Ahh, pie

How I love thee. Beautiful, edible artwork.

There was peach

Crimped and sugared

laden with stars.

Apple crostata, simple and heavenly.

Then there was this beauty. Starting out...

almost there,

Perfection.

Actually, not quite perfection. My pies have a tendency to be soupy. I need to remember to add extra tapioca, or cornstarch, or flour depending on what thickening agent is employed in my recipe. I suppose it's just as well. If I'd already attained perfection, what would I have to work for?
The sweet potatoes were delicious, as long as you didn't plan on eating more than a tablespoon of them. The flavor was spectacular caramely delight but oh so very sweet. I think I'll give it a try next time with half as much of all the sweet things and see how it goes.
Now, there are some pies in my refrigerator, and some blue bunny home made vanilla ice cream (the perfect vanilla to accompany fruit)in my freezer, and I'm not particularly full at the moment. Excuse me please.

Speaking Sister Love

Zizza threw a fit because I decided to comb Enzo's hair first. "I always go first!" she screamed. That's true of course. Generally speaking I only comb Enzo's hair because he see's me combing Zizza's and wants a turn too. One of the joys of having a young son with only a small about of ultra blond hair is that combing said hair is entirely optional. Today I remembered that he likes to have his hair combed and since Zizza was not coming to get hers done I decided to do his first.
"Shall we comb your hair first today?" I asked him, and chaos ensued.
I told the Girl to go to her room until she could behave nicely. Enzo's hair was combed in short order but Zizza remained in her room. When she quieted down, I asked her if she was ready to come out and she said "no" so I read the boy a story and had a little snuggle before he wandered off to find other amusements.
After a while he started crying the injured cry, and it was brought to my attention that he had been amusing himself by opening the door to her room so she could shut it again over and over. The inevitable happened and his wee fingers got pinched.
I picked him up and kissed his fingers, striped from the pressure of his sister leaning against the opposite side of the door in which they were stuck. He cried, "Sister, sister play!" No concern over his squished fingers but distraught that his sister wouldn't play with him.
Enzo is going through a language explosion and it's an amazing thing to watch him think over and try new sounds and new words.
Tuesday as I was getting him dressed he sat focused on the pile of clean laundry beside me waiting to be put away. Finally he tried out the word he'd been thinking over "ah-k" he said, sock.
K is the sound of the week. It is sounded in the back of his throat like an African click language. He's been saying "sock" at every opportunity, Today he tried out the sound in a new word, "book".
When we're driving he looks out the windows and says "tar,tar,tar,tar" Have you ever played "there's a car"? It's a thrilling game.
If he's not spotting cars he's singing the alphabet "e, e, e, e, e, ah, dee" and he repeats from there. The description sounds like it would be annoying but it's really nothing of the sort. I love to hear his baby voice singing as we go wherever it is we're going.
My Baby Girl learned to speak so early and so fast I never got to watch her think the way I'm doing with him now. It's such a blessing to peek into his thoughts this way. To watch him puzzle and when he's through puzzling hear the fruits of all that puzzling. To understand that sure, his fingers are sore, but won't his sister play with him?

I win!

Some of you may have been around here long enough to remember this
A year ago I was very disappointed in my inability to obtain clogs for my Zizza. Her feet are just so dang tiny, there wasn't a pair to be had.
But Guess what?
She grew!

I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear her clomp clomp clomping around the house. I love that she has easy on and off shoes that are suitable for winter weather not to mention, cute enough to make me cry.
Last year's obsession had worn a little thin so I was reluctant to shell out for these beauties but I reminded myself that they are not going to wear out anytime soon so every girl child I bear or borrow will benefit from their purchase and then I bought them. I bought them and I'm not sorry.

