The sun finally appeared today, making it actually feel like the first day of summer break.  Truman was a little bummed leaving school yesterday because he had first-grade-teacher-love for his first grade teacher, and will miss her.  After making an 8-page booklet dedicated to her, with pronouncements of love and appreciation perfectly illustrated with his best snakes, tigers, and everything he loves that’s not a weapon, he told her good-bye.

We spent most the day with neighbor girl, who we love, and a special summer break favorite, backyard fun at the cousins (who we super love).

Next up, our first Harvest Box from our CSA farm on Tuesday!  Can’t wait!

Happy summer everyone!

i love this song.

Wow.  What a week.  I’ll try not to whine, but after twelve days of boy illnesses, a bout with it myself, antibiotics, and a spouse in Boston, I’m beat.  I really don’t know what I would have done without my mom (and dad) around during this time.  Especially their willingness to take feisty small boy away from his sick and easily agitated mother brother.  Thanks mom.

I still don’t feel great, so perhaps the weepies are close at hand.  Then I checked my mailbox and found a fat envelope filled with teacher warm fuzzies.  

And I wept yet again.  

Another group of fabulous young adults are graduating from high school, young adults that blessed me with their laughter, brilliance, and energy every day during their 8th grade year.  Wow, we did have fun that year.  I have lots of memories from this class of kids a whopping four years ago.  Even a kid from my math class wrote a sweet note.  Yes, folks.  Math.  

 I love whoever at the high school does this.  They know what gets at a teacher’s soul.  This pack of notes would have been a gift, no matter the circumstance.  But today, weary and tired, I appreciate them all the more.  

Congratulations class of 2008.  You are the ones we’ve been waiting for.

Boots: $12 on ebay

Hat & vest: $11 at the local trift store

Holster: $1 thrift store purse - repurposed

Bandana: free from my stash

Badge: homemade

6.75 year-old who wants to dress up and play cowboy: priceless

At last Saturday’s t-ball game he swapped out the mismatched boots for his fire helmet.  He’s becoming famous with the t-ball crowd for his fashion sense.  And, honestly, amidst all the baseball caps, this was pretty cute.

Along with the stylish boot phase, Asher also loves mail.  So one day we made him his own mailbox, and sometimes he even gets some of his own mail.  Last week, after hearing the mailcarrier’s heavy boots on the porch and our creeky mailbox telling us of his sneaky work, he went out to check his box.  Disappointed that it was empty, he yelled across the street, “Where’s my mail?” to our friendly carrier.  The carrier just waved his friendly wave.  

I wonder what phase is next…

I won’t mention any names, but I have one pal who LOVES to be the go-to mom for kid costumes. Is it 4:00 on Halloween and need a costume? Call her. By knowing her, I have had several ah-ha moments of all sorts, because that’s the type of gal she is, but recently I admired the capes and cloaks her boys have. She made them all from thrifted fabric and they are great.

So, on a whim, like I am apt to do, I decided to “whip up” a cape or two for my guys this evening, because small guys love capes. I should have done this years ago when they started running through the house with their blankies tied in knots around their necks, but sometimes I’m slow.

I’m not a sew-er, but I do know how to sew a straight line and buttons. Thus, the cape: left over navy fabric, white thread (because I hate changing thread and making new bobbins) and “pirate gold” broach-like buttons. The beauty of it is my rudimentary skills are enough because it doesn’t have to be well-crafted, just well loved.

And tonight it was.

In honor of a coworker who battled breast cancer during the school year, Brendon, Truman and I participated in Relay for Life last June.  In doing so we realized that cancer has hit Bren’s family pretty hard, so we dedicated a luminary to his cousin who, in the middle of his senior year of high school, was diagnosed with cancer, fought it and won.  Way to go Ryan!

We’re doing it again this year, and so I can tailor my fundraising efforts to fit my bloggy lifestyle, to the 7 people who might actually visit this blog in a week, feel free click on this link to donate to the cause.  Heidi, you don’t need to because you’re on my team, so that leaves my 6 other readers to be guilted into donating. Mom?  Dad? 

