Summer Sky: Learning as I go

Knitting, sewing, living

The living part first.

N has a sore throat, but no fever. He says his legs are all wobbly and he only wants to lie down. I sat down next to him and stroked his hair while he noticed the silence. I brought him a pillow and a blanket so he could curl up on the sofa, and he said, "All I want is you. You are the cuddliest thing in the house." (Although my heart melted, it also reminded me of why I signed up for the Y yesterday.)

Now he's sound asleep.

 

The sewing part.

I haven't sewn a stitch since the end of October. I sort of rebelled. You see, I sew at our family dinner table. We don't have another. I have a small cabinet to store all the sewing stuff away, but I get a bit tired of doing that. Actually, I'm not tired of putting things away; I'm tired of letting everything sit out and just pushing it aside and three weeks later finally putting it away.

One day I hope to have a little sewing room, but for this month, I decided to take the sewing elsewhere. I signed up for a sewing class with a local fabric store.

Although I've sewn from many a pattern, I have no formal training. Everything--almost everything--I know about sewing I learned from my mom. (I didn't sew that much growing up, either. But I have lots of memories of her sewing. Something sunk in.) To tell the truth, my eventual goal isn't to sew from patterns. It's to either alter patterns or to draft my own. Not just for me, but also for our kids (as long as they'll let me). I don't expect to be a designer or to make anything original. I just don't feel like paying through the nose for cuteness.

Our first class was Tuesday. We are making skirts. They have to have zippers (the teacher won't let us use the 'invisible' kind).  I'm going with a metallic zipper--only later did I realize I was channeling Amy from over a year ago.

We chose our patterns and fabric, cut out our skirts, and ironed the paper with a steam iron (learned something new already). The teacher very helpfully showed me how to alter my pattern to better fit my current shape (another reason I'm glad I joined the Y).

 

Last but not least.

I finished another stella pixie hat.

Three Irish Girls Galena Merino in their Kate colorway.

I would've posted sooner, but I dithered over how to make a pom pom (all previous attempts in my life at making pom poms being utter failures; this tut did the trick). I also debated how to do the neckband, and in the end I went with Meg's idea of an I-chord. I used this YT tut.

This hat was meant for a toddler (and it fits), but it is so stretchy that it also fits E.  She begged to have it. I was pleased enough to give in (although I would've made the pom pom a little bigger if I'd intended it for her). I hope my friend C, whose toddler is not going to get this hat, will forgive me. Another hat is in the works.

On this day, near to my heart

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday.

We live 5 minutes from the Lincoln Memorial, so next year I hope we can go down and hear the 4th grade class from Watkins Elementary School in Washington, D.C. give his I Have a Dream speech, which they do every year. I was disappointed we missed it, but I didn't realize until yesterday that they do it just a few days before the holiday weekend. Better luck next year.

In the meantime, I leave you with a video of last year's class speech that I found [sorry about the ad that disrupts the flow midway]. (The Washington Post also filmed the same speech; sadly, they cut it down to just a couple of minutes, but it's still moving to watch.) 

And, just in case you couldn't find it on your own, here's Dr. King giving the original speech in full.  And here is the full text of the speech.  There are many amazing passages in the speech, but the one that jumped out at me personally as I read it to our kids was this phrase:

for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

In general, I prefer for this space to be about preserving memories, but today I'm sharing something near to my heart.

It all started when I read Po Bronson's Nurture Shock in 2009. While fascinating, its hook rests on the 'science' of parenting. I realize Bronson defends the book by saying that the science cited is 10 to 20 years in the making and rigorous--but still. We can see for ourselves that parenting trends ebb and flow as each new generation thinks they can do better.

However, there was one chapter in the book, and within it, one nugget of information, that I haven't been able to forget. In fact, it felt so true that we acted on it, as a family, immediately.

Then, last May, CNN announced a study in the U.S. that was intended to test whether a group of kindergartners had developed racial bias at such a tender age. The answer, per CNN, was yes, and mirrors the studies cited by Bronson in his chapter on parenting and race.

The statistic that keeps coming back to me from Bronson's book is that in one study, 75% of white parents never, or almost never, talked about race and skin color with their kids. Meanwhile, about 75% of black parents deliberately talked about race with their children.

It's a likely explanation for why the kids designated as white at times heavily skewed (89%, for example) in favor of a cartoon character with lighter skin tones when choosing the one they'd like as a classmate or playmate.

In the towns and neighborhoods where we live, I'm convinced that parents put an extremely high priority on raising racially-neutral, unbiased children. In addition, in our daughter's class at school, I can see for myself that the heritage of every continent in the world is represented.

