Etcetera :: Pinterested?

So ... much of mine and Sonia's time of late has been sucked up into the black hole of Pinterest. If you've been to the Pinterest site before you know what I mean. If not ... congratulations! You are likely still amongst the living and in control of {some} of your faculties.

Once you've been to the Pinterest site - which of course you will be doing very shortly (after you've finished here, of course) you will understand.

Why just the other day, while enjoying a pinning binge during some stolen "free" time (read: as supper burned on the stove) I came upon this delightful pin.

After the flood of shame and remorse regarding all of the chores I was neglecting whilst pinning, I quickly brought up my Blogger account and spent some really productive time coming up with this post.

And why not? Supper was already ruined anyway...

So thank you Pinterest, for helping me regain my focus on what really matters. It's important for a girl to know - and address - her priorities before embarking upon the utterly self-indulgent task of sewing. Because we all know that like most crafters, she is making something for herself. You know, like a king-sized hand quilted paper-pieced quilt featuring mosaic gradients in the exact hues of her mother's bedroom set. Some people!

A Matter of Parspective

In one of Shawn's classes he is examining art for school aged children. As with much of his learning, he frequently engages the kids in little projects that apply some of the concepts he's been studying in class.

As of late, he and Julia have been playing around with observational drawing. Sometimes they look at pictures from the Internet (like flowers and insects), other times they draw from (pun intended!) things they see in their environment.

I was especially blown away with Julia's drawing of one of Dylan's toy planes...

Julia's observational drawing of a toy plane.

Front and rear cockpits, landing gear, propellers.
And she nailed the colours, too.

Awesome.

I love seeing the world through my children's eyes.

Blanche

Growing up many of us had someone like an older cousin or a neighbor that we held in great esteem. Someone you looked up to with little kid admiration and love.

In our world, this person was our Aunt Blanche. Blanche is our mother's youngest sister and when Sonia and I were young girls she came over from Newfoundland to live with our family.

Blanche was just a young woman then - pretty, stylish, smart, fun (much as she remains to this day, of course). She had boyfriends, wore makeup, and chewed gum. When I was little, amongst my many imaginings I believed that grown-ups would eventually grow down to my size. I used to make Blanche promise that when she grew down to my size that she would let me wear all her awesome clothes. I had a particular fancy for a pair of burgundy pajamas she was fond of wearing.

And Blanche was our very own - she loved us, played with us, and took care of us. Blanche has a great laugh and always laughed a lot. I remember she used to hide in doorways in the hall and j ump out to scare us all the time and then she'd hug us while we all laughed. She played games with us and let us sit with her during grown up card games to help play her hand. She took us for walks and berry picking and played with us in the snow.

She listened to cool music like the Eagles, Bruce Springsteen, and Nazareth and she took us to do awesome things like rollerskating and to the theatre to see movies. Plus she could sing really well and knew the words to all the songs Dad liked to play on guitar. Whenever Dad would play Sing Me Back Home I remember I would cry. It's a sad song. Blanche would always dance slowly with me up in her arms during this song. It's amazing how something so small can mean so much and stay with you for so long.

Plus she was a friend and a support for Mom and Dad, something that I can now recognize for its true value. She helped take care of us and helped with the housework so everyone had more time to do fun things together.

Recently, while taking inventory of our dolls for the upcoming Fall craft season, Sonia and I decided that many of the dolls we have in our Big Sister collection were worthy of separate distinction on account of their advanced sense of style. And what better way to signify this beauty than to honor these special dolls with the name that exemplifies class in our eyes? Hence the Blanche Collection was created. 

Blanche Dolls have more defined faces and wear detailed attire and accessories. The are sophisticated and fun and ready to take on the world!

And in honor of the new collection, we have listed these two all new Blanche Dolls in the Third Street Corner Store on Etsy.

Pop by the shop for a closer look at these sweeties. 

Shadows and Silhouettes

Yes, it's been a while. Yes, I'm here, in semi-hiding.

Rest assured - I'm slowly resurfacing.