Dashed dreams

We stopped in at a bike shop to inquire about the possibility of conveying three children under the power of a lone biking adult.
Last Christmastime, while walking through the mall I happened upon a bike shop, it's windows full of beautifully painted, basket laden beach cruisers.
I have no interest in biking long distances or through mountains and accordingly my interest in bikes died when the mighty driver's license entered my life.
When I saw those lovely bikes I remembered how great it was to pedal around the neighborhood, with or without a destination. I realized that I didn't have to bike for miles or over mountains to enjoy the freedom and joy of a bike.
And did I mention the bikes were lovely? I was previously unaware that there was such a thing as an attractive adult-sized bike.
From that day forth I have wished for a bike. A bike to ride to the park, to take Zizza to her dance class, to make my hair fly, and to admire.
This winter I was going to do it.
At the bike shop yesterday we learned that there is indeed a way for me to propel all three children along with me. As long as all of the children can sit and support their own heads. There is no way, not a way known to the bicycle man anyway,to bike with a two month old.
"I guess we won't be biking Sister to dance class" I mourned. DO you know what that Awful Bicycle Man did then? What he had the nerve to do after dashing my dreams?
"Whoa," said A.B.M. "Dance class at four? somebody's gonna be self conscious when she gets older"
Excuse me? Self conscious? Because she goes the the neighbors house to plie to various Disney soundtracks for an hour every Wednesday? Self Conscious because she's learning coordination and how to enjoy exercise and express herself through movement?
I still want a bike, and I'll still probably buy it at that shop when the New One grows some neck muscles, but I'm going to give that Awful Bicycle Man a dirty look if he's there when I do.

Multitasking

I had an orthodontic adjustment and a pelvic exam this morning.
Does that not sound like a stellar combination?
Some one should open an orthodonist/obgyn practice. That would save a lot of time. They could put up a curtain at the waist so the two doctors could tend to their respective duties without interfering with one another.

Phenomenon

It happened again. I started sewing this morning and after what seemed like half an hour at the machine it was time to go make dinner.
So much time mysteriously vanished today that it was too dark to take any photos by the time I finished up.
Am I the only one this happens to?
I kept thinking the New One wasn't napping well and wondering why she was hungry again so fast. Turns out, she was doing just fine. It was the vanishing time that had me confused.
It's a shame about the photos, I'm quite pleased with today's work and now you'll never see it. That's right, never. I couldn't possibly take a photo tomorrow.

New do

I was done being blonde. Oh, so done being blonde.

Also tired of being beholden to my flat iron as I have been for nearly five years now. Observe the natural texture of my hair, in this photo I did nothing but blow-dry. I used my paddle brush to control the crazier waves around my face but in the back I just pointed the blow drier at the hair and went crazy. This is not my favorite look, but it'll do. I'm thrilled to have a low maintenance option. I've been a long time without one.

The high maintenance option is still low maintenance compared with going over every tiny section with a flat-iron until it's uniformly smooth. The high maintenance option is hot rollers. Hot rolled mussy curls. I've been experimenting for the past few days since my haircut and I think I've just about worked out my preferred rolling method.

Three cheers for hair! Three cheers for having a good hair dresser! Three cheers for kicking the flat iron to the curb! (actually, I'm keeping it and will probably even use it occasionally)

Death by shopping

My dear Mr. took kid duty all day today so I could shop for the clothing we will all wear in our family pictures.
I shopped and shopped and shopped and then kept on shopping. I left my house at 11:00 am and returned at 6:30 pm.
I didn't find much of what I was looking for and I came home with a lot of things I'm going to need to take back.
One problem was, I had a clear idea of what I wanted before I set out so I was looking for specific things, things I thought up without the aid of advertisements from local stores. That is never a good idea.
I was planning to make a good bit of this stuff, but then there was the incident with the sewing machine and the floor.
Another problem was that I don't want us to look particularly autumnal but it is autumn at the moment so autumnal things are what's currently available.
Long story short. My legs and feet ache, Shopping alone is not nearly as much fun as I remembered, I missed my day with the Mr and I still don't have our photo wardrobe squared away.
How was your Saturday?

$147.18 later...

Serasponda (that's my sewing machine) is back home on my table.
The entire tension unit had to be replaced. Here's the old one.

I think I need to rearrange things in here so she is not so easy to yank off the table. The man at the Bernina store would surely begin to wonder about me if I brought her back for another new tension unit anytime soon.
I can't wait to see how she sews.