Thanks all.

I spent many years performing all sorts of acrobatic feats, trying to inspire middle school kids to find their voice and write. In my own house, kid writing has blossomed recently, which has been fun to watch.

Couple that with an afternoon whim of tearing apart old calendars, I folded them in half-ish, filled them with blank paper, and ran a simple stitch down the side for a binding. I’ve made mini books before, but there’s something special about these soft-bound wonders.

Tru loves them. He took the first and filled it with proclamations of love for his family and Transformer drawings. Even before he left to go to his grandparents’ house for the night, he grabbed one from the stack and stuffed it in his backpack. Warmed my writing heart. And my sewing machine.

I made four more this afternoon.

During my monster-making phase, my nephew designed his own monster one afternoon. Since he was specific and wanted yellow eyes, and I didn’t have any yellow embroidery floss or felt, it took a while before I was able to get yellow-eye materials… and my gumption. I had to make cute pillow covers for the living room first, for some reason.

I finally made his monster, from start to finish, on Monday night, thanks to Dancing with the Stars. And I think it looks pretty close to his design, which is great, because his picture is so cute.

So, I hear that Nephew told some pals at school that his aunt would make some monsters - all they needed to do was draw a picture. Supposedly, there’s a stack of pictures at my sis-in-law’s house waiting to be delivered to me.

Sorry kids. Nephew gets the last one.

Asher spent about a week choosing to wear boots. Mismatched boots. All four boots would be in a pile together and he specifically chose one of each, disregarding how many lefts or rights he had. They went famously with “my special raincoat”. Yes, they did.

This ranks right up there with my niece wearing her well-loved bunny slippers to a restaurant.

I’m so glad I snapped these pictures last Saturday, because, like a good piece of chocolate, it’s over all too soon.

I like the way squirrels run.

* Yes, I’m at work.  Yes, I’m looking out my window.  Yes, I’m thinking, processing, you know, working!  What I don’t know is why I must continuously listen to this song.  I’m not even a BSB fan, but it’s like an audio drug.  Even carpenter ants falling on my desk do not deter me from listening to it.  

But now that I’ve looked up the video, I can honestly say that it is visually unappealing to me.  So if you dare, whatever you do, don’t watch, just listen (no offense to BSB fans everywhere, and I know you’re out there).  

That’s good squirrel watching music!

As mentioned earlier, I finally saw Juno.  Knowing we’d never make it to a movie theater for a date while it was still in wide release, I think I put it in my Netflix que back in February.  It made it’s way to dvd last week and to our mailbox 2 days later.  So, Friday night was Juno night.

It was as I had hoped.  Indy, quirky, fun.

In February 1986, I was 17 and a huge John Hughes movie fan.  And an even bigger Molly Ringwald fan. I think in the back rafters of my attic I still have the issue of Time Magazine when she was on the cover.  So when Pretty in Pink came out, I was gleeful, to say the least.  I even drove through corn fields ALL THE WAY to Grand Rapids with a couple of pals, the 2 other Ringwalettes in my tiny school, to see it as soon as humanly possible. My romantic younger self enjoyed the storyline, but what I really loved was Molly’s fashion sense and her ability to repurpose items to make interesting outfit.  Yes, of course, silly.  I did in fact start dressing like her with all my thrifted wonders (and stuff I stole from my mom’s closet).

All this to say, I think if Juno would have been around when I was 17, I would have loved her style of talk and view of the world (minus the bun in the oven – duh!).    I would probably have found a pipe to just hold for no reason.  I would have loved that she and I had the same taste in music.  And I would have started quoting her.

Ok, adult Amy did, in fact, start quoting the movie after seeing it only twice.  This made Brendon laugh (until I said, “Geez Banana, shut your freakin’ gob, ok?).  This was not a surprise to me.  I figured I’d like it like I like other movies like this.  Napoleon Dynamite.  Need I say, like, more?

What did surprise me was my adult-self identifying with one of the characters, adoptive mom Vanessa.  I wasn’t surprised that Jennifer Gardner was good in the role, but what truly astounded me was how she captured all the nuances of the emotions a waiting adoptive mom feels.  Do adoptive moms have baby showers before the baby comes?  

