It was all going well... until

The garbage disposal stopped disposing.

The beans simmering on the ovens had no matching hot dogs.

The milk for the cereal, which replaced the not-hot-dogs-and-beans ran out.

Everyone wanted eggs when I just wanted to eat my beans-on-toast-with eggs.

The game on the computer crashed.

There weren't enough blankets and the bed wasn't fluffy enough... what do you mean, the bed wasn't fluffy enough, you're a nine year old boy!

The overtired boy who wanted to sleep alone left only to have the other overtired boy who never wants to sleep alone follow him.

At least the teenage girl fixed the garbage disposal and did her homework!

And, and at least I wasn't Edith, on Downton Abbey, to be left at the altar, /omgiosh.

So it was every one for themselves and in the end, in the end, the teen girl chilled and didn't fight with the boys, and the boys did what all little boys do, even little boys who are nine years old and big boys do, they crawled into mom's bed.

And I, the mom,  am doing what all moms do, giving up on any notion of an actual good night's sleep!

Sometimes... sometimes the little boys win.

Most Boring Post Ever

This will be a boring post.

Do not read if you expect or desire to be entertained.

I've successfully spent gift card money finally!

I didn't want to purchase anything with you know, my money, and I didn't want to spend any of the gift cards I had until after I'd fully purged my closet, and ensured I didn't gain 20 pounds over the holiday!

Success! But I've seen a preview of spring fashion, and I'm pastel-erized. Pastels. All. Pastels. How horrifying! I dislike pastels. Especially springs' favorite new shade, 'mint-doesn't-look-good-on-anyone-but-we-keep-bringing-it-back.'

It's been a quiet Saturday, there may have been a nap.

A three hour nap.

It happens. We Skyped with Husbear, which always cheers the kiddos up, and I'm doing my best to not look at Oxfords online, since I have no more gift cards and a great weakness for Oxford-style shoes and boots. Now that I own a pair of awesomely epic boots, my sights are turning to Oxfords, despite the no-budget-for-Oxfords thing.

Le Sigh.

Time for some Rick Grimes, because nothing makes a Saturday night like a good Zombie fest.

Rick Grimes zombie tests are seldom boring, unlike my posts, which oftentimes are.

G'Night.

Huszombieland Day 8

Don't know what happened to the past few days - it all seemed to flow into one long day.

It was Tuesday, now it's Friday night.

All sorts of High School drama unfolded at Drama Girl's school - a threat, and it was all under control but then they cancelled school and some kid is going to have his life seriously ruined once they find him.

Was a zombie at work, seems to have worked out well. There isn't enough coffee on some days!
But then Husbear, the moment I opened my personal computer at work, skyped in! He had a bottle of wine and was relaxing in his hotel room.

I was four hours of work left to go at 3:30 on a Friday night with children at home waiting to be fed and entertained, and he's reposeful with wine and no children and a wine trip tomorrow!

.....ARGH. Days like this, I want to join the Zombies.

Or at least go hang with Rick Grimes...

 It's been exactly one week.

Two more to go...

Huszombieland Day 5

The cats made their first attempt last night. On the stairs. Barely escaped. The white fur of the young Cogs gleamed in the moonlight and gave them away. Still haven't located Queen Ninja. She is far more clever than the rest.

Dry shampoo not the miracle elixir promised to so many... hair is limp, lifeless and may drown in its oiliness. Will see what effect it has on my abilities to survive the day.  Drank extra-strong brew to compensate. How long can I live on extended dosages of dark brewed coffee?

The boys are dressed and ready to go. Not sure what they're up to, can't get to the bottom of their maniacal scheming... they are being so good, but, the question lingers... why? Why now, when never before?

One of them is singing, I can hear it, a happy, joyful voice - it's eerie.

Huszombieland: all is calm

Husbear is off for three weeks to another country where there's great cheese, wine and scarves. Yes, France.

I'm home with the horde. It's like I've entered an apocalyptic wasteland where my only chance of survival is to give up and turn into a zombie. 

Wait, that may have been last week.

Day 1, a Friday, and this is important to note, a non-school day:  went like this:

Daddy gets on plane. Same ole same ole.
Mommy distracts everyone with rad viewing of Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Pizza and soda for all!

