An Adventure in Dyeing (with an "e")

I am speaking here of dyeing clothing a new color. That is why I made the distinction in the title. Otherwise it might be a little concerning.

Nothing to worry about, though! It was just my first experience with clothes dyeing!

The reason I decided to try dyeing clothing with permanent dye was because we have another wedding coming up. This time it's my niece's wedding in Vermont. Two of my children are coming with me*, including Poppy.

This is a fall wedding, which means the colors appropriate for wedding apparel are darker than Poppy typically wears. She didn't have a dress that was formal enough and of a dark enough color for this wedding.

She did, however, have quite a few formal white dresses, thanks to the several First Communion dresses that were passed down to me. Of course, she couldn't wear a white dress to a wedding that is not her own. 

This is what gave me the idea to dye one of the dresses. They were free, so I figured it wouldn't be a big deal if it didn't work.

Accordingly, I asked Poppy what color she wanted--blue--and ordered a bottle of dye.

I dicovered that one of my friends used to dye clothes from thrift stores frequently, and she had several helpful tips for me. The first was to make sure that I got dye appropriate for the dress material. In this case, that was polyester. The dye for natural materials is very different from the dye for man-made materials, so it's important to get the right one.

She also said to get the dress wet before submerging it in the dye, as that will make for a much more even absorption of the dye water. Made sense.

I did not want to be messing around with permanent dye in my kitchen, so I decided to do it outside. This meant I needed nice weather and the time to figure it out. Also, it had to be a day when Poppy would be here to help me. Of course.

I decided this past Saturday that we were going to just go ahead. 

This is when I read the directions on the bottle of dye. 

Yikes.

It's not just dunking the clothing in some colored water and voila. The water has to be kept at a steady 200 degrees for at least 30 minutes. The clothing has to be continuously agitated in that water for the entire time. It's sort of a pain.

I was not anticipating needing to keep the water at a high temperature like that. I still didn't want to have to do this in my kitchen. Luckily, A. had the idea to use the camping stove I gave him for our anniversary, so I could keep the pot of dye water hot. I wanted to set it up somewhere I could just dump the water in the ground when I was done, without having to carry an extremely heavy pot any distance. 

A. helped me set all this up, even building a little wall around the camp stove to make sure the wind didn't extinguish it.

I was a little leery of using a cooking pot to dye clothing, but I didn't see much choice, so I used my pressure cooker/canner, which is the biggest pot I have. It's also stainless steel. I figured that was more likely to scrub clean.

So! Water to 200 degrees on the stove inside (so as not to use up the small fuel canisters from the camp stove), then hauled outside to the camp stove. Per instructions, one teaspoon of dish soap added (more or less), then the dye, and finally, the dress.

We used a broom handle to stir it. Still attached to the broom, so of course the handle is now dyed blue, but it's my outside broom, so it doesn't matter.

Poppy and I took ten-minute turns stirring.

Of course I quoted Macbeth. It was irresistible. 

Poppy noted that this was quite tedious. It was. The instructions said to keep it in the dye until it's just a little darker than the intended color. We kept it in there for forty minutes. After that, there were several rounds of rinsing until the water was clear. This is important so that Poppy doesn't turn blue when she wears it.**

Then I washed it in the pot with a bit of laundry detergent and we hung it up to dry.

It looked more purple when we first hung it up, but it dried more blue.

There were some tiny pearls on the lace detail that took the dye strangely and turned brown. Poppy carefully snipped those off. 

She is very, very pleased with her "new" dress. I was surprised with how well it worked. Although I'm not too motivated to dye clothing regularly, given how much of a process it is, but it was certainly worth it for this event.

* The other two aren't, because one boy is competing at the FFA national convention that weekend in Indianapolis and another had a football game. A. is staying home to manage all of that.

**We did amuse ourselves by saying she could be Smurfette for Halloween if she dyed herself blue.

Oops

Lately I've been getting Poppy into older, longer* books by starting to read them to her. After several chapters of me reading, she'll get interested enough in the story that she'll start reading them herself. 

We did this with The Secret Garden and Heidi, and then we started Little Women.