There have been many changes around here - new house, new town, new job, new babysitter. Less time for blogging and sewing...

Wolfville Harbour

But it seems my creative self is slowly reemerging with flailing fists in an attempt to reclaim its rightful station on my list of priorities. As it turns out, we've been making some renewed progress with the endless unpacking and setting up, and as it becomes less and less smothered by cardboard my desire to make and create is resurfacing.

My fellow Nova Scotian blogger and etsy friend Amy Rubin Flett knows where I'm coming from. The Amy Rubin Flett etsy shop offers a collection of cards and prints featuring original words and images in the tune of "transition, passion, epiphany and beauty". Amy's artistry is an excellent source of inspiration - her miniature stories and messages are poignantly insightful and presented in a natural light devoid of commercial influence. Refreshing.

I especially love this little moment in time courtesy of Amy, as it speaks to my wonderfully irrepressible creativity.

Now if I can just free myself of the extra washer and dryer that are impeding upon my laudry /soon-to-be sewing space... Takers?
 

Touching Base

Remember when you were a kid and touching base meant you were free - exempt, immune - of being or becoming "it"? While this is not exactly what I was going for when I started this post, it still rings true and rather desirable in my current state of being.

I wanted to drop by to let you know I'm still kicking (and screaming) in the midst of my family's relocation. Things are winding down now, with only 10 days remaining before the move and assurances from all fronts that everything is in place.

Understand my nervousness and skepticism here: the first house we bought closed - with some degree of difficulty and a great deal of stress - in the immediate aftermath of a bank robery. We are able to look back on this day without cringing (too much) by reminding ourselves that we narrowly missed being present at the actual robbery by a matter of about thirty minutes.

You know when they say, "it could have been worse"? That would have certainly been worse.

Imagine my sense of euphoria as the title "Touching Base" emerged and my mind was brought back to simpler times when all you needed to do in a "battle" was touch base. Is this blog my "base"? Certainly I benefit from a degree of escape when I come here and delve into my shadowy mind with no objectives aside from reflection and expression. I'm lucky in that writing awards me a symbolic base that grants me a satisfying reprieve for which I am thankful.

Otherwise I would likely go as nutty as this overly sentimental post might lead you to believe I have already gone.

Purging for More ... Less

I guess it's time I came to terms. Lately, I've sucked at blogging.

It's true, don't even try to defend me. It's not like I've been busy in other aspects of my life ... relocating, buying and selling a house (and anyone who's ever successfully sold a house with two small kids feels my pain), looking for new childcare, not to mention a new job, and doing endless loads of laundry. Okay, I just stuck that last one in there, but you KNOW what I'm talking about. 

Needless to say, things have been rather stark raving mad around here.And a little crazy, too.

So, just so we're clear: I'm moving. To beautiful Wolfville, Nova Scotia. Yippee!

One great thing about moving (cause there's so many wonderful things about moving to choose from...) is that it has helped me in my goal to live more simply. Well, paradoxically anyway. Amongst the whirlwind of activity, I have strived - and had some success in achieving - more ... well, less.

I know, very in vogue with the minimalist culture that has recently become so popular. I'm totally lame.

Lame or not, I have found myself being sucked into this decluttered, anti-multitasking, anti-procrastination uprising. An environment organized through nothing more than simple living is highly desirable to me and totally congruent with our situation.

As some of you may know, I work as a critical care RN in an environment that (sparing the extensive dream-job details) is at best - chaotic. In terms of my speciality (intensive care), embracing chaos is an occupational requirement for success, not to mention survival.

So dispite my distraction from blogging and crafting in the midst of my family's move, I have been examining this 'less is more' persuasion on a rather informal basis and trying to incorporate some of these values into the challenge of downsizing both my home and my life.

Something that I've found rather inspiring and captivating is a blog called Zen Habits created by writer and minimalist Leo Babauta.