Why should we be specific, rather than staying silent, in order to further racial equality?  Because, if all this science is to be believed, kids can see for themselves that skin colors vary. Not just a little, but a lot. And even when those skin tones vary on the same street, or on the same playground, silence from the parents means...that 5-year-olds fill in that gap in their knowledge with their own theories.

Maybe one child will think that their parents never mentioning skin color means that everyone is equal. Maybe another child will let their friends make up their minds for them. Maybe yet another child will think that it means only people who look like them should be their good friends.

Too often, the studies Bronson cites show that the latter is the case for white children in the U.S. Because such an overwhelming percentage of white parents don't talk about race, it's rather hard to say that this isn't a factor in children deciding, for themselves, that sharing the same skin tone is important when choosing playmates and friends.

What I realized in 2009, when I first learned this, was: it doesn't matter what the science says. We (D and I) have clear ideas about how all people should be treated equally regardless of their physical characteristics, skin color included. So we talk about this, in very specific terms, with our kids. And as they get older, we will talk further about race as a social construct, cultural and racial identities, and DNA, and how they intersect and overlap, both now and in the past.

If you're a parent, I urge you to do the same.

**********

I can never think about these issues without recalling this post from Melissa's blog, which led me to read this post and many others on the blog, Love Isn't Enough.

Now, where was I?

Wow. As you've probably surmised, I fell out of the blogging habit, and I fell hard. Wish I had a good reason.

Well, I do have one. My favorite lens--my 'nifty fifty' as some people call it--is still on the blink. Yes, my camera is otherwise fine. But somehow taking photos lost a tiny bit of its charm. All the pictures I took after April were taken without that lens, so that seems like a peculiar excuse. But I found myself taking fewer and fewer pictures until I was down to almost none at all. I should be perfectly capable of crafting a post without a picture to go with it, but what can I say, I lost my psych.

I really did miss this space. And I owe heaps to various blogging friends out there...promises, promises. And nothing to show for it.

So, I will be slowly making amends.

This afternoon I came across this scene. Nothing like a newly swept floor to provide some inspiration for my little guy.

I know, he has too many cars. In fact, as 'they' will tell you, lining them up like this--albeit in a rainbow--is a symptom of having too many.  Instead of driving them around, he was categorizing them.

Time was, I could tell you where each one of these came from. Like the double decker bus in the middle there, from Aunt C who lives in London now. Or the orange dune buggy, from a stash my friend B found at a yard sale. (Come to think of it, that's where most of these come from.) 

To remedy the 'traffic jam to nowhere' (although those can be fun, too) I take at least 2/3 of them away and hide them in a closet. With most of them gone, I'll stand in the kitchen once again, hearing a small voice piping from the other room, 

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay, can you help me? Just give me a push!"

"Okay, here you go!"

"I'm faster than you!"

"Wow, you are fast!"

"But our race ended in a tie!"

And so goes another contented afternoon...

Before I forget, be sure and check out The Magnifying Glass for some fun nature-related gifts! Some really fun ideas posted so far.

Still here.

I've been taking a bit of a blog break--I don't post that often so it's hard to tell the difference (!).

N had his last day of co-op preschool today.  So many emotions are passing through it's hard to describe.  We spent many happy hours there and I can't believe that it's over.  More than anything, I loved the sense of community we had.  And our two teachers, both incredible people.  They were like second mothers to our kids--and to me.

 

Tomorrow we're going strawberry picking, if it doesn't rain.  This is the year I finally conquer my fear of canning and pickling.  We love making freezer jam, but I'm ready to try my hand at  'the real thing.'

As usual, I'm getting ahead of myself, with thoughts of fruit syrups and vinegars dancing through my head.

We bought these perfect strawberries at our local farmer's market--they are from our favorite, Westmoreland Berry Farm on Virginia's Northern Neck.  And we finally get to use our berry bowl from Melissa!

Any berry picking--or, possibly, canning--in your future?

Remembering babywearing.

Babywearing celebration week is in full swing over at Clean., and there are so many special stories and photos to enjoy if you stop by.

I have such fond memories of carrying my babies. They were almost always in a sling of one type or another until they were toddlers. My babywearing days are over, it seems, but I still like to remember those days.

Slings were still a little 'weird' in our town when E was a newborn.  I received lots of questions about them from family, friends, and total strangers.  People had many misconceptions; they wondered if my kids would learn to walk properly (why, yes); whether the babies were uncomfortable "stuffed into that thing," (well, babies usually let you know if they don't like something).  Now, most people don't give slings a second glance.