Day 2: Weekend

K kids, go play video games.
All day.
Victory! Go parenting!

Day 3: Weekend

Grocery shopped, cooked a dinner and successfully achieved bath time. 
I'm awesome at this mom thing. I rock.

Day 4: 

Monday.
We know weekends are easy. Open the door, and let the kids go. Parenting lite. But this is serious. This is a school day in January with no sign of vacation until Martin Luther King Day.

Okay, lets keep it calm, peeps. Lets not do anything crazy. Lets pretend everything is normal, nothing has changed, and Daddy's home, he's just upstairs on his computer, invisible.

/whistle.

Get Drama Girl up and out door on time, make grumbly noises at the amount of sugar teen girl dumps in her coffee.
Get boys up.
Shower. (A win for all!)
Boys are ready and out door and at school on time...
Look around for signs of alternate universes colliding.. nope, it's really true.
Day goes by. Smoothly.

As of right now, Dinner is simmering on the stove waiting on rice, the boys are calm and everything is mellow. All is calm and quiet.
.....

Day 4 - smooth sailing... too smooth, too quiet...
I shudder for the days to come...

But, as a lovely angel said, appearing in front of me on my way out the door after work -- be calm, for maybe, maybe it will be smooth sailing, and will be calm. For. Three. Whole. Weeks. 

No one will meltdown. The routines of waking, school, homework, dinner and bed will be maintained in an orderly, routine, non-yelly, non-shouty fashion.

All will be calm. All will be bright....

January the 1st, of the Year 2013

The year is starting off mellow, and that's always a good sign. No need to jump right into change, turmoil, drama, etc etc. I finished up Project Life (that photo album/journaling thing) for the year, and am continuing with it, since it's such an easy way to manage well, memories.

I'm going to focus on the every day moments this time, and see how that works! I love photographing random moments that would normally pass, where no one's posing, the face and cheesy grin isn't the center of the picture, and there's no 'event,' just... life. I am not doing 'resolutions' since they're silly. I am instead refocusing. November through December is always a rough time for my routine, because I've got birthdays right before Turkey Week, right before the holidays.

 I look forward to January as a 'chill' month, where mostly I hibernate a bit, get in shape for spring running, gardening, and outdoorsing, as I like to refer to it, and dreaming, oh the dreaming in January of the months of March, April and May. How I love to dream of spring! I'll be doing that shortly! 

This year, you'll (my invisible readers, my four friends-who-read-my-blog, and the random family member that logs in to check the blog) see a lot of comments on my writing, my 'the artist's' way'ing, running and exercising and random pics of every day moments.

 I'm looking forward to 2013, and the months ahead. Though it's a new year, it feels like a continuation of the best of 2012.

 Happy New Year - this year, live as well as you can, laugh often, mind less and, above all, most importantly of all, do carry on.

Happy 2013!

It's hard to believe that another year has passed, only it's not, really.

It's even less harder to believe that my last post was Nov. 21.

Where does time go?

It just flies....

This Christmas we traveled to Oregon to see my sister and her husband, and Ty, lovely, hilarious, chatty, Ty.

I think the boys might have been a bit much for him, but he was a true sport!

Here are the pics from the trip!

On any given Wednesday

I was going to take the boys on a hike today to Button Rock, but, um, I slept through the alarm.

I love hiking in the morning, when everyone has energy. We postponed it til Saturday or Sunday, depending. Probably Saturday.

Anyone wanna come?

Today, I'm going to finish my coffee, and escape to a coffee shop to write.

Yep. I'm livin' the dream today! In an ideal world, that would be my every day ha, but hey, what can one do?

I'm lucky enough to have a job this year that lets me have time off.

I feel every blog post should have a photo, something that captures and inspires. So here you are:

My morning inspiration:

So I've been doing the creative journal, and have discovered that writing three pages daily helps me write later, because I think, oh, man, I wrote three pages, but none of the words are toward my stories (I have a short story and a novel I'm working on at the moment). So then I have to carve out time to write words toward my stories. I can't stand the thought of having written, but not having any of the words progress. Whatever works!

