Salty the Dog

I put an empty salt box in Olivia's art supplies.  I thought it would be fun to use for crafting. She found it this morning.  Dumped the salt onto a napkin.  Tasted it.  Invited Bentley to have a taste.  Then she ran off with the salt carefully cradled in the napkin.  I said, "What about this?"  Pointing to the salt box on the floor.  She said, "OH!".  A few minutes later she came back with a new pet dog named Salty. 



Not exactly what I had in mind.  But hey, whatever works!



Woof, woof.

Today I'm thankful for creative kids that make me laugh!

All you need is love

I was just working on the photo shoot I did on Valentines Day...which reminded me of the cutest thing ever:

Chickie working on her class valentines. She painstakingly wrote each person's name on their valentine, and her own of course. She didn't even complain or take a break. She was in the zone. I was very proud of her as this was no small task.

She came up with her Valentine idea by looking through some back issues of Martha Stewart Kids magazines (she loves those). And then she came up with all sorts of fun ideas in the craft store. I didn't realize how fancy brads have gotten! 


I came up with the cheesy slogan. I'm awesome that way.

her first couture creation

Actually, that's not entirely true.  I remember specifically the paper dress Olivia made for her seahorse.  Yes, now that I think of it she has made several couture creations from paper.  If that falls under the couture category.
And she has stitched a few things before.  One or two stitches at a time.
But this was her first Barbie dress. That is momentous, is it not?  I remember sewing a lot of barbie clothes when I was little.  And I couldn't figure out how to make pants so I would just make two legs with a long top!  I know, right?
Chris and I were discussing how Chickie is my mini-me.  She is super creative/artsy/craftsy, she is waaay too sensitive for her own good, a little on the messy side.  And just to clarify (because let's face it it's a sensitive issue at our house)  my house is very organized and clean.  BUT I like to make a mess, it's fun.  Actually, she is a lot different than me, too.  She is obsessed with stuffed animals, and she is an avid dress wearer.  She asked me once why I don't wear dresses more often.  We went on to have a funny conversation about me wearing fancy ball gowns.  Coincidentally, that night I was prancing around the house in a ballroom dress and she woke up.  I went to check on her and she flipped out.  She must have been thinking, "It feels like I'm awake, but I have to be dreaming if mom is so sparkly."  

Today I'm thankful for a really fun time at jazz class, my new teacher is super fun!

guess who

Why, it's Ariel and Prince Eric.
Chickie's a puppet hair pro.

Yesterday we found out who Chickie's kindergarten teacher is. I'm so excited! 

secret agent chickens

Ok.  So by now you all know that my daughter "Chickie" has a thing for... that's right.  Chicks.  She even chose to dress her little elephant in a chick blanket.  And was adamant about using that fabric for her elephant and she chose the other fabrics accordingly.         

Some friends of ours who have chickens, are now our neighbors.  They are home schoolers, healthy eating, composting, intellectual-creative types.  Darla says she's a "crunchy-con."  I guess that is a granola conservative.  Any way because of this cool family vibe they have going on  they won a trip to DisneyWorld.  And while they were gone they entrusted us of all people, with the care of their little ladies.  And by that I mean the chickens.

First few days good.  We go change their water, and collect their eggs.  Play on their swingset and get their mail.  We even let the chickens out once.  You know, just for kicks.  I thought it would be fun until I had to run all around the yard gathering them up.   Just in case you wanted to know:  Grabbing chickens, ew. Gross.  

Rob said we could let them out, but we'd just have to open the door at nightfall and they'd get right back in the coop.  But he also said that the black and white one can fly out of the fence.  So I didn't want to chance that.  Hence all the running and grabbing.  Poor things.  

So we decided definitely not to let them out anymore.    Good decision.

Until last night.  We got there a little late.  When we opened the fence two of the chickens came running at us.  We freaked out a little. Tried to remain calm.  We let them back in.  The other two chickens were nowhere to be found.  It was dark and really windy.  The  little door at the bottom was loose. When I latched it up again I noticed that if I pushed on the door, the latch would fall.  
It had been a really windy day.  So I called Darla and told her that the wind blew the coop open and two chickens escaped.  I felt really stupid.  Chris went over there that night and searched around for them to no avail.  
That night I made pumpkin cranberry bread and cleaned my house until I was too exhausted to continue.    I realized that's what I do when I'm stressed.  First, bake.  Second, clean.  
So this morning I sent Chris over there, afraid of what we'd find.  And all four chickens were in the coop.  The little door latch was super tight.   He fed them grapes, all was good.  So, either they are secret agent chickens or a neighbor found them, put them away, and tightened the little door.  (Neighbors do stuff like that, right.  Once I chased a huge dog all around the neighborhood and got another neighbor to help me put him back in and then board up the fence.  This was when we were moving and we had already moved all our tools.) 

They laid a lot of eggs today.  I guess they are as happy as I am that they are safe.  I was really afraid last night that we would become known as the family of chicken killers.  Not good. Not good.  What's up with us having an unusually large number of friends with chickens?  Two is unusually large. Right?

Today I'm thankful for free eggs.  Admittedly, I'm using the term "free" very loosely here.

A girl and a tree

Today Olivia's Christmas tree is finally complete. After I took several pictures of her by her tree...she wanted to take some pictures of me by my tree.

She even showed me how to pose. And by the end of it I was laughing hysterically.

But I've never looked sweeter, right?

Gobble Bag

I've created something that I'm sure will traumatize my children for years to come. I can see in 30 years we are together for Christmas and the fire is blazing. We are sitting around talking about the kids childhood when one of them says, "Remember that hideous gray and pink Gobble Bag that Mom made!" At which an uproar of laughter will follow. I will blush. And the stories will flow of how their favorite toys got eaten by the gobble monster.

OK so I've been threatening my daughter with it for probably a month. When Addison and Riley were here I used it as an empty threat to get them to clean up. Addison cried that night. And I didn't figure out until the next morning that it was because he was afraid that the Gobble Bag was going to go to his house and eat his parents stuff. So after much explaining, Chickie knew that I was first going to have to make the bag. At this point it was practically an out right challenge from her to me....as if she was saying,"Oh, yeah. You want me to pick up my toys. Well, you are just going to have to make this so called Gobble Bag. I don't believe you are MOM enough to go through with it." So, Monday night, after she was in bed and the house was littered with piles of what she had done that day ( Which was a lot. She made paper hair bows, a necklace, and played a lot of games with different groups of toys. ) I got to work on the bag. It had to be huge enough to hold a LOT of toys. And it had to be friendly enough to not give my children nightmares. So her reaction in the morning when her precious toys were in the bag, including beloved Sweetie, her "breathing" dog, "I want to make one!" That's what she said. And I had been worried about her having nightmares from it. Hopefully it works. I don't want her to lay awake at night wondering that she got every single toy put away....but I also don't want to have to remind her 50 times throughout the day to pick up her stuff. I would like her to remember to put things away as she goes

throughout the day. I am married to a neat freak. And for my own sanity (and his) I don't want to be the only person cleaning.

Today I'm thankful for the smell of a new magazine. ...paper and perfume, gotta love it!