It's a shame that the safety of slings should come into question. But then, because babies are so helpless, almost anything we use around them, however positive, still requires our vigilance and common sense, and slings are no exception.  I had nothing but wonderful experiences with the sling, and I'd recommend them to anyone who was considering one.

I leave you with one of my favorite pictures ever.  E is 2 and walking in the spring hat parade at her little co-op preschool.  N is 10 months and snug as a bug.  Thank you, Kyra, for taking this pic; as the photographer of our family, photos of me--and therefore, my babes in a sling--are few and far between.

My one resolution.

This year, I have one new year's resolution. Just one.

Not that I typically have a lot of new year's resolutions.  I gave up on those back when they consisted of things like "wash face twice a day."  There's a joyless, motivation-draining quality to them, unlike, say, 'goals' and 'dreams.'

This year is different, because there's one thing I must get done before the year is through, if it's humanly possible.  It's "just": get rid of stuff. and more stuff. and stuff under, around, and on top of that.

I've mentioned this before, back in November.  I was hitting a low point because we were heading into the holidays and...well, you know. It wasn't going to happen for a while.

Enter, stage left, the month of January, together with a blog challenge (and I do love blog challenges!). Shannon of freespiritknits has organized 'declutter, make space,' and as she most aptly recognizes, it's the mental clutter from all that 'stuff' thats really bogging us down.

But oh, me, where to start? Well, for a couple of months I've been digging into a great book, written with kids in mind:  Simplicity Parenting. It goes beyond the disarray caused by mere 'stuff' and addresses the jumble of too many things going on, too much media, too much noise. It's a very humbling book:

"[S]implification is not just about taking things away.  It is about making room, creating space in your life, your intentions, and your heart. . . . With fewer distractions, [your child's] attention expands, their focus can deepen, and they have more mental and physical space to explore the world . . . . Beyond [this,] the most elemental and powerful reason to simplify is this:  As your awareness of your children widens and deepens, so too will your love."

If you're not familiar with Simplicity Parenting, you might think, that's nice, but what do I do with this lofty concept? How do you put this into practice?  Well, let me reassure you:  this book is well-laid out with specific, concrete steps to take. 

So here we go--we're ready. No excuses this time!

Little pumpkins, popsicle sticks, and Halloween thoughts

Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate  (five fingers up)

The first one said "Oh my! It's getting late!"  (hands on cheeks)

The second one said "There's a chill in the air!"  (hug self)

The third one said "But we don't care!"   (shake pointer finger "no")

The fourth one said "We're ready for some fun!"

The fifth one said "Let's run and run and run!" (swing arms in running motion)

Then WHOOOOSH! went the wind,

And OUT went the lights, (clap)

And the five little pumpkins rolled out of sight! (rolling motion with arms)

Some of the things that bother me (a lot) about Halloween:

it's become a month-long event.

there's a huge fixation on candy.

its focus, however toned-down for kids, is death and gore.

Some of the positives I see in Halloween:

it gives kids a chance to role-play within the larger community

we get to meet our neighbors, including some of the ones we never see

it's a safe way for kids to grapple with their fears of the unknown

E and her buddy L made popsicle-stick haunted houses. This was one of those rainy afternoon, make it up as you go, crafts-on-the-fly. Love that! 

They painted the sticks, figured out how they wanted the final structure to look, and then glued the sticks onto poster board. Meanwhile, they drew pictures of scary things to put in their haunted houses. (Technically, E's is a haunted barn.)

Haunted barn, with scary chicken, by E

Cider stand.

Our 6-year-old, E, is always bursting with big ideas. She'll want to play restaurant, right now, complete with a menu and a beautifully set table, while she plays both waitress and chef.  Or, she'll want to build a city (and an entire countryside), using every block, car, figurine, and toy animal in the house.  Other times, she wants to teach music classes for all the toddlers in her neighborhood. 

Her ideas are infectious--her little brother N is nearly always game. Many of her plans end as soon as they've been started, but that's usually because something equally ambitious has sprung to mind.

Which brings me to the fact that E loves lemonade stands. She asks to have one at least once a month. Maybe more. It's not about the money--it's all about the fun. Once in a great while, I say yes. 

Today, with her little neighbor buddy at her side, eyes gleaming with excitement, she burst out, let's have an apples and cider stand! Well, I thought:  D (my husband) has to work today, unfortunately.  School is taking her away from us for far too long during the week. So, with a sunny Sunday stretching out in front of us, how could I resist?

N was the first customer, of course.

They were so proud of the sign they made together.  And it was mighty hard for them not to eat and drink their products before they sold any. Happily, quite a few neighbors stopped by (one of them twice). 

