High Waters and Thunder Thighs

Lately I've been obsessed with the length of Pipsqueak's pants. It seems like at least twice weekly I'm telling her that her pants are too short and she won't be wearing them again. Strangely, this obsession is rooted some three decades or more ago.

There wasn't a lot of money in my household growing up. Frankly, I have no idea how we had what we did have. I was an exceptionally tall kid and grew fast until I stopped in my mid-teens. It was hard for my mom to keep me in pants long enough, so I would sometimes get teased about my short pants. "Expecting a flood?" is what I got asked most. It didn't bother me to the point where I huddled in a corner crying, but I didn't like it.

Once I started buying my own clothes, I was always sure my pants were long enough. Now it appears that I'm trying to protect Pipsqueak from the same fate of being teased. Of course, there are a million other things she could be teased about, but it won't be short pants. Not on my watch!

Another moment in history that scarred me for life was in eighth grade. I was sitting on the bleachers next to my female P.E. teacher waiting for my turn in whatever torture she was dispensing in the gym that day. She slapped my thigh with her hand and said something to the effect that I was carrying some extra weight there. Just what a barely teen girl needs to hear, right?! To this day, I hate my thighs. When I was going through a divorce and lost twenty pounds from the stress, I looked gaunt, but I still thought my thighs were fat.

Childhood teasing can be brutal and even drive a kid to suicide, but even the little stuff can't haunt them for life.

My High School Graduation Letter To Me

It's time for a little time travel. Have you ever said, "I wish I knew then what I know now."? Wouldn't it be cool if you could have received a letter on the day of your high school graduation from an older you? Here is what I'd write to me...

June 1983

Dear Betts:

Friendship... You have a lot of wonderful friends and many you will lose touch with unless you make an effort. Do make the effort. These are special people and many won't see old age. Friends you make in the future will have no idea who you are now and the cliques you were in. In the adult world jocks and nerds work together, cheerleaders and band members are moms in the same playground. It just doesn't matter anymore.

Money... Don't waste it. Think before you buy. Don't become of a victim of trends. Wear classic, well made clothes. Don't bother playing the lottery; you aren't going to win. Open an IRA as soon as possible. Life insurance is usually a rip off. Invest in Apple as soon as possible. Google is a good bet, too.

Work... Do something you can feel passionate about or there are going to be a lot of days that you don't feel like getting up to go to work. Find something where you can be creative or think creatively.

Love... You've got to kiss a lot of frogs before you can appreciate the handsome prince. Don't fall in love with love; make sure you're in love with the person. He should make you laugh regularly and heartily. And think of yourself and what the relationship does for you instead of always what you can do for the relationship.

Children... Don't wait so long that it's too late, but wait long enough that you know you you're with the right father for your children.

Health... Sit up straight. Wear sunscreen. Make exercise a habit. Be careful of weak ankles. Enjoy shrimp, lobster and crab because you might not always be able to.

Beauty... Again, wear sunscreen. DON'T PERM YOUR HAIR!!! And don't cut it really short and spike the top.

Happiness... Don't let anyone drag you down day after day. If they try, remove yourself from their life. You're a happy person, and it won't take much effort to stay that way.

Even if you don't follow my/your advice, by middle age you'll be over the humps, living happily, and loving life.

Always, Betts

What advise would you give yourself?

Just Dance

This weekend, Pipsqueak had her annual dance recital... four shows in two days, each lasting 2.3 hours, a half hour early arrival time, one hour round trip travel. That means I put 15.2 hours of my weekend into the show and that doesn't include makeup and bun time. Don't get me wrong; it was a fantastic show, beautifully produced, choreographed and costumed, and I'm proud as punch of Pipsqueak. But man, I'm I ever tired today, and when I closed my eyes to go to sleep last night, I swear I saw dancers... sort of like you see square tiles after playing Tetris too long.

Pipsqueak has been dancing since she was three years old... ballet and tap until this year when she swapped tap for jazz. She saw a ballerina on Sesame Street shortly after turning three and told me she wanted to learn to dance ballet. I started looking for local studios and found Dancers' Corner. I found a couple of others, but Dancer's Corner had a nice website with all the information I needed, so I picked them because I'm lazy and didn't want to make phone calls. It turned out to be a fortuitous if under-researched choice, since I've heard at least one other studio has a militant method of teaching; I wanted the experience to be fun. DC manages to teach the young children through play. I don't think the children even realize their learning. They get to wear their pretty little tutus and ballets skirts instead of a "uniform" of black leotards and pink tights.