My artist hour is going to involve finally sewing the binding. Husbear wants his quilt, as does my sister. She doesn't have a name in the blog. I'll have to name her so I can continue writing about her.

Lets call her "Wispy Rain Mist" because she's living in Portland, Or.

So Wispy Rain Mist has been bugging me about her quilt that I'm making. I doubt I'll finish it by Christmas, but I'm going to try to get both her top and Husbear's top done by then.

It really depends on how good I am at managing my me-time.

**Someone, please help me find some me-time.

Oh, and some good book pics:

Raising Happiness - great book, I'll have to write about our first family meeting and failed custard tart dessert maybe... maybe not.

City of Bone, Angels, Glass, CatNip... whatever, I made it through the first two and a half before being annoyed by 17 year olds that are really 60 year olds in 17 year old bodies. Think I may be done with YA for a while. BUT, they are good reads if you're not yet jaded, cynical and raising a teenager the same age as the heroes and heroines because then you'd know how ridiculously fantastical the stories are.

p.s. This post is dedicated to Awesome Aunt, who tells me that she reads my writing, and thinks I'm funny.

Pre-Thanksgiving No-Plans

This week, as in you know, the first day and a morning of the week, we haven't done much. Mostly, I'm taking time to enjoy the not-work I'm at, catch up on some writing, hang with the family and prepare for Turkey Day and the post-turkey-day-black-friday morning.

These shots were taken on Sunday. I totally adore them.

This was taken on a Sunday bike ride with my friend. We had a crazy day of biking and coffee and fun. Turbo loves his bike rides and the coffee shop.
In case there isn't anyone who doesn't know, this guy is a quirky fellow. I took some candid shots while we were conversing at Red Frog. Eight is a very serious age. And giant cookies are very important.

If you're wondering where Bear is, well, once we get Bear on a bike, we can enjoy his company at Red Frog. In the meantime, I'm planning a nice hike with the kids tomorrow, and we'll see some candid Bear shots.

Colorado Fall

This is where I run, bike, and live.

It's so gorgeous!
I didn't have to drive anywhere for any of it. It's just, where I am...

Beauty in the every day places should be appreciated every day.

Upper left, part of my running trail. Upper right, a resting point on my bike trip.
Bottom picture, view of the briddge, part of our bike path. 

Saturday night write - Clack

Clackety clack Husbear reminded me that to do what I need to do, what I want to do, I need to put the time in.

That being said, I believe for Christmas, he's going to buy me a clackety mechanical keyboard that makes a lot less clackety noise than my clackety keyboard that I have now.

I love mechanical keyboards. For me, it's helpful, to have to put some weight on the keys, to feel them clack clack clack...

I've started a writing once a day challenge with me, myself and I, think I might have mentioned that. I count any type of writing if it's with some purpose for form, and the clackety clackness of typing on a mechanical keyboard helps. I love the clack sounds.

Clack clack... it makes me want to type more. I'm a much faster typist with the clackety keyboards. What I'm really hoping for is a ninja keyboard, it has a kinda pure clackety sound, but never mind my geeky obsession with keyboards, back to the point.

Because Husbear is right, it's about the time. I know how to write, how to put words together, I'm clever with some of my words, funny with others. I've been told my words make people laugh. A few times, I've been told, my words made people cry. I can evoke emotion. I have succeeded, then, for the words I write cause people to react, to feel, to gain something from the thoughts I express in the form of written expression. It's been too long, too long since I focused on a single project and wrote, daily. The last time I wrote daily, I wrote a book. Clackety clack every day, and I turned out a novel. No, it's not published, or been sent out, for various reasons. Mainly, for me, it was a rough draft of the process of writing. No, that one is not meant for the world. Maybe some day. But not now.

My brilliant goal, my brilliant idea, my highest achieving self, says, get up early at 5 a.m. and use that hour and a half you usually waste away in sleep! Why sleep! You can get so much done if you just dont' sleep, as Turbo and Bear explained to me when I found them at 4 a.m. playing on their computer...

The problem is I like sleep. It's a good thing there are other hours in the day.