The girls, and even N, truly came to understand that a dime is worth more than a nickel even though it's smaller. That if someone gives you a quarter for a 5 cent cup of cider, you give them back four nickels. And when it came time to divvy up the $2 in profits, four shiny quarters equal one paper dollar.

As hokey as it sounds, I wish there was a way, far beyond photographs, to bottle up memories. Then, when you opened them up later, they would be even more delicious than they were to start.

First day

So today was E's first day of Kindergarten.

As her mama, I had--still have--so many conflicting feelings.

Pride, excitement, and happiness, of course.

Like countless other mothers, I also had strange sensations of disbelief.  How the time passed by so quickly.  How it hadn't seemed quite so quick just a few years ago, during those interminable afternoons when the nap was off-kilter, D called to say he was working late, I was running on five hours' sleep, and I didn't know how I was going to get through it all.

I still feel sorry for that "old" me, but not because I found toddlerhood hard. Instead, I want to put an arm around that self and whisper, what they say is true. It seems so difficult in the moment, but it passes by far too swiftly. And you can't get it back. Try, try, try, to pause and look around. This is a special time, a unique time, and it won't come your way again.  I know you've heard it before. I know you wanted to burst into tears of frustration when someone tried to tell you that. But this is ME talking here. 

For lots of reasons--take your pick: type A personality; who had just left a tightly wound professional world; who was far away from all family; whose friends had all decided to keep working; who lived in a neighborhood with just a few kids--I struggled hard. I'm not sure who, or what, I was fighting.

No, that's not true! I was trying, way too hard, to live in the future. How much better things would be, should be, ought to be. How it would be better if someone could babysit just an hour a week.  How lonely it was to while away the hours without an adult to talk to. How unfair it was that both grandmas lived 3,000 miles away. How no amount of planning could prevent the poop explosion, the vomiting of the entire meal, the complete inability to have one minute to myself.

Of course I had heard that I should "live in the moment." I'd heard that all my life! But what did that mean? I knew it was the key, the secret, to navigating motherhood.

I am, of course, still learning. To suggest I have advice for anyone else is, well, ludicrous. So far, in this journey, living in the moment has meant this:  when the sensation of how profoundly unfair life is sweeps over, when a bad morning is only getting worse--stop, and notice.

Notice how the anger or frustration is just a feeling, a sensation that washes over you like a wave. How it dissipates. How it is just a feeling. Yes, the situation is still bad. It might be very bad. But negative emotions, they come and go. They are not you. They need not stay.

Derailed.

 

N was sick for more than 8 days. Thank goodness, he's coming around to his usual chipper self.  I'm beyond thrilled to say that he made it through a day and a half with no fever.

 

There was something weird about the whole thing--it started out with just a cough. Absolutely nothing else.

 

D (my husband) and I have noticed for years that little N--who is just 4--has a distinct "sick smell" when he is truly ill. It's not unpleasant. It's not (as the doctor suggested) bad breath. In fact, it's a rather sweet odor; almost is endearing. Almost. On that first day of coughing, he also had his sickness smell about him. So we knew.

 

What we didn't know was that it was pneumonia. That night he developed a fever (never high--around 102). The coughing, in general, wasn't so bad. He was able to sleep pretty well. But during the day, every so often, his body would be wracked with coughs, that would make him gag, that would...you guessed it...cause him to lose whatever little food he had managed to eat.

 

Or, because the gagging only started after he received his first dose of medicine, it might have been part of a reaction (complete with hives) to the first antibiotic we tried (so now he's been declared allergic to penicillin).

 

To try to put a humorous spin on this sad situation, there were (inanimate) casualties of the gagging:

 

the gold rug in the living room that I've never, ever, ever, liked, even when it was brand new. (No tears shed.  The wooden floor will be perfectly nice, although let's hope the carpet pad did its job.) 

 

the brown chair in our living room, which (to the absolute horror of anyone who has visited us and is reading this now) has seen its share of bodily fluids in every shape and form, and must now be officially reupholstered. (I don't mean to sound heartless, but I wish he'd ensconced himself on the very stained, threadbare couch instead.)

 

the small, stuffed, teddy-bear chair in N's room that was never used much because the bear's nose poked kids in the back when they sat in it (hello! major design flaw!). E was heartbroken, but then, it was more than an hour past her bedtime when she started to mourn it.

 

You should have seen the smile on N's face when I told him we could go out tomorrow.  He just about burst with happiness.

 

 

 

 

Back to our regularly scheduled programming: loads and loads of laundry.