Outside the Box

What's up, bloggity family of mine? We got a minuscule taste of the spring to come last week, and even though we're now buried in a foot of snow, it seemed to kick my winter blues. "This is the last snow I have to get through," I tell myself. I fully realize this may be a total lie, but hey, whatever it takes.

Number of times I've taken the kids outside to play in the snow this winter: once. Once! No wonder why I was shriveled up in a corner, pale and depressed, wallowing in fantasies of beaches and sweaty summers, gollum, gollum (although, truth be told, I blamed it on the hormones). So because this is the last of the snow (shut up, groundhog), I have been forcing myself outside. It is painful. I am lazy.


We made a snow fort, but I have girls who have no concept of anything masculine (I teach them how to properly whine when Husband starts wrestling with them), so it got dubbed a snow house. It was a hit. It brought back memories of the best winter day of my childhood---the day school was canceled because of two feet of snow and my sweet mother broke her back making us an igloo. I'm talking a real life Eskimo igloo, complete with rugs on the floor. Mom, if you would have just let us sleep in it, that would have been the best day of my life. But I digress...


Our latest adventures included making our own laundry detergent. As far as I can tell it didn't work. I didn't use Fels Naptha, which is apparently the crucial ingredient (leave it to me to try to screw with the crucial ingredient). I'm going to try again after our batch of watery sludge is used up. Other highlights include trying nasal irrigation (verdict is undecided), a nasty man cold, and plenty of Kool-aid mustaches.

Whistle While You Work

Sewing machine is still in hiding. It came out for a brief romp when I made one of these, then I locked it away again. Don't worry; I'm not yet one of those Moms who gets that whistful look in her eye and says, "Oh yes, sewing...I used to have time for that..." One thing I know I've given up on is exercise. I've decided that I just don't care. And I don't really care if I'm supposed to care, either, so don't tell me I should care! I'm to the point where thirty minutes of me not having to do anything is much more beneficial than thirty minutes of exercise. Now will you excuse me while I wipe the donut grease off of the computer....

The rice pillow is for sure worth the one dollar and ten minutes it takes to make it. Eowyn kept stealing it from me and got out of bed twice to ask if she could sleep with it. Then the cat thought it was his long-lost mother and starting nursing it (he's from the shelter. he has issues).

Happy Friday. Treat yourself to one of my current musical obsessions and have a great weekend:
Joshua Radin
Jack Johnson
The Weepies
Laura Jansen

Speech Ferapy

We're working hard over here. Our latest project is daily speech THerapy. Older child has always replaced th with f. A week ago I heard her singing Frosty the Snowman in her room: "Fumpity, fump, fump, Fumpity, fump, fump, Look at Frosty go!" Oh dear, we have got to do something about that.

It's almost painful to watch her have to relearn where her tongue is supposed to be. No, it's not "Fank you," and we're not going to take a "baff." After we go through 100 "th" combinations younger child always wants her turn with Mom-turned-Speech-Therapist, so she sits on the chair in front of me swinging her thick little legs and looking at me expectantly. Can you say Dada? Baby? Please? Shoes? Socks?
Mama? Didn't think so. You're done.


I am burnt (or is it burned?) out on all things crafty. Loyal sewing machine, a regular fixture in out living room, is put away. I realized that in three weeks I had basted and quilted Phoebe's entire quilt, made 3 1/2 quilted couch pillows (one isn't finished yet), repainted the kitchen, helped with making curtains---all this on top of everything else wife and mom. No wonder I felt crabby. Lord, teach me to let it go.

A Sink with a View

Wishy washy winter rages on. One day I have mini frost drifts on my dining room carpet (no kidding), the next day swells the yard into a mini marsh. Check out our neighbor's yard (you have to look straight down to see ours...ha!). The sitting lakes, the bare trees, the overall grayness, and (my favorite part) the upside-down trampoline. Oh...so...ghetto.

But look! New curtains thanks to generous Mother-in-law! Happy-ness.

New curtains called for new paint. We picked out "rhubarb leaf green." Can I just say here that whomever is responsible for naming these colors, I want your job. Warm scones, Mint Julep, June Lake, Crabapple Blossom. The perfect blend of words, warm associations, and color, making me want to buy paint that has nothing to do with what I set out for. Am I alone in remembering the names of every gallon of paint I used?


I am obsessive compulsive about picking paint colors, but a horrible visionary when it comes to paint, so I usually obsess myself into disappointment. Rhubarb green felt more like Jolly Green Giant green for a while. But now that it's finished it's kind of growing on me. We'll see.

Amazon's super saver shipping finally delivered a month later, and I have my very own copy of Kristin Lavransdatter. The modern translation, all 1100 pages of it, all mine! Putting the kids to bed early won't kill them, will it?!