I typed that last line, and this one, JUST because my keyboard is so clackety. It's why the desktop is better for writing for me. MacTops don't have clackety keyboards.

It irritates Husbear that I call my Mac ProBook a MacTop, but really, that's what it is.

Admittedly, this post is a bit clack clack clack, clackety clackish.

Originally, I was going to write about the mediation cushions for Turbo I've been compelled to purchase. Maybe I'll save that one for another day.

Happy 16th

She's 16 today.

Sixteen years ago, she, my first daughter, was born. Her.

This one. The one above, in the photo. That one.

Her daddy came home just in time for her to be born. He left later, and came home six months later. We met him at the airport, late at night. She laughed.

We moved to England, and tried to figure out the whole parenting thing.

She doesn't remember, but there were walks in British parks. Trips to the market in Bury St. Edmunds. Strolls through Cambridge's cobbled streets. I went mad with British child fashion for a while. She can't remember.

We moved and spent a winter in North Dakota. I took her for a walk on a sunny cold day where the snow glittered - we slipped and slided on the ice. I wrote a lovely story in a loft there, and she went to preschool for the first time. She didn't like it.

 We moved to Virginia and she played with our friends'  ferrets and hung out at work while we made games and hung out with other kids who's parents made games.

We moved to Washington, where she was a big sister, and, as a sort of consolation for being forced to be the big sister of two babies, got her a kitten, Ariel, who is still around: her cat and no one else's.

Somewhere, through it all, she kept growing. Now, here we are, five years in Colorado, and she's 16.

Six. Teen.

We took her to Outback Steakhouse - our family tradition is to go out to eat to the kids' favorite restaurant on their birthdays (we're crap at parties). She had a nice steak, because she's 16.

I had two glasses of wine. Because she's 16.

Seriously.

How did 16 happen? All those years, 16 years. Oh dear, dear.

So, happy 16th to my 16 year old. Happy 16th to me.

I may just have another glass of wine.

It's November NaNoWriMo

I'm not doing NaNoWriMo, but I am doing everyday writing.

I've sort of done the NaNo writing, but I decided it's best to get into the practice of writing, more than it is to eek out something amazing. Though, I am sure some of the works do become amazing. If you're purely writing something, it will come across as pure, unless, of course, you can't write.

In which case, drawing or painting is always an option.

Although, the truth is, if you love doing something, but do it poorly, it's okay. As long as you're income isn't dependent on it. For instance, I love drawing and painting. I love pretending my drawing and paintings are good, too, however, I'm awful at it. The random studies on chairs and my kitchen will never see any light, ever. I'm not an artist, though, I'm a writer.  The daily writing is why I'm blogging at 7 a.m. instead of getting ready for work. I find I'll write more throughout the day if I write a bit in the morning.

Plus, it's hard to get ready for work when Husbear is hogging the bathroom. The myth about women taking longer showers is debunked by this singularly, excessively scrubbed and groomed red bear.

Normally, I'll attach a picture that goes along with the theme of the post. Today, all I have is this:

Husbear, modeling the quilt my friend made for me.

It's my B-day and I'll Gogh if I want to...

Monday is my birthday really, but my friends and I had a day out in Denver.

We went to this fabulous breakfast place, Snooze Eatery, in Denver, and it was pretty much the only food we needed all day, because... yum... Of course, it would be ridiculous to let the fact we had eaten this huge breakfast to stop us from getting dessert later... 

We went to see Van Gogh's exhibit, which I thought was great, and, to show my appreciation for his honest art, I will be purchasing two mugs depicting two of his most famous paintings. And who says I can't appreciate art?

That's not fair, though, I found the exhibit inspiring, and now I'm searching for a biography on van Gogh, because now I'm utterly fascinated, but not by his life, but his works and his words. I found some of his quotes wonderful, and words that every artist, writer, person seeking for more, should become familiar with. One of my favorites;

“I am always doing what I cannot do yet, in order to learn how to do it.”