She cried at her first recital and didn't make it on stage for her final number, and told me on the way home that she NEVER wanted to do that again. I told her she didn't have to, but I spent time talking to her about her experience, and my experience playing in orchestra, and acting in plays. I explained how the audience is rooting for the performer to succeed, the gift of entertainment and the powerful, exciting feeling of making an audience laugh or hearing applause. When recital time came around again, she still didn't want to do it, but I bought tickets for us to go and watch. Her reactions, "I wish I had that pretty costume," and "I could have done that!" There was no question that she would perform in the next recital, and she's loved the stage ever since.

There were approximately230 dancers performing last weekend ranging in age from 2 to 80+. There was a tribute to the two senior girls that would be leaving the studio after dancing there for 10 and 12 years. I was struck with the thought that it could be my daughter in only 11 more years. When the time comes for her to leave home, I'll only have memories of the all the time we spent together and the wish that I had another weekend that I could devote to her.

The Bittersweet Last Day of School

Tomorrow is the last day of school for Pipsqueak... well, a half day really. I'm happy and excited. We won't have to wake up to the alarm clock anymore, and I won't have to run our mornings with military precision in order to get out the door on time. I can make pancakes or waffles any morning of the week. Even though I try to stick close to her usual bedtime, if we're in the middle of something, getting to bed late a half hour or so won't matter. If I want to work in the garden, I don't have to get all prettified first to take Pipsqueak to school; I can put on my old gardening clothes and shower when my work is done. I really love spending time with Pipsqueak. We have fun together doing arts and crafts, work around the house, shopping or taking a walk. We have plans for lots of things we're going to do together.

However, I know I won't be getting much done unless I can find a way to include her in the projects I want to work on. I'll get "momma"ed so much I'll want to fill my ears with sand, and there will be endless requests for hugs and cuddles. It's an issue with having an only child; mom is the entertainment and the playmate. I was an only child myself, and I learned to be happy by myself and how to keep busy. I'd play games against myself, and do all sorts of projects and pretend play alone.

Even though I want a relaxed summer, I want to keep a bit of a schedule too... a time for gardening and outside play, a time for art, and chore time. I want to keep TV watching to a minimum. I think I'll schedule one hour a day of "no momma time". She'll have to occupy herself and not bother me, so I can keep my sanity.

In my house, "bored" is a dirty word. Pipsqueak has enough toys to sink a large boat. If she says she's bored, I tell her she'd better find something to do soon or I'm grabbing a trash bag to start loading it with toys. That usually motivates her.

I'm looking forward to the next 70-75 days, but I know that come the end of August, I'll be ready for a little less together time. I don't know how home school parents do it.

Superfudge by Judy Blume - A Book Review Every Parent Should Read

Last night innocence was almost lost... a moment in childhood was teetering on the edge of the cliff, but I yanked it back in the nick of time.

A few months ago, I bought tickets for Pipsqueak and I to see the play, "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" based on Judy Blume's book. I read her the book beforehand, so she would have a better idea of what was going on. We loved the book and the play.

Last month, I was looking through the Scholastic Books flier and saw a set of sequels to the book, "Superfudge", "Double Fudge" and "Fudge-a-mania". I ordered them and we started reading "Superfudge" soon after it arrived. The main character is Peter, who is now in sixth grade. His younger brother, Fudge, is the real star. He's 7 years younger and is starting kindergarten in this book.

All is well until Chapter 10, entitled "Santa Who?" Two pages into the chapter, I'm reading along when Peter says, "When I got home that afternoon, I cornered my mother. 'I don't think it's a good idea...'" At this point my eyes shot ahead of my mouth because I sensed what could be coming and I saw the words... "for you to let him go on believing in Santa." I had to think fast! I needed to buy some time. I'm getting over a cold, so I started coughing, feigned a frog in my throat and said I had to get water.

I took the book to the bathroom with me and sped read ahead while continuing to fake cough, clear my throat and drink water. In the upcoming paragraphs, Judy Blume was going to blow the whole Santa myth right out of the water! How could she do that? There should be a warning on the book cover or at the top of the chapter! If I known ahead of time, I could have skipped the whole chapter without it being missed. In her defense, the book is about a sixth grader, but with funny Fudge being the scene stealer, I can't believe Pipsqueak is the only 6-almost-7 year old that enjoys the series. As soon as I find a way to contact Ms. Blume, she's going to get a piece of my mind, but my first order of business was to warn you, my dear readers.