With regard to my work, I've decided that my primary role amongst the chaos and technology is to provide comfort for my patient and their family. May seem like a no brainer, but when you've got plummeting vital signs, loudly alarming life support, team members yelling orders, crying, stress-induced body odor, cardiac arrest, running, sweating, prolonged intervals between bathroom breaks, too-unstable-to-move road trips, rapidly depleting bedside stock, devastating prognoses, policies and protocols, skin breakdown, multi-system organ failure and code pager assignment, comfort is often overlooked in favor of sustaining life - to put it 'simply'.

I'm coming to accept that while I can't change many of these things and I may feel conflicted in varying ways much of the time in this setting, I do have the ability to provide comfort within the chaos. I have specialized skills, professionalism and a disposition that fosters comfort, and this is something that I have relative contol over. And this is the simple truth that I am trying to focus on at work.

At home and with our move, I am trying to maintain focus on keeping things as simple as possible. We will be downsizing with this move and accordingly, various aspects of our home are in need of downsizing. All of those dishes you've accumulated since your first appartment - when is the last time you've used them. Likely not since before you bought the 'new' set you got 5 years ago to replace them.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

I'm here to tell you - the sensation achieved through the purging of material possessions is exhilerating. Do you have any idea how much I own that I don't need, use, or in some cases even care about? Of course you do, because you are in the same boat and likely getting wrapped up in the same minimalism net in which I've found myself. Corn-ily stated, yes - but true nonetheless.

This purging is also serving to help the many people who are in need of very basic things, right here in my own community. Whenever I look at something that I don't use or need but have been holding on to because it's really nice OR I might need it some day OR I got a smoking deal on it OR someone gave it to me OR I saved for months to buy it however long ago, I remind myself that someone else may be able to use it right now - that someone might need it right now. And this helps me feel good about my decision to part with the item, and reinforces my sense of selflessness.

As well, this has cut down on much of the casual spending I do with my over abundance of currency. Note the sarcasm... When I'm at the store and I see something that is on sale, potentially useful, that I've always wanted or cool and desirable I ask myself, "Self, do you really need this?" Yes you have space for it in a junk draw somewhere in the house where it can lay idle for the next 5 years, but there must be something that is more worthy of my hard earned and generally lacking funds. I think about the surplus of things I am presently wading through in an attempt to reestablish simplicity. Do I really need to add to that, even before I've truely trialed at overcoming that very thing?

So, unsimply put, this is what I've been at in my absent Third Street days. Hoping to see more of you as this adventure unfolds.

A little behind

Piles, bags of stuff, some else's TV, various sizes of hand-me-down baby clothes, remanence of forgotten projects and likely a healthy layer of dust.  This is the contents of my sewing room, a forgotten space, some where in there is my lovely sewing machine, fancy notions, and our doll pattern.  I did take a picture, however on second thought was too embarrassed to share it.  It's a nasty mess in there.

Instead I thought I'd share some photo's of our first Chinese New Year Celebration.  In early February the Nova Scotia Chapter of the Families with Children from China hosted the Celebration in Halifax at St Mary's University.  In anticipation of this party, while we were in China we picked up special matching dresses for Dream Girl and her cousin (Andrea's sweetheart) to wear. We had a fantastic day and the girls looked beautiful.

Atrocities Revisited

I tried desperately this morning to find an excuse for the toothbrush faux pas revealed in last night's post. Surely I'm not to blame personally!?

While attending to my morning deeds, I discovered that hubby's downstairs toothbrush is also orange and tried to make a case that colour confusion is to blame for my err, what with an orange toothbrush upstairs AND downstairs.

But if anything I wrote in last night's post made any sense, you too are realizing that this makes no sense. Make sense? Didn't think so.

None of my toothbrushes are orange. So why do I continually reach for the orange tooth brush? Surely it's not that much more appealing than my "slouching" red one?

Deep breath.

I have issues, people - least of which is my need for a new toothbrush. The only reasonable excuse for my behaviour is a tendency toward disrespect and reckless endangerment. Self control and discipline are apparently severely lacking in my character and I wonder how much of this toothbrush lunacy is actually a cry for help with regards to my perpetual state of disorientation.

Laugh if you must. 