She took over reading herself in Little Women after maybe five chapters and was happily zipping right along.

Then she came home from school and said her friend told her Beth dies in Little Women. "She doesn't die, does she, Mom?"

Uh. Well. Dang it.

Beth does indeed die. I had forgotten that. 

There was no way out of answering this question. So I asked her one of my own first. I asked her if she really wanted to know.

She did. I told her. She cried just thinking about it and then declared that she was not going to read the book anymore.

Fair enough. She can try again when she's a little older maybe. She's only eight years old. She has plenty of time to read the rest of it.

The next book I was going to read with her was Anne of Green Gables. I looked up if anyone dies in that book, because obviously my memory for these things is not to be trusted. Matthew does towards the end of the book. So now I have to determine if that death is going to be as upsetting to Poppy as Beth dying. I don't think so, since Matthew is an old man, not a little girl, but still. Maybe we should wait on that one for a little bit.

Anyone have any suggestions for classic children's books where main characters don't die? You'd think that wouldn't be so hard, but I guess not.

*This works well for older books because they tend to have longer and more complicated sentence structures. When I read them aloud, I can pause to break up the sentence with my voice. I also often have to define words, because the vocabulary in older books tends to be much more advanced, which is one reason I like them. When Poppy reads them on her own, she frequently calls out to me for definitions. 

Making the Grade

It's school progress-report time! These are viewed with varying levels of interest by my children. The boys mostly don't care, although all of them do very well in school, so they don't have much to worry about.  

Poppy, however, is VERY interested in her progress reports and report cards. This is the first year that she's had actual grades, and she scrutinizes them carefully*.

Her latest progress report apparently inspired her to grade me, which was one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.

Not too shabby.

So obviously my strengths are cooking and gardining. (Yes, with an "i." It's like Anne with an "e.") I do pretty well with caring, getting them to bed, and the woodstove. Cleaning needs a little work--I have to agree with that one--but the overall score is good.

I've never once been tardy. Go me. 

I'm not entirely sure what all those excused absences are. Maybe when I was gone at basketball games and so forth? I do know what the one unexcused absence was: That one night by myself at the hotel is obviously inexcusable. 

If I can get through this motherhood gig with an overall score of 99, though, I will take it.

*She also has absolutely nothing to worry about with her grades, which makes this a pleasurable activity for her rather than an anxious one.

A Canyon Birthday Adventure

Poppy's birthday happened to fall on a Saturday this year, which meant we could celebrate on the day itself in a more satisfying way than happens when the birthday falls on a school day. Especially since, miracle of miracles, there was nothing else going on that day.

Poppy loves to hike. We asked her if she would like us all to go hiking as a family in our (relatively) nearby impressive canyon.

She was of course enthused about the idea, so I packed a picnic lunch, A. packed a fishing pole and bait, we both packed the two dogs into Adventure Van, and away we went.

We hit a bit of a snag at the very beginning of our hike, which requires us to go across the river. The point at which we cross typically has many rocks above water for a dry crossing. This time, there was no way to get across without getting wet. No way for me, anyway. I took one look at this situation and said out loud to A. "I am going to fall in this water."

Well, the boys found one spot a bit further downstream where they jumped about three feet from one rock to another, downward-sloping rock. They tried to convince me that I could do this. I, however, have no delusions about my complete inability to jump even short distances, so I declined.

A. and Poppy crossed at our usual spot by removing their shoes, rolling up their jeans, and wading across. A. offered to carry me across, but I didn't want to consider what a bad scene it would be if he fell while I was on his back, so I declined this, too.

I took off my shoes and waded. And sure enough, I was the only one to fall. Much to my family's amusement. 

I just fell back into a sitting position, and all that got wet was my bottom. I didn't get hurt or anything, so I continued on to the other side and spent the rest of the hike with a soaked seat. Good thing it was a warm day.

Also by the stream were some nasty burs that got stuck in the barefoot children's feet, as well as in the dogs' paws. But once we took care of that, we were all set to hike.

Birthday girl hiking. And some gnarly Russian thistle plants that lined the path.

This trail leads to a very nice shady spot under a cliff that only requires maybe a half mile walk. The river where A. wanted to fish was about a hundred yards further down the path. 