― Vincent van Gogh

My friends are awesome, and I always enjoy spending time with them. I've claimed them as my friends shortly after I moved to Colorado (to their dismay), and I can't imagine a world without them. This isn't true, I can imagine my life without them. I've always relied on my friends to keep me here, to not allow me to drift in the natural direction my mind tends to drift, which is, last time I drifted, somewhere just past the outer moons of Saturn, I believe.... I need my friends, they are my anchors. I always dread my drifting, my difference, my not-always-here-ness will bore them, but so far, they're still here, anchoring.  

And they are ridiculously silly. One accepts what one must...

This is at the Denver Art Museum, on our way out. The real surprise at the Denver Art Museum was the El Anutsui exhibit. They called it a retrospective, and going through it, I was amazed at his ability to capture history in such an amazing, unique way. He used bottle caps and wood and clay and glass and normal materials heaped in trash piles or found all around, and told stories! Anyhow, it was a pleasant surprise, and I enjoyed that exhibit as much as the Van Gogh exhibit. Of course I would, I am always interested in how stories are told, whatever the medium. I am, I think, more interested in telling stories than simply just writing, and I love the stories his art spoke.

Saturday was a great day, but it's really my friend, Denise, who (she made me an epic quilt everyone in my family is trying to steal)  pretty much planned this for me, because, true to my typical style, I couldn't decide, make up my mind, or figure out what we should do, only that we should go out and spend time together. 

The best of me has always been the people around me, my friends, my family, my ridiculously fat and round cat... and this picture of faces and food and stuff pretty much sums it all up:

Dear friends, you're awesome. Le Pizza.

Oh, the Creative Life

Isn't it funny how the most creative people struggle with actually doing the creative work?
**for those people who are creative and don't struggle with doing the creative work, I mean the rest of us...

I do a lot of creative work. Just not MY creative work. And so begins Day 1, Week 1, Version 3, of the Creative Way 12-step, er, week, program. I love it, I've gone halfway through it before, and it always helps - it works for me. It just makes me better in my creative life. This time, I'm going to go through it all! My favorite part are the daily 3 pages, and the weekly artist dates.

I count yesterday's bike ride as an artist date.

Yesterday, I went on an hour long bike ride by my lonesome self. I stopped at one point, 30 minutes in, to take stock of where I was. I mean, I knew where I was, but I didn't realize, really, where I was - not far from civilization, but alone in a desolate area. Alone in a desolate area, but one filled with life. A dry place, with a pond and a splash of colored leaves on trees in the distance. It was so beautiful, and the place, the moment, the time, instantly calmed my mind, my stresses, my worries and made me feel a part of this strange beauty, as if everything else that existed mattered less than that I was in this one place on a paved trail through Colorado terrain.

It is not a lot, it is everything.

I'm not the greatest photographer in the world, but I like capturing moments and feelings. This one says everything to me about where I am both in my head, in my heart, and in the world.

I think that one of the hardest things to do in life is to remain true to yourself, because it requires truly knowing what that truth is - shutting out the should-dos, the must-dos, the expectations, the projected desires, the whimsical fancies that distract - how do you find that truth? How do you find you? It's a lonely process, because it requires withdrawing, turning in, closing your eyes and listening to a voice you probably haven't heard since you were 8, when you may not have known you, but at least every moment was honest. If we live honestly, truthfully, then every moment can be an honest moment, and every action a true action. This way, we can live a life true to ourselves. I Think we also have many truths at different points of our life, because we change, and that is okay, to recognize this change, but there is one true me, just as there is one true you, and one true everyone.

Pictures capture moments in time and place, but sometimes they capture meaning. This picture resonates with a truth I seek, a clarity of mind I desire, a spirit of serenity I long for, place of belonging so palpable I'm surprised I'm not still there - a cluster of long grasses swaying (or, maybe I am still there).

This is not a beginning, but a new search, a new journey sparked by all the other journeys in my past. I have a destination, I'm just not quite sure of the way, or what I will find when I get there.

Hello Saturn

My mom was an astrologer, and obsessed with Saturn. Saturn changed signs recently, and has moved into my native sun sign, for three eyars.

I don't know what sign Saturn moved into in my chart, though I suppose I could look it up. What I do recall is my mom saying that this was the age where writing would be big for me.