An Important Announcement

The time has come for a change in blog names around here. I've been finding the name "Baby Girl" rather cumbersome for some months. I doesn't shorten well.
"Tiny Boy" can be shortened to "Tiny" without problem but calling her just "Baby" wouldn't so much work, and while I do call her just plain "Girl" when I'm talking to her, typing it doesn't feel right to me. Not to mention the fact that with Our New One around people might be confused as to which girl, or even which baby girl I'm talking about.
For the past few weeks I've been thinking I'll change their blog names but then I get typing away and decide it's too late to do it in that post. Today though, I was at a loss for something to discuss with you all (or maybe for you all would be a more accurate description of what goes in here) so I decided today would be the day. The day of the big name switch.
Henceforth and here to for Baby Girl will be called "Zizza" it is a name she came up with her self and assigned briefly to one of her dolls. I liked it and was sad when she moved on to a new moniker for the dolly in question so I have commandeered it for my own purposes.
Tiny Boy will be called "Enzo" Why? Because that's one of his existing nicknames and because I like the way it sounds with "Zizza"
The New One will be keeping her existing blog name for the time being. If she becomes a more permanent fixture in our family I will find her a more permanent title for the blog.

Disclaimer- I reserve the right to continue occasional use of the names "Baby Girl" and "Tiny Boy" in reference to the aforementioned children as I see fit.

surrogate?

My Girl likes to play "computer games" One might wonder why that is worth mentioning. Many four year olds enjoy such amusements.
Look at the attention she giving the computer in this photo and then guess what she's playing.

Got it?
Check out the look on her face in this next one and see if you're still happy with your guess.

If you guessed a blank word document you are right! Well actually, it's an open office document, we're an open source family.
Apparently sister girl was wrangling a difficult turn of phrase in that second photo. From the look on her face, I'd guess it's not going her way.
If Tiny is out of the way and I'm in here sewing she'll sit at the computer and type all of our names over and over for halves of hours at a a time. She changes the size of the font and the color of her text and has a grand old time.
Imagine what would happen if she was introduced to an actual game. I might be able to entirely turn over the responsibility of raising her to my desk top.

oops, she spotted me

Bike it up

Baby Girl bought a bike for herself with her birthday money.
In the days preceding the shopping trip I lamented over the lack of gender neutral bikes for young children. I was certain we'd be driving home with a pink something covered in glitter and maybe a princess or two.
I felt really bad for Tiny, knowing I'll be too cheap to buy a second itty bitty bike when he gets big enough for one.
A great hing happened though. Baby Girl didn't even look at the princess bikes. She had a brief encounter with a Dora bike but she went with the bike you see here. It has a rocket painted on it along with the word(s?) "Rock-it". (If, in the future, my children have trouble spelling "rocket" I'll know where to lay the blame.)

She's not looking at the camera because she likes to wear her helmet strap across her chin like a royal guard but has trouble keeping it in place. Nothing I can say will convince her to give up and wear the strap as it's meant to be worn.
Speaking of helmets; I was so happy about her bike selection that I didn't even attempt to influence her helmet choice. As a result, a Dora Helmet was purchased. You might not think that's a big deal, but it is.
I am not an advocate for character apparel. Yes, she is wearing a Disney princess t-shirt in these photos but listen, her grandma bought it for her in Disney world so I made an exception.
I buy character panties, but nothing else.
Normally the Bike helmet would be pushing that line a little too far but I was really thrilled with her bike choice. The Mr. gave me a few surprised, questioning glances as I made no move to discourage the helmet choice. I was very proud of the restraint I was able to show in the situation.
She rode her bike to joy school the next day.

I took twenty minutes to traverse the quarter of a mile (total guess on the distance) to Bestest's house.

I have some very slow walks ahead of me in the coming weeks while she figures out this bike business. I'll be praying for patience.