We stopped at the cliff in the shade to eat our lunch. This included Poppy's birthday taste test: Pringle flavors.

Cheddar, sour cream and onion, ranch, and pizza.

The pizza-flavored ones did taste surpisingly very like pizza, but it turns out this is somewhat disconcerting in a Pringle. These were not universally enjoyed. More popular were the ranch and sour cream and onion flavors. I personally liked the ranch best. Pringles are pretty tasteless in the original version, so the addition of flavors is a good one.

We had other food, too, of course.

Biscuits (made that morning because I was running low on bread), tuna salad, and not-pictured cookies and beef jerky.

A. left after lunch to fish. The children elected to stay and climb the cliff. It's one of their favorite things to do.

It looks much bigger in real life.

The older two boys made it all the way to the top there at the right. The younger two were about halfway when A. yelled "Fish on!" and they went scrambling down and away to the river to see the catfish A. caught.

The dogs stayed with me.

In the shade. Smart Jasper.*

The younger kids fished for awhile themselves before we decided it was time to head back. We of course had to cross the river again. I elected to keep my shoes on this time, and had no trouble at all. I guess I just can't balance well on rocks in bare feet.

The slippery algae didn't help, either.

The children, unsurprisingly, wanted to stay in the water for awhile.

And since we were about to go home, I didn't care if they got soaking wet. Which of course they did.

After a thorough soaking, they all piled their wet selves into the van and we headed home for a birthday dinner and presents.

It was a good day. We should do it more often.

* Amazingly, Jasper doesn't smell at all like skunk anymore. I guess maybe the dry climate keeps smells from lingering? I don't know, but I appreciate it.

Girls' Day Out

I mentioned already that the eldest son, Poppy, and I stayed in a hotel near the Albuquerque airport on Wednesday night. There was no reason for Poppy to come except that she doesn't like it when I go anywhere without her, especially overnight. And she does like to travel. 

I knew she was coming with us, so I purposely chose a hotel that had an indoor pool. That and proximity to the airport were pretty much the only criteria for my selection.

Of course we went swimming the night we arrived at the hotel.

I definitely did not choose to have a "pool view" room. Why on earth would anyone want to overlook--and overhear--an echoey pool?

I did not actually swim this night, to be honest. I'm not much of a water person, and the idea of having to take a shower before bed was unappealing. So I just sat there on a deck chair and monitored the fun.

Mom the lifeguard.

I had warned Poppy that coming with us would mean getting up very early and sitting at the airport for awhile, and that part would not be fun. She accepted this and was in fact very patient with our 5 a.m. wake-up and two hours checking in, going through security, and sitting at the gate until the plane left.

We left Poppy's stuffed dog, Jillian, to guard the hotel room while we were gone. She takes her job very seriously.

It's been several years since I've had the opportunity to watch a plane actually pull away from the gate, since the days of going to the gate to say good-bye or meet arrivals is now over.

But after that, it was Fun Girl Time!

The first thing we did when we got back to the hotel around 8 a.m. was eat breakfast. It was one of those buffets featuring many bread products and cereals, but this one thankfully also had scrambled eggs and ham, plus one of those ubiquitous waffle makers that you fill with the tiny cups of batter and flip over.

Poppy had a bowl of Froot Loops, some scrambled eggs and ham, a waffle, and some apple juice. This is the most I have ever seen her eat at breakfast.

After that, it was back to the pool. I do not think this pool room was heated. The water was actually steaming when we got there, even though it wasn't particularly warm water. Thankfully, there was also a functioning hot tub.

Poppy got in the hot tub first. 

This thing had some seriously intense bubbles. A bit too aggressive for me.

I got in the pool first, knowing that once I got in the hot water, I was never going to bring myself to get back in the cold pool. We spent a little bit of time working on Poppy's dog paddling and water treading before I declared myself done with the chill and gratefully switched to the hot tub. The pool had a shallow part that Poppy could stay in to play around, and I was only about two feet away in the hot tub, so I could keep an eye on her.