But think about this:
Does someone in your life have an affinity for you personal hygiene equipment? It may not stop at toothbrushes, you know. People have been known to do disgusting things and I would hate for you to be put at risk by the inconsiderate behavious of other people, much like my husband.

This concern for your well being is, of course, the whole premise of my word to the wise self-exposing proclamation.

It has nothing to do with my many issues.

Nonetheless, fear for me people for it is I who is suffering.

Word to the Wise

If one tooth brush seems to be deteriorating faster than another, it may have more than one owner.

This piece of advise holds much significance with the frazzled-and-near-the-breaking-point fumbling-multitasker and expert-sock-puppeteer working mom.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

p.s. did anyone else notice that the last post was our 200th post?
... me neither ...

p.p.s. My Sweetest, I know the orange one is yours. And even though it looks more appealing than the chaotically bristled red one slouching beside it, I don`t use it.
... often ...

Harvesting

Garment deconstructing and dissection continues. My family fears for the survival of their clothing and lie awake at night in fear that their blankets will be lost to Mom's fabric draft. 

Nothing is safe while plans for the family quilt evolve; Mom's greedy fabric addiction does not allow for warm toes. So hold on to your socks!

I even found myself eyeing, and briefly contemplating the harvesting of a pair of My Sweetest's boxers.  They are made from an attractive cotton print that would just add so much to the completed project!

I don't understand the problem - a problem that my silly conscience insisted existed - with using fabric from old (okay - not old, and actually in good condition) boxer shorts.  What kind of mental jail do I live in if I limit my artistry to the confines of societal norms. I want this quilt to be meaningful, to say something about me and my family.

Perhaps I need to re-evaluated what it is I want that message to be??   

Making Bread and Constructing a Family Quilt

What is it about making something with your hands that feels so therapeutic and fulfilling?

As you read in my last post, I've recently entered into the world of bread making. Making bread is a deep rooted tradition in my family. My grandmother Chaisson has achieved eternal reverence with regards to her best-in-the-world homemade bread.

When we were children, my sisters and cousins and I all lived for Nan's bread - many of us restricted to enjoying this culinary delight during summer vacation and the rare winter visit to Newfoundland. Sometimes Nan would even make bread on those extra special times when she and Pop came to visit us.

I remember watching Nan in fascination as she would knead the dough with diligence and determination; a perseverance worthy of true admiration.

Soon after my virginal introduction to making bread I had a conversation with my mother - also an accomplished family bread maker - and it was she who identified the labour of making bread as  therapeutic and cleansing. Getting in there with you hands and pounding out the hearty goodness of the dough for the purpose of providing sustenance and enjoyment for your family truly is a satisfying endeavor.

Moreover, it is a great way to purge tension - much like other physically repetitive activities such as biking or running - providing one with a clear and undistributed mind for thinking things through.
Quilting is another well rooted tradition in my family that unites productive therapeutic activity with the wholesome nature of making something meaningful for someone you love. Selecting fabrics, arranging them in ways that convey a desired mood. Combining these elements in a custom that ensures longevity with the purpose of ultimately forming a single entity designed to provide warmth and comfort is - in my books - a very effective means of expressing love.

One of the especially nice things about visiting Nan and Pop was getting to sleep in one of the old kid's rooms warmly snuggled in one of Nan's quilts. Nan made her quilts with scrap fabrics salvaged from other projects, or from worn out garments within the house - curtains, work shirts, sheets. They were the kind of quilts that hugged you - heavy, big and warm. Their myriad of patterns, fabric textures and colours gave them a unique quality and her use of re-purposed fabrics added a personal touch that made you feel safe and at home.

I am fortunate to have one of these precious specimens upstairs, where it usually resides on my Sweetheart's bed.  Decades after it's construction, my grandmother's quilt continues to embrace her family with love and warmth.

It is this degree of love that I hope to convey to my family with the making of my very own family quilt. So far in the process I have assembled my own collection of outgrown, out-fashioned, and plain warn out fabrics that have seen my family throughout its evolution.