So here I was in the bathroom trying to figure out how to preserve the excitement of Christmas for what I hope will be years to come. I decided to skip some paragraphs, re-write a few sentences, and pray she didn't notice. She can read now, and most nights she points out parts she wants to read. Thankfully, I had painted her fingernails bright blue with a top coat of glitter earlier, so this night she was more interested in looking at her fingernails. I pulled it off, finished the chapter without her noticing it was a bit disjointed, kissed her goodnight and left her room with my hands shaking.

We, as parents, have enough worries and fears without our bedtime stories becoming myth busters. And now I must make an appointment with my colorist to cover the gray hairs that I got last night. Perhaps I'll send Judy Blume the bill.

When I Grow Up

Pipsqueak asked me this morning, "When I know what I want to be when I grow up, who do I tell?" I managed not to laugh, and I explained how she would study in college to be what she wanted, and once she had her degree, she would look for a job. If only it was that simple. It got me reflecting on my own history of choices in profession and how it all worked out.

When I was six (her age). I wanted to be a dental assistant because I had a crush on a boy who said he wanted to be a dentist. I thought that would be cozy, the two of us working side by side. That lasted a few years until I started noticing other boys and mined my own interests. Then I decided I wanted to be an actress, and I had a plan. I was going to buy a van and drive to California. Once there I would attend Pepperdine University because "Battle of the Network Stars" was filmed there. (OK, stop laughing; I was young, delusional and highly influence by television.) In high school, I realized acting was a cutthroat competitive business, and I got bitten by the writing bug, so journalism became my choice. Here's where it gets complicated.

I was a good student, in the top ten percent of the class. I was accepted at every college to which I applied, but due to confusion in my personal life, self-doubt and financial fears, I didn't go. Where was my guidance counselor?! I don't remember who it was or even talking to one. My mom didn't finish high school, so she had no expectations, and didn't question my decision... or should I call it indecision.

After graduation, I got a job as a bank teller and later advanced to customer service, but it wasn't particularly challenging or creative work. After six years, I'd had enough, and got a job at a road construction company counting rocks. Well, that's the simple explanation of what I did... briefly, until I was laid off. One of the officers there told me about an attorney he knew that was looking for a secretary. Long story short, I was hired, loved the work, and took online courses to get an Associates Degree in Paralegal Studies. I worked there for eleven years, until I had Pipsqueak. Being a paralegal allowed me to exercise my writing muscle (even though it was filled with "therefores" and "wheretos").

What a windy road to get where I am with so many intersections along the way that could have taken me in many different directions. Do I have regrets? No, because a different road would have taken me away from where I am now, I wouldn't have met Sweetie (who I met at that law office when he came to work on our computers) and I wouldn't have Pipsqueak. I still feel like I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do. For me, it's a never ending journey. I sometimes envy those that knew early on what they wanted to do and found out it was a perfect fit. A friend of mine told me in seventh grade that he wanted to be a doctor, and he's an OB/GYN.

I hope Pipsqueak's road will be more clear and less bumpy than mine. We'll make sure she has all the encouragement and guidance that she needs.

Our Little Chickadee

On Sunday morning as the snow was piling up, Pipsqueak and I were in the kitchen when we heard a thunk against the deck door. I knew that sound... it was a bird hitting the window, but it didn't sound too loud, so I was hopeful. We went to the door, and I didn't see anything right away. Soon I noticed a couple of tiny, dark gray feathers stuck to the window, then slightly to the left on the ground in the snow, I saw a chickadee laying on its back. I thought it was dead until I saw one of its legs twitch. It looked so lifeless that I felt certain it would die soon, and I didn't want to give Pipsqueak any false hope, so I said, "I'm going to bring it in and put it in a box by the fire, so it won't have to die out in the cold, laying in the snow."

I put a towel in a box and donned my work gloves, and went out to get the bird. As soon as my hand went around it, it let out a hearty cheep. When I tried to put it in the box, it had grasped the glove with one of its feet and wouldn't let go. I didn't want to shake it loose, so I slipped the glove off and left it in the box with the bird.