Maybe it's superstitious, I don't know, but I'm going through the Artist's Way creative journey (again, ha!), and I've resolved myself to doing the work, and not the judging. I'm so great at judging, that I never actually finish. I'm over that.

I'm really motivated to start, but it's Husbear's birthday tomorrow, and we were out doing things he wanted to do, and now is the first time I've been able to sit down and write a word. Since I'm too tired to write a story, I thought I'd just do what every sane, capable and working writer does, and write.... words, regardless. We never know, as writers, what words will be the words that bring the next idea, story, meaning. We never know, as writers, what our words will bring. To not write them is to receive nothing, to give nothing.  So I'm writing down the words.

And working very hard to not worry about anything else.

Wildly abandoned

I had a 1/2 co-worker, 1/2 friend - you know, that in between stage when you realize you wouldn't mind spending time with your co-worker outside of work - anyhow 1/2 friend, suggested that I was funny (ha!) and could toootaally write funny things... if only I would. Except not everything is funny, but, I did think she had a point. I'm not good at funny, buuuuttt...

She got me to thinking, she's right, because I think, but don't write, because when I write, I self-edit. Writers should never self-edit the first draft. It's the hazard of being trained to write to deadline. They do matter, but when you get to the point that you're automatically gauging word count and messaging, in a story about fairies and trolls, well, that can work against you.

So I'm going to begin writing with wild abandon. Just wildly writing.

There's no real topic, just the things that occur that I can comment on without my self-editor making it nice.

Today, we're going to write with wild abandon about the moment you realize the kid on the playing field, the one on the soccer field, the one running halfway across the field into the menacing faces of the other team to kick the ball away and down the line, that kid, he's not yours.

Nope.

Nor is the goalie who takes a ball in the face for the team.


The kid who's running, always running to the ball, chasing it but never quite catching it, you have to admire the passion - one day, he'll get that ball. He could be good, once his skill matches his heart, and one day he will....


He's not yours, either.

No, yours is playing midfield. That position on the field for kids who aren't aggressive enough to be forwards, plowing the ball through the other team. It's not for fierce defenders ready to be stampeded by an onslaught of opposing team members as they form a wave headed right for your goal. And he'll never be the goalie. Dreamers don't do well as goalies.

He's a midfielder.

It's his favorite position.

And it's okay, if the ball is across the field. The other midfielder can get it. I mean, he's one of two midfielders. He knows this. He's busy, and his teammates look like they've got it under control.  No need to go exerting yourself, charging across the field when the sun's already beating down on you, if you don't need to.

He's patient, and eventually, the ball will get to him. Then, he can kick it, maybe, if someone doesn't run across the field and kick it first.

That's your kid.

And it's totally fine. Your boy is only 8 and he's having fun. You don't need to tell him to attack the ball - that's the cry of today's coaches -- attack, attack the ball, attack it... He knows that attacking the ball is the ideal. Attack...atttaaaaackkk... aaah.

You don't need to yell at him to run when he's walking to the ball. The coach is already telling him to hustle, hustle... (Good job, coach, letting him get some play time!)  Hustle! Hustle! It's okay. You just need to let him join the team, and learn... whatever it is he can learn. And it totally counts if he stops the ball because he happens to be standing in the place the ball lands.

Maybe he's learning he loves soccer and he'll always play midfielder because while he loves the game, he's just not in love with the game.
Maybe, it's that he doesn't love soccer, and he's bored, and he only likes soccer as a friend.

On any given day it'll change. But, he's got every Saturday through November to decide.

Last week, it was the best game ever.
This week, soccer's stupid.

And that is just how I was about every thing I ever tried, liked, tried, hated, tried and tried and well, while I never succeeded spectacularly at any one sport, I did get to play Field Hockey, Track, (Shot Put, of all things), Cheerleading (okay, I was 5, but it still counts!), gymnastics, Roller skating (for real, I got to Silver Star, thank you very much!) softball (ugh) etc etc.

And so, now I know, that boy, that kid, he's totally my kid.

Today's Trail!

Check us out.

It's been a while, too long really. I have a love/hate relationship with blogs. I blog in my mind all the time, but the technology to automatically publish mind-blogs on the web doesn't exist yet. I'm looking forward to it, though.