This may take me a little bit longer than the two loaves of bread I made for my family, but it is my hope that - like the bread my grandmother made for her family - its sustenance will be felt by the people I love for a long time after its completion.  

Julia as a Bug

Hanging out with Sweetheart and Funny Guy...

How cute is this?

My Sweetheart is growing up so fast.  The other morning she got up, went downstairs, poured herself a cup of milk and got a yogurt.   And fed our dog. 

Later while at the grocery store with her father, she gathered an armful of lemons and informed her father that  she wanted to make lemonade. 

It's easy.  Grover says all you need to make lemonade is lemons, water, and sugar.  Now we have all the ingredients.  

And a yummy pitcher of lemonade she did make - much to her Mommy's delight! 

A Tired Old Marshmellow World

Hopefully Christmas has been kind to you and this post finds you jolly, full of good food and surrounded by those you love. 

The holidays always seem to take so long to arrive - shopping, making, decorating, baking, mailing, ordering, wrapping, planning - and then fly by amidst a fury of Styrofoam, savory culinary aromas, and crinkled tinsel. 

Days spent trying your wits with complicated electronics and toy assembly compounded by excessive intake of eggnog and chocolate makes for tired Mommies and Daddies around our house. 

 
Just checking: does anyone else find the packaging for commercial children's toys to be a little bit excessive? 

I'm specifically referring to the display cases that some toys come in wherein each individual part of the toy are encased in molded, snug-fitting plastic trays and secured by miniature translucent elastic-like ties and occasionally - if you're lucky, weaved or sewn in fasteners for properly displayed doll hair.  All for the purpose of...?  It can't be for safety reasons, as there is nothing even remotely safe about razor sharp plastic, Styrofoam snow, wire ties, or wondering elastic bands. 

Seriously, have you ever tried to break a toy free of it's packaging lately?  It is labour intensive.  And it only gets worst as children - and subsequently, their toy interests - grow. 

Try removing a doll with hair from her plastic encased tomb, and see if you can manage to preserve the innocence and magic of Christmas morning for your children as you wage war with plastic hell and struggle to restrain frustration-induced profanity.  All the while trying to avoid injury to yourself and your eagerly awaiting children.  Whilst singing Christmas carols and chocking down the long ago cold tea that you made when you first got up because you knew you'd need it, and you still know you need it, because without it you would crawl into a cupboard - equipped with a child safety lock - and wait for the whole Christmas merriment thing to blow over. 

Or until the smell of cooking turkey lures you out of you self-induced confinement cupboard.

Frustrations aside, I am fortunate enough to say that Christmas was truly wonderful here.  My two year old Funny Guy, Alright and four year old Sweetheart were truly enthralled with the wonderment of the season.  Much to the delight of their super-excited Mommy and Daddy.

Busy Little Sewing Elves

Sonia and I have been busy sewing our little elf slippers off these past couple of weeks.  I'm pleased to say that the last of our Christmas orders is complete and awaiting pick up!!  In between orders we've also been working on handmade Christmas gifts for our family and friends.  Unfortunately, my big plans to make a puppet theatre and puppets for Funny Guy, Alright and Big Squirt (and Dream Girl by association) has been put on hold.  This stinks - and I know that if I didn't sleep or eat between now and Christmas I could probably get it done.  Maybe.  Of course all of our Christmas creations are still secrets (coy little elves that we are) but we will share some of them after the holidays.  Mainly so you can all tell us what nice work we've done!!!  But seriously, the stocking Sonia made for Dream Girl is brag worthy, not to mention blog-worthy.

Plus we've been listening to lots of Christmas music while we sew.
Fa la la la la
La la la la
This is the one time of the year that Sonia gets to pick out the music we listen to.

Yes, Sonia - I know you were the one who told me about Sarah McLachlan coming to Halifax in the Spring.  Yes - you got us our tickets.  Yes it will be awesome. 

You do not have bad taste in music.  But you do frequently have bad taste in radio stations that I have to remedy whilst sewing so as to prevent myself from sewing my ears to the table.