It layed there on its side for a long time, breathing heavily. It moved its neck a bit, so that encouraged me. I grabbed a large piece of lace to put over the box, so we could still see the little guy. After several minutes, it got on its feet and shook itself a little. After a few more minutes, Monty, our dog, came up behind us without us noticing and stuck his head in the box. This startled the bird, who started flapping around. The lace went ascew and the bird started flying around the kitchen, finally perching on the ceiling fan. Since it hadn't fully recovered, I was able to stealthily come behind grab it with the glove on, and we let it go outside. It flew to a tree where it sat for 10 minutes or so, fluffing and grooming, before it flew off.

Pipsqueak was so happy and thanked me for a wonderful morning. I often wonder how she'll remember me when she's grown up. I hope she remembers me as animal savior and feeder of birds and deer, among other wonderful, happy things. She still talks about the time I stopped the car and got out to shoo a turtle across the road so it wouldn't get hit. But I don't do these things to impress her; I do them because I want to. It's a hard life out there for animals; they could use a little kindness and help.

I let Pipsqueak give it a couple of gentle pets since she was curious what a bird felt like. Then it was hands-off so the poor guy could rest in peace. Luckily it wasn't RIP as an epitaph.

An Interview

I really appreciate all of your nice comments during my low period. Thanks to temps in the 40's this weekend, I'm feeling much better other than my sprained or wrenched left ring finger. I think it happened during the sled relay races at our town's Winterfest. I taped it to the pinkie finger for comfort, but it makes typing a challenge. I'm such a klutz.

Since I was feeling pretty happy, I spent most of the day doing tax prep, so I don't have any good material for blogland. Luckily, Tammie provided me with some. There's a new project circulating that's an interview. When Tammie did hers, she asked for volunteers. I was hesitant at first, but then though, "What the heck." So here's Tammie's interview with me...

One of your interests is thrift shopping---What's the best thing you've ever found while thrifting?

It's hard to choose, I've gotten so many good things between thrift stores and ebay. I guess my favorite is the item that has the most soul, this vintage train case.

Although it's impractical and I never take it on plane trips, I always wanted to have one. I do use it on car trips. It's in pristine condition, and it came with a heavy canvas zippered cover to keep it protected. But here's what gives it soul...
My train case was on a steamship from Africa to the US, forty-one years ago! I'll never tag that tag off.

You mentioned you're planning on opening an Etsy shop---I want details...what do you plan on selling?

I love making earrings and have a pretty large inventory. Here's a sneak peek. I want to package them nicely, so I'm waiting for organza bags to arrive from Hong Kong, and I'll be ready for business.

A little later, I'll be adding Rejeaneration Bags, which are bags made from recycled jeans. I carried one that I made when I was a teenager. They'll be all blinged out. I can't show you one because I don't have any made yet, but I've got all the "ingredients". I got nearly everything at thrift stores.

How long have you lived in Vermont and do you ever have the desire to move somewhere warmer?

I'm a native Vermonter... fifth generation. I lived in Vermont until I was three years old. I did my growing up in New Hampshire, but I could see Vermont from my house. (I hope that doesn't sound Palinesque.) I moved back to Vermont when I was 25, and I think I'm here to stay. In the depths of winter, I do get the desire to go somewhere warmer, but a week would be enough. Vermont is such a great place to live that I can put up with the sub-zeroes for a short time.

What's your favorite way to spend time with your daughter?

Boy, you ask tough questions! Pipsqueak is so much fun to be around that I love doing everything with her. I love shopping and going out to eat with her. Doing art projects or painting side-by-side is fun, too. The relaxed weekend mornings where we cuddle in bed and talk for awhile are special. I like time that isn't hurried and stressed, where I can just concentrate on her.
I have a lot of harmless celebrity crushes. Tell me one of yours.

I'm almost afraid to have a celebrity crush, because the ones I had a decade or so ago have really let themselves go. I used to crush on Sylvester Stalone and Nicholas Cage. But now... ewww! A few years ago, it was James Carvel (yes, the bald democratic advisor to Clinton), but he's looking too skeletal as he ages. Now, I would have to say George Clooney and Daniel Craig.


If you would like to volunteer for an interview on your blog, let me know in the comments and I'll send you five questions. I promise they won't be too probing.

The Worst Part First

I started the day by doing something I really didn't want to do, but I did it and got it out of the way so it wouldn't be hanging over my head, preventing me from enjoying anything else. In our house, that known as doing the worst part first.