It's always hard in this house to adjust to a new school year. It takes about a month, which is absurdly long, but there you have it.

We're finally settled and into a routine, and so today, the first weekend I found myself without an obligation, with a to-do list that could be ignored, and with a gorgeous Sunday, I took the boys, my daughter who refused to be photographed today,  and our friend off on a hike to cross a stream 23 times. Mind you, most of the stream was dry, but we all agreed we'll do the hike again next month when we (allegedly) will have more rainfall.

This is one of my all time favorite shots of the day:

There's something honest about this picture it captures every truth, every thing...I see more in this shot now than I did when I took it.

This bird was an amazing shade of blue, which, of course, I failed to capture!

I'm a gorgeous shade of blue, but never mind,
I'm a shadowy winged piece of freedom here.
Look, just look at how bad arse I am!

This is what I love about living where I do. There's so many great places to go and see so many amazing things. The hike was a full 3.2 miles from start of trail to end of trail to back to truck. And I got some amazing shots of kids being, well, genuinely themselves. Check these kids out in this album:

I felt fall...

This morning, on my Sunday long run, I felt something I haven't felt in a few months... cold.

Even after the first warm up mile, even at mile 7, there was a chill and I wished I had something just a little more than a tank. It was early in the morning, I left at 6, but the cold lingered for a good hour.

Bear telling me about something important
over a cup of tea in our kitchen. 

Fall is coming.

And with fall, pumpkins. Pumpkin Pie is Turbo's Favoritest Food Ever. We talked about it over tea tonight. I was preparing a new muffin quiche while he was looking over the kids baking book, chatting about how he wanted to bake, and how he couldn't WAIT for Pumpkin Pie. Then we talked about muffins, breads, and oh my. Guess what I'm planning to do on Sundays when the weather's chilly and it's a busy school year!

All this talk of fall, the muffin quiches in the oven and having tea with my best buds, I got that feeling, that cozy, nesting feeling. There's something comforting about being in the kitchen with the kids on winter nights talking or drinking tea, or sitting in the living room just being around each other - it is the benefit of those nights when it's too cold to go out, too dark to even want to - those nights are precious.I know I know, it's still summer, but it's not really. Not at all. It's the end of summer. I felt it this morning. I felt it tonight. We may have hot days ahead, but they are quickly coming to an end.

Here's to many nights in with my Drama Girl, my Husbear, my Bear, and my Turbo!

Dear Quilt

Medieval Red Roses is the fabric I chose to
cover over the first failed binding. 

 Dear First Quilt, aka Iko Iko Quilt.

There are 12 year olds who wouldn't produce a quilt as poorly quilted as you. I apologize.  In my defense, I don't have patience, have never been able to cut straight lines and don't really know how to use my sewing machine properly -- size 3 stitches? no zig zag?

So I picked out all your crazy dark red fabrics... Camelot, Court Jester, Medieval Dot Splitter Splatter, Knight in Armor Batiks, etc etc, and made you, my lovely Iko Iko Quit. I learned the importance of cutting square shapes into actual squares... and sewing straight lines. I managed. I discovered that sometimes, sometimes when your lines are so not straight that even your binding can't fix it, you can easily double the width of your binding.

And now Iko Iko Quilt, here you are, with your bizarro random stitching that shows up bright white on the dark reds, you're flawed pillowing or gapping or whatever it's called when you don't do things right in quilting land, and you're double-wide binding.

All I've left is the final hand-sewing on your binding. I expect to suffer injuries often, but nothing horrendously serious beyond pin-pricked fingers, and a few incidents of sewing you to my yoga pants.

But, alas, Iko Iko, you're one step away from being done. Now, I can sit idly in front of my shows, sewing blissfully. I can start on my sister's quilt, cutting square squares, and rectangle rectangles, and soon, Husbear's quilt and hopefully, eventually, my lavender one, to be followed by an epic Purple Goth Mood piece.

I won't hold your flaws against you, Iko Iko, it's not your fault you got a pre-beginning novice with no basic art skills, or patience, or actual talent to create you ... I still love you.