And don't pretend that listening to Christmas music isn't just your sick way of making me listen to Michael Buble and co. 

Only 4 more sleeps til the big day!!!  How will you be spending your time?

Last Christmas I gave you my heart......

Sonia is trying to kill me. 

Call
the
police!

IWK Quilt Fair

Our favorite:
Blue Pickle by Heather Loney

The Mayflower Quilt Guild is presently holding their annual IWK Quilt Fair in conjunction with the Auxiliary of the IWK Health Centre.  This year the Quilt Fair features a silent auction, raffle quilt (draw Oct 23rd), craft table (including second hand quilting books and magazines at extremely reasonable prices) and an abundance of quilts on display and available for purchase.



The Quilt Fair is being held in the Parker Reception Room at the IWK Health Centre here in Halifax.  The event opened on October 21st and runs until this evening (10am - 5pm).  Proceeds from the show will be donated to the IWK Auxiliary, to better enable them in achieving their goal to supply items needed for the children, women, and families served by the IWK Health Centre.

Checking out the fish on the way to the quilt show

Sonia, myself and our two daughters stopped by for a visit Thursday evening, and I'll tell ya - these quilters have some seriously awesome quilts to show off!  We nabbed a few photos to share, as descriptions will not serve these crafty delights their due justice. 

Excellent work by all involved!!

Happy Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving weekend for those of us in Canada and it couldn't be more beautiful outside.  Perfect fall weather, a little chill in the air, red and orange leaves, and blue skies.

I have so much to be thankful for...

Kisses from DreamGirl

Change of seasons

the love of my husband

snuggles from my doggie

my warm home

Red leaves

clean water

ripe pineapple

my sisters

DreamGirl's Crazy Cousins

my mom and dad

full cupboards

cold cheeks

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!



More Life Skills, with Sonia

A tidy linen closet, I've decided is overrated.  While I'm sure there are you tube video's on how to properly fold fitted sheets, I am choosing to fold them (into a ball) and smooth the top, as I have been.  Ignorance is bliss as they say and cover of homemaker magazine I will never be.

Now that I'm a mom, though, I've had this strange desire to work on my domestic skills in the kitchen.  While eating lunch on Sunday, I decided I'd do some baking while DreamGirl napped.  After a quick review of the supplies in the cupboard and fridge, I discovered I only had two eggs, a little bit of butter and that my husband had eaten almost the whole bag of chocolate chips.   I flipped though some cook books and narrowed down what I could make, given the limited stuff I had available.

I banged out a batch of chocolate chip cookies, there were just enough chocolate chips and butter to make it happen.

What I'm most proud of is the apple pie.  I've never made a pie in my life, not ever.  My husband loves pie and I was feeling the love.  We had lots of apples in the fridge and pie crust in the freezer (strange I know, but my husband likes to make pumpkin pie from time to time).  I combined two recipes, a Brown Betty recipe from Company's Coming Deserts cook book and my husband's mothers Apple Crisp recipe and used the baking instructions on the box.  Here's the beauty!

I made my husband and DreamGirl promise they would tell me it was amazing no matter how bad it turned out.  It was actually good though!  Yummy in fact.  Maybe next time I'll take a stab at actually making pastry. 

Life skills

DreamGirl and I have been on our own this week, "sista's do'in it for ourselves" style.  My husband was called away to help with relief efforts after hurricane Igor in Newfoundland. Hats off to single parents who do this everyday, I'm exhausted.

So, I'm doing it all.  Every diaper change, preparing every meal, trying to remember to empty the green bin, walking the dog, cleaning up dog poop and baby poop, playing this little piggy, going to swimming lessons, entertaining family, hunting for monster boogies, doing the lock hold for first year needles, sewing with Andrea, eating left over M&M's, and I realized today... I don't know how to fold fitted sheets.  My Mother did, what I believe to be, a very good job preparing me for life as an adult, but I don't know how to fold fitted sheets.  How have I made it this far in my life with out this skill, no wonder my linen closet looks like such a disaster. 