That expression came from my late father-in-law. When Sweetie was a kid and wanted to go to the sledding hill, his father loaded the kids in the car and gave them a choice... did they want him to drop them off at the top of the hill or the bottom... Did they want to do the worst part first, which would be climbing the hill. He would, of course, pick them up in the same spot they were dropped off, because it would have been too easy for them if he dropped them off at the top and picked them up at the bottom.

I did something similar as a kid. When I was served a plate a food, and there was something on it that I really liked, I would eat that last. Doing the worst part first is a a good rule to live by, and we're teaching it Pipsqueak. She does it more times than not now. Hopefully, it will prevent her from procrastinating when it comes to unpleasant tasks.

Do you do the worst part first?

More Than One Way to Look At It

Instructions can be confusing sometimes, but it never occurred to me how befuddling kids might find them...

Pipsqueak got a Smithsonian crystal growing kit as a gift, and being all about "shiny" and "sparkly", this was pretty exciting for her. She said, "Look at all the crystals we can grow! We're going to be rich!" I decided not to burst her happy bubble, and tell her they were worthless.

Sweetie supervised the process and read the instructions aloud, so she would understand what we had to do and what would happen. A week or ten days later, it was time to see what had grown. Pipsqueak was squinting and turning her head and acting like she was afraid of it. When questioned, she said, "I can't look at it!"

"Why?" we asked.

"Because the instructions said, 'No eye contact,'" she stated.

Once we got done giggling, we explained that it was really to "avoid contact with eyes."

Thankful for the little things.

I don't have much time to write, since I've dealing with Pipsqueak's stomach virus since 10 o'clock last night. In this week of being thankful, I thought I would at least mention that today I'm very thankful for my washer and dryer, a good spray carpet cleaner and ginger ale. Sometimes it's the little things that get us through the day.

I hope to be back tomorrow with a fantastic Thanksgiving recipe, but I'm feeling slightly queasy myself. I hoping it's psychosomatic due to the power of suggestion and sensory overload.

Just Can't Get No Satisfaction

When I make things, I'm usually never completely satisfied. It sometimes prevents me from finishing things. When I knit, I might make a stitch that looser than the rest or maybe one got twisted. Instead of looking at the whole project, I just look at that stitch that isn't right and it ruins the whole thing for me. When I paint, maybe a color isn't quite the shade I was hoping for or a part of the picture is a little too big or small. It just didn't turn out the way I pictured it in my head. When I bead, maybe a wire twist isn't smooth enough or a loop not tight enough. Even when I cook, I critique myself on taste, texture and presentation. I wish I could step back and say to myself, "Self, you did a really good job," but I can't. Sometimes I feel like I got it right, but it's rare.

I think this is hard wired in the brain and not learned. I see Pipsqueak doing this already... criticizing her artwork. I've been very careful not to voice my dissatisfaction with myself in her presence, I accept compliments of my work graciously, and I've always been complimentary of her work. Like me, she doesn't hate the whole thing, only a part of it. For example, she drew this picture the other day, which I thought was amazing for a 6 year old, and I told her that. She told me she didn't like the flamingo's wing fluffed up the way it is.

Are we different or is everyone like this? What about the masters? Was Beethoven happy with his symphonies? Was Michelangelo satisfied with the Sistine Chapel?

Happy Halloween!!

I spent most of yesterday getting ready for today. It starts with the harvest party at Pipsqueak's school. They will be making applesauce, carving pumpkins and doing a craft with pressed leaves. They will also have some tasty treats provided by parents. I made a Spiced Pumpkin Bread from epicurious.com and Roasted Pumpkin Seeds courtesy of Kitt's delicious recipe.

At the end of the celebration, I'll be reading Too Many Pumpkins.

It's a great story and fun to read. It's about a woman that hates pumpkins. One lands in her yard when it falls off a truck and starts growing the next spring. Despite her neglect she grows a truck load of pumpkins, so she makes all sort of pumpkin dishes for the neighbors to get rid of them. It turns out she enjoys it so much, she saves a handful of seeds to plant the next spring. After I finish the story, I have a package of pumpkin seeds to give to each child with planting instructions.
Later, we'll do a bit of local trick or treating, and then go downtown for the Pumpkins in the Park event. There will be a pumpkin carving contest. I carved mine today: bats,

a spider, a Pipsqueak-alike, and a witch. I think I'll enter the witch in the contest. There is also a haunted walk, costume parade, games and a scavenger hunt.