We did have one shower, to be honest, before T came home.  We shared a shower at our church with, luckily, another adoptive family.  I think it would have been awkward had it been a pregnant couple.  Let me tell you, one of the hardest things about being a waiting adoptive family is the fact that you have no due date.  Other moms get induced if they go too long, but there is no induction, no c-section for adoption.

Also, adoption “pregnancy” is all in your head.  If you were gifted with a level noggin, all the better.  I, hmmm… was not, which ended up giving me a good case of post-adoption depression.  I did not have the physical embodiment of my baby.  No kicking.  No pats on the tummy from perfect strangers asking me how far along I was.  No stamp on my forehead that said, “Be nice to me, I’m and expectant mother, you just can’t tell.”  And I didn’t have this t-shirt.  All I had was one picture of a small cute baby boy, a baby I had yet to meet.  I trusted the fact that he was being loved and taken care of, and hoped that his birthmom wouldn’t change her mind.  So how much emotion do I commit to this baby picture anyway?

And this was the agonizingly beautiful portrayal of Vanessa.  Did I cry at the end when Juno cried.  No.  Did I cry when Vanessa saw her baby for the first time.  You betcha.  Did I cry when the nurse had to tell her that was her baby?  Yes.  I cried because I know what it’s like to really be unsure if that baby is yours and you just stand there and wait until *somebody actually has to say to you* “Would you like to hold your son?” 

I think I need to go get a blue slushee, or like, ten tons of Sunny D.

We’ve been eating a lot more veggies around here lately, so one day, as I was trimming several heads of broccoli for our evening meal, I thought, “If Brendon and I were on the Newlywed Game and they asked him what was my favorite raw vegetable, I don’t think he’d know that it’s broccoli stem.”

Yes, broccoli stem.

The summer before I moved to the PNW I worked in the touristy city near my hometown at a small hotel as the server for their tiny eating area.  I shared the work with a brassy chef who told me her opinions of food, and well, life.  No avoiding it in such close quarters.  I really only listened to her food opinions as I watched her make yummy dishes, my first peek into gourmet lunches.  

Her conspiracy theory about broccoli was: since it’s sold by weight, and people only eat the florets, and the stem weighs the most, “the man” was ripping off the broccoli-eating public.  Then, most importantly, she told me that despite this, most people don’t realize that the healthiest part of the broccoli is the stem and if you peel away the tough exterior skin, there is a tasty jewel inside.  Like my great aunt Clara.

To be honest, homeskillet, I have no idea if this is true or not.  I’ll probably fire up Wikipedia after I post this dealio just because I’m a geek, but really, who cares?  I will still prepare the trees for steaming, then remove the outer covering until I get that perfect veggie with no ranch dip required.  Oh, man.  

I do know how to live.

p.s. and yes, i did just see Juno, *finally*.  but that’s another post.

…you teach at a university and then your dad does too and they get your classes mixed up (and they are very different classes, mind you)?

If you would have told me that in 1987 while sitting in art class at Fennville High School wearing black because I wasn’t able to go see U2 in Detroit at the Silverdome for the Joshua Tree tour, I would have laughed and laughed and laughed… then kept on drawing.

My friend, Kim, has raised a small feathered female community from chick-hood to adolescence to their newest phase of embracing their life’s work.  What a funny little brood they are.  Like sisters, they tease and celebrate each other.  Every day is another day with a chicken story.  And I love to hear chicken stories. 

When we were gifted eggs from Angel, Ginger, Liza & Jane (the twins) and Dot, it was fun to give the boys a choice of whose egg they wanted for breakfast.  As the picture shows, Ginger’s was first chosen and that was before they knew she was the one with the blue eggs.  The choice was quick and intentional, no doubt because they have come to know these chickens too.  How cool is that.  

Thanks girls.

…but we had the first taste of summer today. Sun, campfire, squirt guns, s’mores.

Another muddy day in Asherville.

Love

Love

Love