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We still have one pumpkin that never got carved for Halloween, hanging out in our house waiting for Thanksgiving. Our cats are generally mystified by it, especially since I put it on the chair near the front window that gives them a view of the neighborhood, including some random other cats that occasionally wander onto our porch.
This is a shot of our cat, Ichabod, with a pumpkin. Icky was a stray kitten who was hit by a car, and then taken to our vet by some kind strangers on Halloween. The folks at the vet fixed him up, named him, and put him up for adoption–they knew we were in the market for a new cat, and called us. We’ve had him for about five years, I guess. He’s developed a remarkable resemblance to a pumpkin, at least in plumpness if not texture.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve tried to get my kids interested in sewing, with little success. The Potato saw me getting ready to make some Christmas gifts the other day, and they both decided that they wanted to give sewing another shot–they’ve been valiantly hand sewing various items ever since. I got this book a while ago, and they both decided they wanted to make things out of it.
The Bee is making herself a purse–it’s a very small purse, but it has two pockets, and a butterfly decoration that she drew, cut out and sewed on herself. The Potato is making a book cover, with a “Bad Guy” applique.
They both had half-days at school today, and since I had to work at home in order to get our sink fixed, they came home right after school. I cruelly oppressed them by refusing to allow them to watch TV for the whole afternoon, so they decided to work on their sewing projects, after they got their homework done.
It’s really pretty cute to watch them sew, and to hear the Potato say “ow!” every thirty seconds when he pokes himself with a needle. His stitches can tend toward the way-too-far-apart, but overall I think they’re both doing a great job. Landisdad picked up the Bee’s purse last night and said, “honestly, I don’t think I could sew any better than that,” and it’s true that she’s made much more progress in the hand-eye coordination department than ever before.
I’ll post some pictures when they’re done, assuming we get there. I have to say, I’m a little astonished that they’ve maintained interest for three days, even after it got difficult.
We’re having a pretty laid-back weekend here at chez landis. The various soccer games were rained out yesterday, so we sat around, bundled up, watching TV yesterday morning, then took a field trip into the nearby natural history museum in the afternoon. Today, landisdad went out for bagels in the morning, and we’re just kind of lazing around, doing some chores.
The unseasonable cold is forcing us to cocoon a little bit, and it’s nice. This has been a very active fall, and it’s nice to have a slow, easy weekend.
Long-time readers of this blog may remember when we got our basement finished. Way back then, I wanted to paint part of the wall as a chalkboard–we had a chalkboard in my basement growing up, and I always found it fun to play around with, especially when playing school, or Dungeons & Dragons. It took a couple of years, but I finally got around to it–and this is what’s waiting for my kids when they get home today. Although, of course, they don’t have chalkboards in school any more. Maybe I should have gotten some whiteboard paint…
We just got back from a couple of days at the beach. Unfortunately, it rained all day today, so we ended up playing miniature golf and visiting a local museum, instead of surfing. On the other hand, we got to leave a little early, and mostly miss the end-of-vacation traffic.
Here are the kids, engrossed in their own pursuits (the Potato playing his DS, the Bee reading a book). I realized that I haven’t posted any pictures of the kids in a while, and I’d better do it before the Bee figures out how to use Photoshop or something.
We stayed in a motel just a couple of blocks from the ocean, and it was nice to be able to walk lots of places during the day.
Our first night there, I shared a bed with the Potato, which is always an adventure. During the course of a normal day, the Potato is a very active boy. In sleep, he spends the first couple of hours knocked out cold, then starts moving all over the bed, like a maniac. At home, I often find him spun around in bed with his head against the wall and his feet hanging over the side, or sleeping with his head where his feet are supposed to be, with the pillow knocked on the floor. When sleeping with a parent, he seems to take revenge for all the petty slights & denials he suffered that day. I woke up at least once with him rapping me on the back of the head with his elbow, as if to say, “see Mommy, you really should have given me that second ice cream cone!”
Both of our kids love the ocean, and they spent the entire first day there digging holes in the sand and jumping in the waves. The Bee, unfortunately, developed quite a sunburn, and from then on, felt quite sorry for herself and covered herself in lotion at every opportunity.
Does it make sense to clean the bathroom floor, ever, if there is a 6-year-old boy living in the house? Seriously, I never knew it was so difficult to aim at a toilet.
It’s great that you are teaching the kids to dissect owl pellets.
It’s not great to discover, at the dinner table, that our son has brought home the mole jaw and hip bones that he dug out of said owl pellets.
In his lunchbox*.
kthxbai
*ok, in a plastic bag. but still.
Sometimes, I wonder what my kids make of my strange job. Other kids go to work with their parents and get to sit in an office, playing with markers instead of holding signs or passing out leaflets. Their friends’ parents aren’t quite so activist-y as landisdad and I are.
Last weekend the kids came into our room, demanding tickles on a Sunday morning. I was worn out, and said, in my best sleepy voice, “noooooo, Mommy’s too tired for tickling.”
They went away, and came back a few minutes later (after much giggling in the Bee’s room) with little signs that read, “Ticklebugs Now!” and “We Want Ticklebugs!”
Then the chanting started, “We want ticklebugs, ticklebugs now!” It was rhythmic, even.
I had to wipe away a tear, I was so proud. Their very first demonstration.
My brother and his wife had their second child this week, a girl. We didn’t get a chance to go over to meet her until today, and the Bee is a little sick, so we had to go in shifts. The Potato and I went first, and he and his older cousin, the Butterfly, basically tore around the house while I held the new baby (need to think of a nickname for that one, quick) who was sleeping.
The Butterfly is very excited about her new status as a big sister, and their house is full of little signs that she made to welcome her home, including things like, “Welcome Home, Yard Sale!” You see, my 5 year-old niece knew the baby’s name for the past three months, but it was a family secret–it was only she and her parents who knew–and apparently the name they were using to refer to the baby with her maternal grandparents (who take care of her after school) was “Yard Sale.”
I’m thinking of referring my niece to the CIA for future recruitment. I figure any five-year-old who can keep a secret like that for three months will have no trouble keeping state secrets.
We brought the Butterfly back to our house for lunch and a short play-date, and during lunch, I asked the Bee to talk about the best thing about being a big sister. Sadly, the Bee’s response was, “there isn’t anything good about being a big sister. It’s all bad. You’re just lucky it’s a girl, not a boy, because boys are disgusting!”
I’m pretty sure that I would have said the same thing about my brothers, when I was 9. Happily, I no longer feel the same way, and I told the Butterfly that–after all, her dad is my little brother!
Every morning, the kids and I talk about whatever’s on the front page of our newspaper during breakfast. They ask questions about whatever they think looks interesting, and I attempt to translate that into kid-speak. We check out the weather for the day (the kids are obsessed with making sure that they know what the high and low temperature is), and figure out what they should wear. They read the comics, or look at the ads.
I think it’s important for my kids to see me and landisdad reading the paper, and getting our sources of news from the written word, rather than the TV. So I was pretty depressed recently when our local paper filed for bankruptcy.
Getting a newspaper delivered every day (2 on Sunday, with the Times) is one of the hallmarks of adulthood for me. I don’t always have time to read the whole thing, but it’s still important to know that it’s there.
It seems like we’re very close to the day when there just aren’t any daily papers left, and I guess this crazy internet thing is here to stay. But it’s hard to imagine clustering around the laptop on the breakfast table, with the Potato asking, “what’s the high?”
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