Everything is cool.

So Holly is crawling-

and Rush and Tate are playing soccer, on the same team-

and as active and crazy and bonkers as it is for choice moments of every day, it’s generally calm at home.  People who witnessed a no-nap tantrum at the zoo today might not believe it, but it’s true.  And people who sat behind us in church and watched us make three (more? less?) trips to the bathroom and/or nursery might not believe it, but we can get home and people can be chill.  I mean, we have our moments, but also, we have our moments.

FINISHED

Sometimes projects actually get completed.  Ten years of thought and old blue jeans stored in the closet finally becomes a quilt-

then a nacho blanket-

and a movie night blanket-

and now it’s temporarily on Tate’s bed while his quilt is washed.  It’s the first quilt I tied instead of quilting, which was easy but took a little longer than I thought.  Not long in hand quilting world, but long enough for two late nights watching 30 Rock. 

And in fact, two things were finished this week.  The second was a new dress for Holly-

These pictures were from the final try on right after I finished the last stitches.  Waiting for Sunday morning to try to get a picture seemed…foolish.  And by foolish I mean impossible.

Showing off the light blue lining-

Something really interesting was happening off to the side…something with Tate and Rush that at the time (about four hours ago) I thought I would remember when I typed this up.  Whatever it was, that thought is gone now.

Haiku Friday

The new rector at our church does Haiku Friday on his blog, Tumbleweed Almanac, and encourages people to post their own haiku on a particular topic.  The theme this week is Animals We’ve Known.  I posted one about Bolivar-

salty Bolivar
you drank bottles at midnight
and slept on my head

And then kept writing poems for a lot of the other cats I’ve known and loved over the years.  I don’t want to lose posting privileges on Tumbleweed Almanac by posting a twenty cat poems, so-

oh regal Jetty
your disdainful looks are so
fabulously cat

Panther burnt his nose
on the Advent wreath, yet still
jumps on the table

as cats tend to do
gravel voice Ollivander
showed up at our door

 

we thought Ethel was
pregnant, kittens never came
just fat and fluffy

 

Thomas, when you died
we didn’t recognize you
so plump and healthy

 

Pepsi, who endured
two little girls with one small
stroller and doll hat

 

Little Gray, Trixie:
your descendants must still be
finding their own homes

 

Bjorn, Anna Gretta
authentic Norwegian cats
born in the backyard

 

we named you Thursday
-you wild, black adventurer-
and you got the joke

 

Motley and Friday
when I die, please come greet me
at heaven’s bright gates

 

and I need to live
in a way that gets me to
cat lady heaven

I’m not your friend, I’m your mother

There is a plague of mosquitos here, a kids-can’t-play-outside plague.  I thought Holly had chicken pox, then I realized it was just a million bites from walking outside to wave to the garbage men. 

Holly is on the move.  She’s not so much crawling on her hands and knees as pushing herself forward on sheer force of will.  If there is a grubby boot or a coffee grinder to be found, she must have it!

Rush and Tate are slowly and gradually slipping into the new school routine.  Evenings are flowing more smoothly and every night includes a little less melt down time.  I didn’t even melt down at all for the past two nights!

Out of the blue conversation with Tate-

Tate:  Good moms aren’t nice.
Me:  That’s right!  Where did you learn that?
Tate:  From you!

And that’s that.

Stegosaurus Style

A few months ago, my book club read the book Mrs. Mike about a woman –girl, she was like sixteen- who marries a Canadian Mounty and moves to the wilderness with him.  The book is just horror after horror; I would decide to stop reading, then give it another few pages, then decide to stop reading, give it a few more pages.  In the end, great book. 

There’s a part where the main character has gone to visit her family in Boston and people are completely freaking out over burnt toast.  In her mind she’s comparing it to the the things she’s seen and lived through in Canada and is appalled by the reactions.  As her husband later sums it up:  “When little things are so important, it’s because there aren’t any big ones.”

Embarrassingly, I’ve been the burnt toast people for the past week.  Three beautiful children, loving husband, safe home with clean water and food to eat, all my dreams come true, but alas!   Sometimes the kids are cranky!  And the great elementary school that Rush is loving sometimes expects me to fill out paperwork- woe is me!  And while at the beach last weekend I stayed in the cabin with my wonderful 8 month old daughter so I didn’t even get to see the actual beach!  The outrage!  I’ll burst into tears over it!  And how dare the cabin be so crowded with people who love me?  I’ll go home early in a rage!

I’m over it.  Thankfully.  I really am so grateful for everything.  No more complaining.

Tate is a wealth of worldly advice and recently gave me a new life’s motto:

“Nothing can stop me because I have my tennis shoes and my spiky hair!”

He was specifically talking about nothing stopping him from being friends with another little boy from our church.  I’m taking that quote as is, no adult interpretation or analysis required.  If I can run fast and look like a dinosaur, nothing can stop me either.