Add into this an eye exam for me and after-school chorus practice for Pipsqueak and the day sounds frightening in a non-Halloween way. After the goblin has gone to bed, I think I'll need some BOO-ze. (Sorry; I couldn't help myself.) I'm tired just thinking about it, but I've planned not to have plans this weekend. I'm going to relax and putter around the house. I'm looking forward to that extra hour we'll get from setting the clocks back on Saturday night.

Handmade Costumes... Maybe Not So Thrifty

Growing up, I always had store bought costumes. Back then, they were in boxes with a cellophane window in the top, so you could see them all folded up with the plastic mask staring up at you. I remember some of them: Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty (that one had blond flocking on the mask for the hair), a witch and a bride. I don't remember asking to be anything except for the bride, so I don't know if I decided what I wanted to be or if my mom did. My mom was a beautiful seamstress, so I don't know why she didn't make my costumes. I've never asked her. I do remember the price tag on a box being something like 99 cents.

When I got older (maybe high school), I started putting pieces together to make costumes: an old lady, a hobo and a clown. Once I was out of school, I started getting crafty. One year I made crayon costumes for me and all the other tellers at the bank where I worked. I've also made a Raggedy Ann, a bumble bee, a skunk and pleather chaps for a cowboy costume. I'm not a great seamstress, but I can follow a pattern and make things that aren't too complicated. There's a lot of room for punting with a costume.

When my daughter was born, I appreciated simplicity (and I don't mean the line of patterns). I spent so much time nursing her and carrying her that I barely had time for personal grooming. Pulling out the sewing machine was not high on my list of moment-to-myself-things-to-do. For her first three Halloweens, she had purchased costumes: a ladybug, a cow and a frog.

As we were gearing up for her fourth Halloween, she told me she wanted to be Bat Girl. This was probably influenced by her father's hilarious imitation of Michael Keaton playing Batman which nearly had me driving the car off the road the first time he did it. She was in pre-school, and I had scads of time (yeah, right), so I decided to not only make it, but design it myself. Numerous hours and $40 at the fabric store later, it was done.

The next year she wanted to be a mermaid, but Ariel was not what she had in mind. Oh no. She wanted to be a purple mermaid. Although my designing skills, however limited, didn't fail me the prior year, I decided this project merited a pattern which I loosely followed. At least two full weekends and (gulp) $50 at the fabric store, and we had a beautifully sparkly, purple mermaid costume, and a personally designed headpiece which sort of made her look like a mermaid about to see Janis Joplin live at Woodstock. I can't believe this is the best photo we have of all my hard work. (She is posing with her grandmother.)

Last year, we spent Halloween in Florida, but I was not about to deny Pipsqueak the Halloween experience of costumed trick or treating. She said she wanted to be a witch. "Goody," I thought, "That's easy-peasy." We picked out some great fabric and I got the idea to trim it in black marabou. It was a screaming deal (compared to previous years) at $30, but do you have any idea how long it takes to hand-sew 3 yards of marabou trim? I think it was just over an hour per yard.

That brings me to this year. In September, we were shopping in TJ Maxx when Pipsqueak saw a beautiful Queen dress. Of course, she wanted it, and the bargaining and begging ensued. I looked at the price tag of $25. Then I looked closely at the dress, which consisted of 6 different fabrics and 4 different trims. To make something similar, it would cost well over $40 and 10-12 hours of sewing. I relented, but I didn't make it easy. Since no one local saw her witch costume from last year, I told her I would buy the queen dress one size larger and she could have it for next year if she wore the witch costume this year. The ultimate negotiator (she may make a good attorney one day), she said she would if I would get her a witch's broom this year. Done deal!

So if any of you are feeling guilty for buying Halloween costumes, DON'T! You'll have more money in your pocket and more time to spare.

Par Jamais

I was at a loss about what to post today, but then something happened. We were just finished with dinner and Pipsqueak was thinking about her dessert choice. She announced that she wanted Par Jamais. Sweetie and I looked at each other with intrigue and amazement. Where had she come up with this?