I fear that this new realization may cause me to lose sleep, but then I did care for a one year old all day and I'm exhausted, I should really be in bed right now.  You know, the whole sleeping while she sleeps thing.  But here I am, thinking of the ill-folded sheets on my bed, taunting me, and waiting to be put away.

Helping me Dream

Every night as we tuck her into bed, my daughter asks us to help her dream.  This has been happening for some time now, though I'm not entirely sure how it all got started.  Perhaps it came about on a particularly difficult night in the midst of last winter's germ fest that called for extra soothing measures.  Maybe it was the result of loneliness on my part following a long slew of 12 hour shifts away from my family.  But never fail, come bedtime we are not allowed to leave Big Squirt's room without 'helping her dream'.

As is the case in many aspects of family life, desperate times call for desperate measures, and none is so desperate as bedtime with small kids.  Well maybe mealtime, but that's another post!  Bedtime for a young family is akin to desperate times as wet is to ... soggy diapers (lame, I know).  Accordingly, when it comes to bedtime, parents will often do whatever it takes to ensure success.  And most of us have learned that when you find something that works, keep it up.

The Little Prince, Antoine Ste Exupery, 1943

Usually, 'helping her dream' consists of My Sweetest or I recounting a memory from our childhood in response to her request that we 'tell me when you was a kid'.  She doesn't require much - tonight I told her about the cat we had when I was a little girl, vicious beast.  She particularly thrives on the authenticity of our stories; it seems to excite her to see us relive the small and seemingly insignificant details of our lives.  I think it helps her get to know us better, allowing her to ask questions that occur to her - 'Did the cat bite?' - and observing our intrinsic responses - cringe 'Yes.' 

It's especially intriguing when she asks me something logical about the story I'm telling her and I realize that I don't know the answer.  In many ways, these 'helping me dream' stories transport us back to our childhood, to a time when developmental immaturity prohibited us from fully understanding the world around us.  We find ourselves recounting events with these consequential limitations, simultaneously trying to subscribe logical bearing on something we were unable to experience from a logical perspective.  When she asks me why I've described one of my teachers as "cranky", I am tempted to respond by saying that the lady looked like a dragon and that this would make anyone feel cranky.  Hence, my immediate response is reflective of the feelings the story generates in my memory, and though perhaps not actually voiced in my daughter's presence, these emotions have bearing on the emotional authenticity of the story.  It is this authenticity that I feel my daughter is seeking, not the diplomatic explanation that being a teacher of small children is trying and important work.

The Little Prince, Antoine Ste Exupery, 1943

Our childhood is much more exciting when we get to remember it with our own children.  It sort of puts us in their place and takes us back to a time when everything was bigger, more extreme and packed a larger punch; a time of justifiable dichromatic thinking and blissful ignorance.  For me, this nightly routine has worked to resurface the severity of childhood, renewing my sense of appreciation for the degree of impact a child's world can have on their perspectives and development.  Suddenly your child fearing the sounds of the cars driving by her bedroom window or her infatuation with freckles seems less flippant.  With all due respect, the persuasions, anxieties and inclinations that occupy much of a child's mind have a much higher degree of significance than credited by overly logical and well intentioned parents.  And teachers that look like dragons.

Regardless of what any of this may or may not actually mean, helping my daughter dream is a nightly ritual that I have come to cherish.  The ensuing sense of nostalgia combined with the wonder in my daughters' eyes shines through the pre-slumber yawns and brings warmth to my heart.  And while I don't recall how it all started, I hope that it continues for a very long time.

Brown Paper Packages Tied up with String ...

I promise not to keep doing this ... eventually ... once the novelty wears off ...

These are a few of my favorite things...

.... Biking, tea, music, The Little Prince, Flight of the Concords, rocking the party, chai, my family, snuggling, sleeping, elephants

~ being eaten by a boa constrictor is optional ~

my home, reading and books, comfort, My Love, mending broken hearts, escape, sewing,

sewing puns, sewing with my sister, Pearl Jam, Black, mary janes ....