With the Bathwater

Slippery Baby
Boy on the counter
Sister tips the tub
Mama gets peed on
Twice

Serasponda

On Friday the unthinkable happened.
I was here, at the computer trying to order pizza. A bit of fuss from my children caused me to look to my right where my sewing machines reside.
I only just had time to yell a futile yell before I saw it play out in slow motion before my eyes.
Tiny's hand grasping the snap-on sewing platform and pulling the machine to the floor where it landed with a thud and a crunch.
The noise that escaped my throat was sort of a mangled gasping sob. The sort of a sound I'd expect one to make while being stabbed.
There was a little part of my brain that remained rational through the process. That rational part wondered If my reaction was entirely natural. The rational thoughts suspected that the rest of me was being over-dramatic. As I continued to issue forth sob after gasping sob however, that rational bit figured out that the episode wasn't something I could fake.
Luckily, the rational train of thought was also very observant and noticed how my Baby Girl burst into tears of her own as she fled the room on my order.
That knowledge enabled me to contain myself enough to go find her.
Baby Girl completely understood the gravity of the situation. When I entered her room she nearly exploded with sobs. "I'm so sorry mama!" she wailed into my neck.
She thought it was her fault.
How grateful I was for that rational thought, the thought that made me aware of her pain so I could comfort her, tell her she didn't do it, and that I'd have forgiven her even if she had.
Her crying shifted then, from painful remorse to pure relief. "I love you" she sniffed, and that was that.
Aside from a few minor injuries to the plastic casing, everything seems to be fine. I haven't tried to sew yet, but I have high hopes. Still, I expect I'll need to pay a visit to my local Bernina shop to have it looked over.
I am so thankful that I had the insight to buy a quality product in the first place. I feel sure a lesser machine would have been smashed beyond repair.

Beauty Parlor

You are never too young to look your best.

Come baaaaack!

My Boy is finding his will.
Recently I've found myself saying things like "Tiny stop, stop...STOP" and "Get down please. climb down Boy. BOY. DOWN. NOW. GET!" an awful lot.
This happened on Tuesday.

He made a break for it while I was getting the stroller out. I had the New One strapped to my chest in the Ergo Baby and thus couldn't run to catch him, not if I wanted to avoid giving anyone a severe case of shaken baby syndrome anyway.
The Dog caught up with him, no problem. The Dog could run

Meanwhile, I walked as quickly and smoothly as possible, all the while calling the boy and snapping photos from behind.
Lucky for me he noticed the rocks in the neighbors yard at the end of the street and stopped to pick up a few. That delay cost him his lead and I hauled him back to the house.
I was rather discouraged about the loss of his obedience until later that night when I regained hope.
He picked, for his after dinner piece of Halloween candy, a banana dum-dum. If I'd realized it was banana, I never would have let him have it.
Evils such as artificial banana flavored candy are relegated straight to the trash in this household.
He took his time eating it, rubbing it on his face and hands, trying to rub it on the faces and hands of his family members and making his parents nauseous. The fake banana fumes finally became too much for the Mr and he directed the Tiny to throw the dum-dum in the trash.
Tiny was heart broken, he had really been enjoying himself smearing that tangible gag reflex all over himself and others. Still, he took his prize and threw it in the trash, crying all the way.
It was heart breaking.
Don't worry folks, his obedience did not go unrewarded. He got a second piece of candy. This time though, the Mr picked for him. It would never have done to have him choose another intolerable sweet.
Tiny ate his fun size Nestle Crunch bar with a relish. Even in spite of the fact that none of us wanted it smeared on our arms either.

Pretty things for me

Delivered an hour ago.

Lovely.

New?

I made this top about three months ago, heavens to Betsy how time does fly.
I've been meaning to get around to posting it this whole time.
You're just going to have to excuse the wrinkles here. I'm wearing the top today and decided after wrestling with my children and vacuuming my stairs that I should take some pictures of it, finally. So I stripped it off and photographed it wrinkles and all. (This excuse tastes familiar)

I dig the little buttoned cuff.

And the angled corners on the the pleated collar.

I intened to wear it with a chunky belt of some kind, a yellow one would be nice. But seriously, I didn't even take a photo of the thing until today. What do you think that says about the time I've had for personal fashion?
Meanwhile, I'm rockn'it beltless.

Gives me a thrill

Have you heard about Shabby Apple? Have you heard about the vignette contest going on right now?
I guess you know now. Join in the fun!
Here are my vignettes, enjoy!