She doesn't speak French other than a few words often used on trips to Canada, e.g. bon jour, bon soir, merci, au revoir. We asked what this Par Jamais might consist of. "I'll show you," she announced proudly. She brought the following ingredients to the table: ice cream (she informed us that flavor didn't matter, however, our in stock flavor was chocolate chip cookie dough), snack-pack chocolate pudding and Hershey's chocolate syrup. For the sake of cleanliness, I offered to construct said Par Jamais under her tutelage. I was instructed to place two small scoops of ice cream in a dish and place chocolate pudding between the scoops, finally topping everything with swirls of chocolate sauce.

While Pipsqueak and Sweetie devoured her creation, I hit the French/English dictionary. "Par" mean through or by way of. "Jamais" means never. From my four years of French in high school, I remember that modifiers sometimes follow what they modify, so I'll give this a loose translation of "never through" which I think is a great name for a dessert.

Vermont's Only (?) Rain Forest

On Sunday, I snuck away for awhile in the morning to help Pipsqueak's teacher, Mrs. W secretly transform a corner of the classroom into a Costa Rican rain forest. Mrs. W went to Costa Rica this summer for 12 days on a tour organized by the University of Vermont. She plans to teach the students about it over several weeks, covering culture, food, environment, wildlife and more. She asked Walmart and Home Depot for plant donations and they were very generous.

It took us about an hour to move in the plants, arrange everything and add a few plastic lizards, snakes and insects. Mrs. W had a white noise machine/fountain that play rain forest sounds. We threw a few pillows around, so the children can sit in the rain forest to read. It looked like so much fun that I wanted to be back in school again.

We are so lucky to have this wonderful public school. There are approximately 350 students in K-8, are there is a small-town, folksy feel there, yet they have modern, non-mainstream ideas. For instance, Pipsqueak is in first grade in a multi-age class (K-2). She'll be in the same room with the same teacher for three years. Then they have looping third and fourth grade, and fifth and sixth grades which means the students have the same teacher two years in a row.

Pipsqueak loves school and can't wait to get there every morning. Monday morning was a special one to see the excitement of all her classmates when they came in and saw this.

How Do You Like Them Apples?

I can't believe it's Tuesday and I'm still writing about the weekend, but it was jam packed with activity. That's the way it is around here this time of year. It's the last blast of activity outside before we all retreat inside our warm and cozy houses, not to be seen again until sometime in March.

After we saw Judy Pancoast's concert on Saturday, we were headed to Billings Farm in Woodstock, Vermont, but I got distracted in Quechee, Vermont by a sign for a craft fair at Quechee Gorge Village. I love to go to craft fairs to harvest ideas for my own crafting. This one yielded a great idea of glass painting. This vendor had beautiful, yet simple painted glassware. I thought, "I could do that!" We'll see if I actually do.

Pipsqueak has been asking to ride the train there for years, but it runs infrequently. When she heard it chugging along the track while we were there, I couldn't say no. We had plenty of giggles about the bumpiness. I wondered if I had any loose fillings after that.

After our one hour diversion, we were back on our way to Billings Farm for the Apple and Pumpkin Festival. They had a table showing representative apples from every variety,

apple cider pressing,

apples on a string,

hand cranked pumpkin ice cream,

wagon rides and more.

We went home exhausted, but happy and fulfilled from a great "mommy and me" day.

Horsing Around and Thrifting

On Saturday morning, Pipsqueak was in another horse show. Unlike last time, I felt cool as a cucumber and didn't get all jittery about the outcome. I took photos and video, enjoyed her riding style, and swelled with pride when she took first and second place ribbons in her two lead-line events.

My jitters came earlier when she informed me over breakfast that she wanted to arrive early so I could braid her pony's tail. Okay, I'm no horsewoman, and I'm not that comfortable around animals that I can't comfortably carry. Standing behind a horse (even a small one), fiddling with his tail didn't seem like a safe activity, but not wanting to disappoint her or cast my fears upon my child, I smiled and said, "Sure, Pip. I'll go find a ribbon for it."

When we arrived, we were told that her leader wasn't there yet, and I was asked if I would be comfortable getting the pony out of the stall and putting him on the cross ties so Pip could start grooming him. That's like asking Jesus if he was going to be comfortable on the cross, but again, I rose to the challenge. Just putting his halter on was like a puzzle. Horses' tack has way too many flaps, straps and buckles. This pony couldn't have been more cooperative, unless he talked and told me what to do. I kind of held the harness and he just slipped his head in, and the tail braiding went well, although it was not my finest braiding work. I was just thankful it was done and I didn't have any black and blues in the shape of hooves.