I did get tired of even the hot tub before she was ready to go, so I sat on a deck chair--covered in two towels because it was freezing in there after I had gotten wet--while she played happily in the hot tub.

I did have to eventually cut her fun short, however, as we had a long drive and a stop for groceries ahead of us.

After going back to the room to shower and change, we stopped by the breakfast buffet one more time as they were packing it up so I could get another cup of coffee and Poppy could get a bagel with cream cheese. 

We took these in the car with us. As we were leaving Albuquerque and she was munching her bagel, "Eye of the Tiger" came on the radio. Poppy exclaimed, "Hey, this is 'Eye of the Tiger'! I love this song!"

Then she said, "This is so great, Mom."

I asked her if she meant the song or her bagel.

"Both. I love music and I love bagels."

So easy to please, this girl.

After she finished eating, she settled herself with Charlotte's Web. Before she started reading, though, she said casually, "If you see a spa, you should stop. Since we don't have any brothers with us."

I was kind of surprised by this and asked her what we would do at a spa, wondering how she knew about spas at all. They're not places I frequent.

"Pedicures and stuff."

Oh, right. I forgot about that Fancy Nancy book. Obviously, she didn't.

In the end, we did not stop at a spa, instead stopping at Walmart to buy groceries on our way home. 

So maybe it wasn't a typical girls' day out, but Poppy sure enjoyed herself. And so did I.

Little Hands

One of the best chores for a small child to help with is pulling the basil leaves off the stems.

Small leaves for small fingers.

Other things she has done with/for me recently: 

--Skinning and pitting thawed peaches

--Bashing cabbage for sauerkraut

--Hanging the socks and underwear on the clothesline

--Sweeping the covered porch

--Dusting the couch feet/lamp bases/anything low down

--Organizing my bathroom drawer (I did not ask her to do that one)

--Chopping potatoes

--Making a fly swatter out of a stick and a piece of cardboard . . . that actually works

--Decorating for the Fourth of July

I'm not saying my sons weren't helpful as young children, but this girl is a whole other level. It might not last, but I'm enjoying it while it does.

Six

Today, my youngest turns six years old. That means that today is the day for this poem. 

Now We Are Six--by A.A. Milne

When I was One,

I had just begun.

When I was Two,

I was nearly new.

When I was Three,

I was hardly me.

When I was Four,

I was not much more.

When I was Five,

I was just alive.

But now I am Six,

I'm as clever as clever.

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

Happy birthday to my girl.

The Soundtrack of an Era

Today is Poppy's last day of preschool. Our preschool is two days a week (but long days--from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.), so she's been going only on Mondays and Wednesdays for the last two years. Those are also the days I work. That meant that Tuesdays and Thursdays were days when her brothers were at school, and she was at home with me.

Lately, our days at home together have always included music. I typically spend the mornings working in the kitchen or cleaning the house, and Poppy was always ready to put on music for us. She got quite adept at finding her favorites (heavily influenced by my own childhood in the 80's) on YouTube. Now, of course, YouTube remembers what we listen to most frequently and queues it all up for her.

She would often spread out two big blankets on the floor to make a dance floor and then ask me to dance with her. Of course, I did.

All dressed up for The Stray Cats. (She was trying on her Easter outfit.)

I know we can still dance, but it's no fun with a bunch of boys rolling their eyes. She starts kindergarten next year, which means our regular girls' days are at an end. YouTube might even forget our playlist of songs. 

But I won't. I won't ever forget.

P.S. You want to know our playlist, don't you? Of course you do. It always starts with Poppy's favorite song.

"Girls Just Want To Have Fun"--Cyndi Lauper

"Stray Cat Strut"--The Stray Cats

"La Isla Bonita"--Madonna

"I Wanna Dance with Somebody"--Whitney Houston

"Rock This Town"--The Stray Cats

"Conga"--Gloria Estefan

"Walking on Sunshine"--Katrina and the Waves

A Very Fancy Spa Morning

Poppy's Easter book this year was actually a whole set of books: Fancy Nancy. She was given one of the early reader books featuring Fancy Nancy by her preschool teacher and immediately fell in love with the character. I have to admit that Fancy Nancy is quite charming in all her over-the-top ways, and the books are not really as vapid as they sound.

