and v). I've heard horror stories of people hitting bone and/or the needle breaking off inside and being lost forever. Neither of those things happened, though the needle did break. Because I had an entrance and an exit wound, it was easy to remove the needle, as it was protruding. The thread, on the other hand, was rather disconcerting, because it was still attached to the spool, and had I not realized I needed to cut it, I would still be downstairs pulling thread through my finger.

I know. Gross. Sorry.

The good news is, the binding I was sewing on and the thread I was using were both red, so no one will be the wiser! Well, except now I can't give it to anyone who reads this blog. Stupid bloody gratitude wrap.

I have no pictures of the poop, the wound, or the wrap, though one of those three may well show up here tomorrow. If that doesn't make you want to check back in, I don't know what will.

Backpack, backpack

As promised, proof of the Backpack I Made Without A Pattern, modeled here by the lovely V, and V's assistant, Baby Head.
Note the straps: they're not adjustable, but I measured them to fit her, and barring a Robert Wadlow-esque growth spurt, they should last until kindergarten.

Here's the back: there's nothing in the backpack here, so it hangs kinda funny, but the bottom is square. V picked out the fabric, a vintage canvas-like cotton, by saying "The puppies. Woof woof." She originally said she wanted solid orange, but I didn't have any in an appropriate weight. She picked the green for the V, too, which I traced from a large scrapbooking letter and used lightweight heat n bond to stick in place, before zig-zagging around the edge. The photo makes the greens look more clashy than they are in real life.

Back to V's assitant (you didn't think I would just let her slip by us, did you?). Her full name is Plastic Baby Doll Head, but V generally shortens it to Baby Head, or just Baby. Baby Head came with us to the grocery store today, and had a drink of water in the water fountain, and tried a doughnut hole from the bakery. Baby Head has a very high voice and a dry sense of humor, as you might imagine.

I know that this is odd behavior. I swear I did not encourage her to seek out this strange plaything (as opposed to George Washington, which I kinda forced her to love). One day she was looking through some of my craft supplies, and said "Oh, can I play with her?" I was not about to say no. It's so very Wednesday Addams, isn't it? Or the opposite of Wednesday Addams, since she had a headless doll, and V has a bodyless head.

Parenthood rocks.

Bob the Builder poops in the potty.

Sorry if y'all thought we were dead. We're here, we're mostly healthy, and we've been busy. We had Andy and Vanessa's wedding two weeks ago tomorrow, and Sara & Melvin's wedding on Saturday. My friends Nancy and K.C. moved 50 miles away earlier this week, and I helped. Oh, and V is potty training. Yeah. So I'm kinda busy making sure my kid pees in the potty and not on the sofa.

I know, you're saying "But, Jen, why are you potty training all of a sudden? What's up? You and Shaun are so lazy we figured V wouldn't get potty trained until she was 6 or 7." And I don't blame you for saying that, so I will explain.


V will start preschool August 25th, provided she learns to use the potty with some reasonable frequency. We found out about this on Thursday (we were waiting for an opening. Very college-entrance-y, kinda) and had plans Friday and Saturday, so this past Sunday was our first day of Toilet-eese.


Honestly, she's taken to it quite well. We let her be naked the first day, and if you were 35 months old and had worn a diaper almost every waking second of your life, naked would be quite a reward, apparently. Enough so that the first three times, she leapt up, peed in the potty, and was rewarded with hoots and hollers of her parents, and phone calls to both sets of grandparents as well as an enthusiastic aunt. After the third time, Shaun and I kinda looked at each other and were like, "Dang, this potty training thing isn't so hard. What was all that fuss about?"


Anyone who has potty trained a child knows we were fools. Within twenty minutes of that thought, I was cleaning poop off the bathroom floor.

Frankly, we ARE lazy parents, and we were kinda used to the girl going about her day while we went about ours, with 4 or 5 diaper changes and some meals mixed in. I mean, we talk to her and stuff. Now, though, we have to watch her all the time, leap up when she heads to the bathroom/grabs herself/starts squatting in the toybox. It's exhausting.

More information than you wanted to know? Too bad.

In slightly related news, I was so inspired by this preschool news that I ran down to my basement studio (I have a studio! Aren't I cute?) and made her a backpack. She picked out the fabric and the lining and the zipper, chose the fabric for the large V I emblazoned on the front, and offered lots of moral support. Did you catch that? I MADE a backpack. By myself. Without a pattern. From fabric I already owned.

I'll try to get pictures of it. Of course, if you live near me you've probably already seen it and been told I MADE IT WITH OUT A PATTERN. Because I'm excited, and I want you to be too. In related crafty news, I've been making bonnets from this pattern (click on "shop," then "bonnet"). It's the same one as this bonnet, but in summery cottons.

I had to tinker with it a lot to make one that would fit Emmy, since she is still the tiniest human I've ever seen (This version is actually #2 of 3. #3 fits better, but Jess is still beleaguered by pregnancy brain and lost #3. Temporarily, we hope...).

The photos are from yesterday, when we piled four grown-ups and three kids into a Honda Odyssey and drove to a zoo an hour south of here. Because we're optimists, I guess. Anyway, the drive was lovely (I want someone to give me a honda odyssey. please), and the company divine, but V is still not too interested in animals, and is recovering from her summer cold, and so she screamed. A lot. I swear I saw a mountain lion roll her eyes at me over it, and not in a sympathetic way, either. That's the last thing I need, to be judged by caged animals.

To sum up, we've been learning to use the potty, I've been really crafty, we've been to two weddings in two weekends, and we went to the zoo. What's gnu with you?

And my one regret is leaving you behind...

I had all these good intentions to have a blog post on Friday about my dad. Friday marked 6 years since he died, and I wrote an article for the paper version of Languishing detailing that day in 2002. I figured I’d reprint that, with a small preface, and call it good.

Except my organizational skills are nonexistent, and I can’t find that article for the life of me. The only years of Languishing that didn’t translate to this new laptop from the old files were 2002-2003; I have paper copies of every issue ever published, except from those years (I’m starting to feel a little paranoid, frankly). And because I was sure I would have no trouble finding this heartfelt, fairly decently written account, I didn’t prepare anything else.

Oops.

It’s a weird thing my family does, I guess, keeping track of death dates (do other people do this?) and there are many dates of memorial through the year. Every November 19, for example, I’m pretty sure at least a few of my aunts, uncles, and cousins are thinking along with me of my grandfather, who died in 1979. And though we had other things on our mind this Friday, my mind was drawn back to that day 6 years ago many times.

I am not going to attempt to recreate the article: I know I’ll find it eventually, after all, and I’ll print it again then. But I did want to mention that he was a good man, and smart and hilarious, and loved his family and friends deeply. He would have adored his grandchildren. I miss him every day.