By then, the leader was there. She helped us tack up and took Pip into the ring to warm up. Once around the ring, and it was obvious that this woman was having a breathing problem. I found out later that she has asthma. She asked me to hold the lead line while she spoke with someone. Pip hadn't ridden in three weeks, and she wanted to practice posting, so I smiled in fake confident manner, "Okay. Let's go, " and I started leading the horse around the ring. I walked; he walked. I ran; he trotted. I couldn't believe it! I was controlling a horse! Just when I was getting comfortable with it, a replacement leader came and took over for me. I feel like we both won that day, and I was proud of myself and Pip. Not to mention what a beautiful morning it was. I loved how the fog rolled around making it look very English countryside.

Just down the road from the horse farm, I saw a sign for barn sale. I saw it on the way in, but with my braiding challenge before me I didn't think I had the time or mental state to stop and shop. On the way home with all the happy endorphins flowing from conquering my own personal fear factor, I couldn't resist. There was some jewelry that I liked, but it was priced too high. I was almost ready to leave empty handed when I saw this fabric from Schumacher's Country French II collection.

There were 5 yards for $2, and they are colors that I tend to use in our house a lot. At first I asked myself, "Self, what are you going to make with this? What do you need with more fabric?" I started to turn away, but then I said, "Shut up, self. It's only $2, and it's beautiful." I drove away a happy woman.

Competition

On Saturday, Pipsqueak was in her first horse show... also her first competition. She seemed calm and cool about the whole thing. She rode in two events: Walk Lead Line and Walk/Trot Lead Line.

I was snapping photos and shooting video during the first event with nary a care in the world. Then they announced the winners and Pipsqueak got second place. I was surprised and proud. I even got a little misty eyed. Suddenly, I became a different person. I felt something that I'm not sure I've ever felt before... competitive.

During the second event, I still snapped and shot, but I was also sizing up the competition. How was their posting? Posture? Did Pipsqueak have a chance at first place?

I've never been a competitive person. I played some sports in elementary and middle school (basketball, soccer, softball), but I was never particularly good (too klutzy), and I never felt the burning desire to crush the opponents. Mostly, I played because I enjoyed the social aspect of it... spending time with friends.

In high school, I was involved in drama and band. Trying out for plays wasn't too bad since I didn't have to actually see my competitors. I showed up at my appointed time, read and left. Later, I checked the list to see if I got a part. If I didn't, I'd work in production. Band was another thing entirely. We had to play each year for levels and seats. If you thought you were better than the person above you, you could challenge them at any time during the year. I played first clarinet all four years, and gradually worked my way up to second seat. I never challenged anyone, and I felt fortunate that no one ever challenged me since there was some challenging in the clarinet section. The flautists were cut-throat; there were challenges over there all the time. When someone was challenged, I felt the nerves and sweatiness for them.

As an adult, I've never felt like I was competing, not for jobs, salaries, anything. I always felt that I just had to be the best I could be, not necessarily better than anyone else in particular. Little did I know there was a competitive monster within me waiting for the next generation to go forth and win.

I am will not to be one of those parents that coach and criticize from the sidelines. I prefer instead to be a cheerleader. Maybe... hopefully, I'm no different than any other parent that wants the best for their child... for them to succeed and be happy.

I asked Pipsqueak how she felt in the ring. Did she feel nervous or like she had to win? "No, I was just happy to be riding a pony." She's a chip off the ol' block.

Children First

I can't believe that Pipsqueak will start first grade a week from tomorrow. It's unbelievable that, a) she's that old, and b) the summer is nearly over. We had this long list of things we were going to do over the summer, but we've only scratched the surface. I'm going to let everything go this week, and spend most of my time doing things with her.

Last Friday, we crafted all day. In the morning we painted rocks.

In the afternoon, we made jewelry.

On Saturday, we took a three hour walk and visited the local donkey farm.

Sunday, her friend, Stringbean, came over. They spent about four hours playing in the pond and then warmed up in the bin we use to wash the dog in outside.

Today, we visited the local pet store and saw all the fish, rodents and birds. I was so happy to see that they aren't selling dogs and cats anymore, because "there are enough animals in the world" and they want to encourage shelter adoptions. After that we went to paint-your-own pottery and painted for a couple of hours.

Who knows how the rest of the week will unfold, but I can tell you that it won't include much housecleaning or bookkeeping. I'll try not to care too much; in another week, I'll have plenty of time for that.