Sisters

The bond between Paige and Bailey is too sweet for words. Bailey's arrival is always met by squeals, bouncing, and full-speed, charging hugs. And Bailey's patience and tenderness have reached new levels with Paige. They are 12 years apart, but sisters are sisters...no matter the age difference.

Up, up and away

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I have a "from the heart" entry about Owen up at Momformation today. I wish I could cross post! But I can't, so click over to read it. Sniff sniff.

New games

I know! Let's play "What's new on my sidebar?"

Then, after you figure out the new sidebar element, we can play "Watch how Ashley asks you to admire her sewing without directly asking you to admire it."

Then we can play the ever-popular "Find all the imperfections in these amateurish handmade dresses" and "Persuade Ashley not to quit her day job."

Yes, I'm still sewing busily and with as much zeal as I had right after I got my machine. It's been a long time since I got so much satisfaction and joy from a hobby, probably not since I was 13, writing dozens of treacly folk songs using the same 6 guitar chords. And maybe not even then.

If you're good, I'll post a picture of the three pounds of vintage buttons I just won on Ebay. Opening that package was bliss, a dazzling combination of my love for sewing and my long-time adoration for objects formerly owned by old women.

Look for amateurish dresses sporting Bakelite buttons on my Flickr page soon!

How well do you know Owen?

Here's a sampling of the quiz about himself that Owen gave me today on the way to school (answers below):

1. What is my favorite dinner?

2. What is my favorite movie?

3. What is my favorite TV show?

4. Where do I like to go after school?

5. Do I know the answer to 12 plus 13?

6. Do I know the answer to 23 plus 39?

7. Once, at Kroger, I saw a hockey game for sale. How much was it?

I got 6 out of 7. Guess which one I missed.


(answers: 1. Spaghetti; 2. The Incredibles; 3. Deal or no Deal; 4. The playground; 5. Yes; 6. No; 7. $15.99)

Stuck in the middle

Poor Mitch. He's struggling right now. Again. I don't mean to push off his misbehavior on being a middle child, but lately I do see why he might be gunning for attention. Any attention. Good or bad.

Here's Owen: firstborn, smart, bringing home Looking Like a Learner and Terrific Tracker awards every other day (which are not so very hard to earn, incidentally), first to do every interesting thing.

Here's Paige: darling baby, only girl, doted upon not only by family but by perfect strangers, many of whom will ooh and aah at her cuteness while looking right over the head of a perfectly adorable blond haired boy.

Here's Mitch: 4 years old, having accidents at school almost every day, talking back then claiming "you broke my heart" or "it's like you don't even love me" when reprimanded, going ape wild in every public place in which we dare to step foot, falling to the ground in the middle of the road because he doesn't want to hold my hand, slapping at me when refused a request, snapping at me to get my attention, knocking both baby sister and big brother in the head for no (conscious) reason at all, screaming at me from the back seat of the car because he doesn't like the song on the radio, making gigantic messes in the playroom and refusing to tidy up...etc. etc. etc.

I know I've written about my hellfiend before. I probably even listed the some of the same out of bounds behaviors. And trust me, I am reacting to and handing down consequences for each and every incident, but lordy-me it gets exhausting. Currently the middle child is grounded from going on errands with me (that means no Target for a week. I must be really, truly mean), banned from computer games, and on the cusp of losing tv/video privileges. I have even gone so far as to consider taking away his beloved Dee Dee. And if you've met Dee Dee, you understand the extremity of such a punishment.

On the other side of things, he's also in an intense mommy-love phase, where every 5 minutes he coos "I love you sooo much," or "You're very pretty, mommy." He insists on hourly hugs, kisses, and nose rubbing and fishes for my compliments all day long: "Does my shirt look nice, mommy?" "Do you like my hair?"

The irony is--and this is true of my other children too--the qualities that drive me the craziest are also those that are most endearing to me. I'm not looking to extinguish Mitch's spunkiness or tame his stubborness. I admire his righteous indignation and his his refusal to back down without a fight. But I do require sane outings, basic respect, and a nix on the snapping at me like I'm a dog.

Truth is, I've missed him on my errands this week. Without someone to chase after, refuse to buy Icees for, and shush 4003 times in an hour, a trip to Target is almost, well...boring.