One of the books in the set I got her was Ooh La La Spa! It's Beauty Day, in which Fancy Nancy treats her mother to a very fancy home spa day. Poppy, of course, was immediately captivated by this idea and wanted to do it. 

I am not much of a spa person myself, so I was not notably enthusiastic about the idea. However, when her brothers went on a field trip to Santa Fe with the elementary that she was not allowed to go on, I consoled her by telling her we would make it our spa day.

The book that started it all.

We followed some of the things in the book, and decided on some things ourselves. Poppy made a schedule for us:

The referenced "Boy Helper" was a last-minute addition when one of her brothers was home.

 As per the schedule, we started with a foot soak. I used two packets of some absolutely ancient foot soaking powder that came originally from Blackrock. They must be at least 30 years old. I have no idea how these two packets ended up in New Mexico with us, but this seemed as good a time as any to use it.

Seriously, MiL, how old do you think this is?

Because we are country bumpkins, I used a rubber feed tub as our soaking tub. Poppy added some marbles, as Fancy Nancy did, so we could massage our feet on them.

Here we are, soaking away our foot misery.

Next on the agenda was a face mask. There was actually a recipe in the Fancy Nancy book for a face mask that was just mashed banana and honey. Because I can never leave well enough alone with recipe, I also added some oats, and then a little water to make it more spreadable.

We even had a cucumber for the necessary slices for the eyes, thanks to A.'s recent trip to the Outside World. So I found "relaxing spa music" (my exact search) on YouTube and we prepared to get beautiful.

Appropriately masked.

Poppy applied my mask for me.

She was very generous with the oats. 

After cleaning ourselves up, it was on to manicures and pedicures. Poppy did this for both of us.

Pedis in the kitchen.

The end result was a lot of blue nails.

Twenty each, to be precise.

Finally, a tea party. This was not in the book, but we love a good tea party in our house. I had made cookies earlier in the day, and I made some very fancy cucumber finger sandwiches.

I even cut the crusts off, which is something I typically disapprove of.

And that was our DIY home spa morning. It was fun. And, of course, fancy.

T.T.: A Birthday Tip

Before Poppy was born, many people said something along the lines of, "That's going to be the toughest little girl ever." I myself thought she couldn't help but be a tomboy with three rough brothers to follow around all the days of her life.

I should have known by my fourth child that I can never make assumptions. They have this way of turning into people completely independent of my own expectations.

Today, Poppy turns five years old. She loves pink, purple, perfume, sparkles, my high heels, jewelry, and dancing. She also loves fishing, camping, eating fish eyes, and riding the horses.

The best of both worlds. And the best girl I know, for sure.

Happy birthday to my girl. Fly high, always.

Monday Bouquets: Birthday Flowers for the Birthday Girl

Today is Poppy's fourth birthday. My sister brought her some flowers for her very own.

In her favorite colors, of course.

And here's the birthday girl getting her hair french-braided by her flower-bearing aunt.

Too bad the birthday girl's mom has no idea how to do fancy hair like that.

Happy birthday, Poppy. Long may you reign.

Thank You!

I appreciate all the kind comments on yesterday's post, and it looks as if Tuesday Tips carry the day. 

And now for your real thank you: an adorable child story. Whee!!!

So. Poppy's hair is now long enough and thick enough that I can do things like put it in ponytails. Or pigtails. 

She also often asks for a bun, mostly because my hair is usually up in a (very, very messy) bun. 

So, we have a singular ponytail. And the plural is pigtails. (Even though both ponies and pigs only have one tail, yes.)

And then we have a singular bun. So what's the plural of that?

Poppy knows, and she told me.

Behold, pigbuns:

The name is almost as cute as the girl.

You'd better believe that I will be calling that hairstyle pigbuns for the rest of my life. And I will be sad when that girl is too big for pigbuns anymore.

Milk Jugs for St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I celebrated my Irish heritage* a day early by planting out the cabbages. It has become my own little tradition to plant them on or as near to St. Patrick's Day as I can. The appropriateness of it pleases me. 