My First Vignette; "Secretarial Skills"
(please note, the belt should be gold but there is not a photo available of the gold version)
Abby always wanted to be a secretary. She watched movies like "Thoroughly Modern Millie" and "Pillow Talk" over and over again, imagining what it would be like to work in an office some day.
Everyone knew about Abby's ambition so when she showed up at her first day of 5th grade in a smart little suit with a stenographer's notebook and a pencil clasped in her hands, no one even thought it was strange.
When she wasn't busy watching films starring glamorous women all of whom could type upwards of 100 words per minute, or working on the type writer to bring her own WPM up another notch, she was scouring fashion magazines looking for feminine professional clothes.
When she found a particularly alluring outfit she'd cut it out and paste it in her hope chest with her short-hand work book and her ten key calculator.
There was one dress that was different. It was perfect. Abby had never found a dress she loved so much. She knew this was the one. It was the dress she would wear on her first day as a real secratary.
She framed the picture and kept it at her desk. Whenever she was having a bad day, if she lost a point on her daily typing test, or missed a page in her paper clipping drills, she would picture herself in that dress taking dictation and bringing coffee, just the way the boss likes it, before he had to ask. Soon she'd be back to her old self again, re-organizing her filing system and directing calls on the practice phone system she'd devised for herself.
It worked every time.








Vignette number two, "One Step at a Time"
Joon was a compulsive matcher. If her bag didn't match her shoes, she was prone to twitching. For this reason she'd always stuck mostly to black. Because black was easy to match.
She knew that there was a wonderful world out there, full of bright coordinating and even *gasp* contrasting colors.
Joon desperately wanted to join that world. That big, bright, terrifying world. She wanted to roll in color and drip with vibrancy. She wanted to sing in aquamarine, dance in chartreuse and fly in cantaloupe. But the matching tendencies were just so ingrained that she couldn't break free.
Eventually Joon found the courage to seek help.
In recent months she has worked snatches of color into her solemn black wardrobe. A necklace here, a scarf there. She's even worked her way up to shoes!
Today is a big day for Joon. It is the day she introduces a second color into an ensemble. She's a little nervous, so if you see her, give her a smile or, even better, a compliment! If she twitches a little, just ignore it. She's getting there. One step at a time.







This one is called "Double O Style," and is served with an extra helping of corn chowder. I do like to get nice and corny now and again.


She was a secret agent. Her assignment was at a nautical themed birthday extravaganza for a brilliant and eccentric (hence the nautical birthday extraviganza) scientist.
Not a soul in the small town where he lived and conducted his research would miss the party. The old scientist's whims were the life of the town. This time though, there would be uninvited guests. Guests who were not interested in humoring the old man and his day as a bold young sea captain setting forth to seek his fortune.
Her job was to blend among the general population and ensure the safety of the "Captain"
For her wardrobe she turned to the quintessential pairing of a navy sailor dress with red shoes. What she didn't know was, she rocked that outfit way too hard to blend in anywhere.
You might think that oversight means that she wasn't very good at her job. I admit it was a weakness, but her excellence in every other aspect of her career made it such that she could carry out her responsibilities to perfection even while holding the attention of every living creature within a mile's radius.
Tonight was no exception. She mingled, chatted, and schmoozed, disarmed the ill intentioned party guests and singlehandedly put down the attempted kidnapping of the birthday boy.
Later, she reflected on that day and commended herself on a job well done. "Not one person will remember I was even there" she thought.
I already said it was a weakness.

Nag

Last night I noticed that the nail on the second toe from the outside of my right foot had chipped.
In a fit of profound laziness I decided it was too much work to get the clippers out of the cabinet for one little toe nail. The nail in question was not jagged, would not snag on anything so I went to bed, intending to take care of it when I was in a mind to do a proper job maintaining all of my toes.
Last night in my dreams I was haunted by that toe nail. All night long in the back ground of my otherwise peaceful dreaming the knowledge of that one uneven toe nail scraped against the subconscious of my subconscious.
This morning I refused to give in to the pesky nagging nail. It would get taken care of when I was good and ready and not a minute sooner.
During nap time, after I finished my work I treated myself to a pedicure. (Though I'm not sure if it counts as "treating" if you do it yourself) I clipped and filed, buffed and painted. Now my nails are deep purple, shiny, and chip free.
I plan on sweet dreams tonight.