But since Wednesday is a work day for me, and our forecast for Tuesday night was for rain, I decided to do it the day before.

So! Yesterday my lovely assistant and I went out and planted nine cabbage seedlings.

She took care of the milk jug placement and the watering after the planting.

The end result, while pleasing to me because I can envision our summer coleslaw in these beds, is not actually aesthetically pleasing.

We decided to try a new crop this year: plastic milk jugs.

Just kidding. The milk jugs protect the tender young plants from the overly aggressive sun and wind. Kind of like individual greenhouses. Except not as attractive. The rocks keep the jugs from blowing away.

We've learned some lessons in our three years so far of gardening here.

Unfortunately, our forecasted rain changed to a Winter Weather Advisory. I can't un-transplant the cabbages, so we'll just have to cross our fingers and trust to the milk jugs.

And if those fail, I suppose I can always start more seeds.

* I actually do have quite a lot of Irish ancestry. My love of potatoes and cabbage is genetic.

Boo Boo Bandaging: A Toddler Drama in Pictures

 

I just love a happy ending, don't you?

As Heard in the House

 

Poppy decided it was high time she went camping and fishing again, so she informed A. of this fact.

Me: You're a real outdoors girl, huh, Poppy?

Poppy: Yes. And I'm special.

Me: Yes, you are special.

Poppy: And cute.

Me: Okay, don't overdo it. Vanity is unappealing.

I was in the kitchen preparing to can sauerkraut, which involves first heating the sauerkraut to boiling before putting in the jars. During this process, Cubby came through the kitchen and exclaimed, "What is that SMELL?"

Me: Sauerkraut. Now move on.

Next, A. came in the kitchen and said, "Why does it stink all of the sudden? It smells like the sewage backed up."

Me: No, it's not sewage. It's sauerkraut.

A.: Oh. Well! That's some powerkraut.

And then I spent about two straight minutes laughing to myself in the kitchen. You know next time I cook sauerkraut, I'm going to tell them all we're having sewage for dinner.

Three

 

Happy birthday to

my girl.

In the Wee Hours

 

Is there anything more tedious than listening to other people talk about how tired they are? Not really. 

But I am, indeed, very tired this morning and I'm going to talk about it. Because the reasons are actually pretty funny.

The plan was to go to sleep early last night. The toddler, however, had other plans. At 8:30 p.m., she was still calling to me from her room to tell me this very important information: "Mommy! 'Rain' and 'Rainbow'! They rhyme!" It wasn't really the time to get into the difference between rhyming and compound words, so I just replied, "Well, no. But rain is the first word in rainbow. Now go to sleep."

So I didn't go to bed until around 9 p.m. Still okay, though, if I could just sleep uninterrupted until at least 5 a.m.

Ah, the optimistically wishful thinking of the tired mother.

At 3 a.m., the same toddler was calling to me from her bed so I could fix her covers.

At 3:45 a.m., that very same toddler was crying in her room. Presumably this was a nightmare because she didn't actually wake up, but did quiet down when I went into her room.

At 4:45 a.m., the five-year-old was demanding to know who put water in his bed. As if one of his brothers would rise from their sound sleep to splash water in his bed while he was sleeping.

Well, actually, I wouldn't put it past them, but this time they were innocent. Turns out, he was just sleeping very heavily with his mouth open and just woke himself up with his own drool.

But that was it for me. I gave up at that point and just got in the shower.

And so now, I am tired. But at least I have plenty of time to drink my coffee before we get on the school bus. 

Plus, I used to get a lot less sleep. Like during this crazy time:

So cute. So exhausting.

Even though I'm tired today, at least I have a reasonable chance of sleeping tonight, which was definitely not the case in the previous decade of my life with newborns and toddlers. So, you know, silver linings.

The Fourth First

The First Haircut is a classic example of what happens the more children a person has. Let me offer my own children for illustration.

Cubby the Firstborn's first haircut was at an actual salon. He wore a little cape with colorful frogs on it; I took a picture; and I paid ten dollars for the experience.

Charlie the Second Born's first haircut was in the bathtub when I noticed his hair when wet was entirely too long. No cape, no photos of the event, although I did get a couple of photos of his hair after it was done.

I have no recollection whatsoever of Jack the Third Born's first haircut. Definitely no photos, no post, not even any memory of it.

Then there's Poppy the Fourth Born's first haircut. I have a picture of it, but only because it happened in our kitchen and because A. was her stylist.

His services are very reasonably priced.

The only reason she got a haircut is because she demanded it after watching A. cut my hair.

I asked him to do this because my hair had gotten really kind of ridiculously long. I usually get it cut about every six months. Last year, that was when we were in New York in the summer, and thus only ten miles from a salon, and when I took my solo trip to a small city overnight in January, and thus had time to myself in close proximity to a salon.

I am not now, however, in close proximity to a salon, nor do I wish to drive 90 miles to get to one. So I asked A. if he could cut my hair.

Now. My hair is long, which is forgiving of, um, slightly irregular haircuts and mistakes, but it is also very curly. The curls are the tricky part. I always ask for layers. So this wasn't a snip straight across the bottom I was asking for.

However, A. is a handy guy who enjoys new challenges, so he did some YouTube research and announced himself ready. 

He collected his supplies--a comb, my sewing scissors, and two hair ties--asked me to wet and comb out my hair, and then had me sit in a kitchen chair with my head hanging down, as you see Poppy doing in the above photo.

He had decided it would be best to use the methods for self-cutting curly hair, but to do it for me. This involves combing all the hair over the hanging head and putting it in a ponytail before trimming, then sectioning some off in another ponytail and trimming again for the layering. 

There was a third ponytail for a third layer, but it would have made my hair in front too short to pull back, which is a key concern for me. So he just did the two.

It came out well. Poppy's came out even better. A. was very pleased with his handiwork, as he should be, and I am very pleased that I no longer have to try to find a way to drive a hundred miles and pay 30 dollars for a haircut.

So now I cut the boys' hair, A. cuts the girls', and we all live happily ever after. 

The End.

Masks Are the New Mittens

 

One of the most annoying things for me about winter weather is making sure all of my children have two mittens (or gloves) before we leave the house. So many hours of my life have been wasted searching backpacks, pockets, and cars, or throwing every hat and mitten out of the box by the door looking for a matched pair. Or at least a left and right of something, anything to cover hands.

I do this a lot less now that we don't live in the far north, and I am still grateful for it.

But now! Now each child needs a face covering every time we leave the house! And those face coverings are small masks that are liable to get left behind wherever they go. The boys are pretty good about hanging theirs up by the door or keeping them in their backpacks. If the masks make it home.

But Poppy . . . Poppy is the Bermuda Triangle of masks. Hers just disappear. Sometimes in the house, sometimes in the car, sometimes . . . I don't even know. 

Right now I have one for her on the bus, one in my purse, one presumably lost in the car, and one I think got lost in the house. I'm running out of masks for her and might eventually resort to duct taping her masks onto her ears so she can't just take them off and fling them any old where.

Just kidding. 

It is annoying, though.

The End of an Era

 Poppy has always had her own idea of when the appropriate time is to reach milestones. 

She quit nursing on her own cold-turkey when she was 14 months old.

She decided she was ready to use the toilet at around two years old, and three months later, we were done with diapers entirely.

She insisted I remove her booster seat from her chair at the table about a month ago. Her chin is now about level with the table unless she kneels on her chair, but she was done with that booster and there was to be no discussion about it.

And now, the crib has been retired.

Bunk bed ahoy.

That was the bed my brother made for his daughters when they were sharing a room. When they decided they wanted their own rooms, they each got a single bed and he asked us if we had any use for a bunk bed. We didn't at the time, but I knew we would need a bed for Poppy eventually, so A. brought it back with him from his trip to Tucson for Thanksgiving last year.

Then it sat in the barn for several months. But today, we hauled it out, hosed it off, and set it up. 

It was a little sad retiring the crib that has been in constant use since Cubby was born. That's more than a decade of putting babies in that old, hand-me-down crib with the cheesy lambs painted on the side that we got from my friend Alyssa.

But there's nothing but big kids in this house now, so out goes the crib and in goes the big bed.

Sniff.