Thirty-five (and Ten)

(picture by Jason, taken in front of the Colosseum
during a 10-year-anniversary trip to Rome)

We have been teaching Audrey to count: by ones, by fives, by tens. We count by fingers, by seashells, by stacks of pennies, by chocolate chips. Our methods teach the concrete - items absolute. What we haven't taught Audrey about numbers is that the those little devils are tricky, sliding right through your fingers if you don't keep a tight grip and careful count.

Jason made up a hand-clap game as an easy way to give Audrey practice counting by fives and tens. He calls out a number. She has to give him enough "high tens" and high fives to add up to the number. Last week, he turned three high tens and a high five. I still remember him two high tens and a couple of fingers ago, when Madonna was queen and Hammer pants were king (Although, I don't remember ever seeing Jason in a pair. As for myself, I'm pleading The Fifth). Back then, the numbers came in pre-assembled equations with some of the variables missing. We were expected to fill in the blanks. But, we were just learning the answers.

Math class does not teach you how a boy can appear one day and magically begin multiplying his way into your life. None of the geometry theorems I puzzled through warned that someone could happen across me at ten, introduce himself at eleven, and make it his business to study my face, my moods, and the way I take my turkey sandwich. And, while math wasn't the most adept subject at holding my attention, I'm pretty sure that none of the postulates I studied warned that this sort of multiplication could extend beyond my life and right into the faces and tendencies of my children (in one's irises, and one's smile, and one's dogged persistence). But, regardless of what the textbooks tell you, this math exists. Granted, it doesn't always follow the rules. Somehow, over the span of 24 years, you might just find that one plus one has found a way to equal five. And that boy, the one who used to smuggle packs of gum into middle school, selling the individual pieces for twenty-five cents a piece in an attempt to earn enough extra cash by lunchtime for an extra Little Debbie? As of last count, he adds up to a whole lot of high fives.

So, how did the birthday boy celebrate his latest hand jive?

With a few of these:


An afternoon of this:



And a really big one of these:




That adds up to one sweet day, no matter how you count it.

A Boy Named Jack

One morning in late April, I woke before the sun, street lights humming, my duffel bag packed with essentials. Street lamps cover only the area in need: one might do well to follow suite when preparing for a short trip. But I find, when about to embark on a life-changing adventure, I like to arm myself with the things that nourish me, regardless of practicality or good sense. Somewhere between grabbing a few bites of oatmeal and my knitting-in-progress, I made a quick pass by the office bookcases, scanning the shelves for something I'd yet to read. My fingers settled on Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale, pulling it from the shelf and tucking it into one more small canvas bag for the hospital. It was five o' clock in the morning. I was leaving the house to go have a baby. No where did reading fall into my weekend plans. I have a tendency to over pack.

I did crack open the spine of the book toward the beginning of our stay. I made it just past the epigraph, a couple paragraphs into the first page before the events of real life pulled me away. I hadn't yet read the book jacket before opening the book that morning, so I found the epigraph ironically fitting for the day:

All children mythologize their birth. It is a universal trait. You want to know someone? Heart, mind and soul? Ask him to tell you about when he was born. What you get won't be the truth; it will be a story. And nothing is more telling than a story.

- Vida Winter, Thirteen Tales of Change and Desperation (fictional author from the book)

The only person who mythologizes a child's birth more than the child is, perhaps, the child's mother. So let me tell you a story, about the day a boy named Jack was born.

I find the coming of every child to be different. The day we went to the hospital to have Audrey, I knew she was coming. "Something feels different," I told Jason when I woke that morning.

"No," the doctor said, examining me later that day, "let's go ahead and schedule an appointment for you the week after your due date." Sure enough, by ten o' clock that night, I was in labor. Audrey, always one to do things her own way and keep them interesting, was almost delivered with her water sac intact. But what I remember most from that day was locking eyes with her for the first time, knowing that in an instant she had changed who I was.

I thought Nate was coming for weeks. He wasn't. I was in the doctor's office the day of his due date, hooked up to a monitor for a stress test. "You're having contractions six to seven minutes apart," the nurse said, "you're just not feeling them." The doctor suggested we go out to eat while she booked us a room at the hospital for later that evening. While last-minute Christmas shoppers filled the parking lot of the mall nearby, Jason and I went on a date to P.F. Chang's. We took our time, speculating what this little guy would be like and enjoying one last evening out for a while. When Nate did decide to come, he came like a sudden driving downpour, beating our doctor or anything resembling a real set of pushes. But, in spite of his dramatic entrance, Nate brought a sense of calm to a hectic season - our sweet boy, slow to cry and quick to cuddle for whose carefree spirit I have felt a swell of gratitude since the moment I laid eyes on him.

Jack, I believe you wanted to be born in May. If you felt rushed, I apologize. If you were hoping for the attention and quiet that come with being an only child, again, I apologize. By the time you came around, we were quite the packaged deal. Packaged deals require certain provisions - like childcare while Mama and Daddy are at the hospital. So after a week of irregular contraction teases and back pain and steadily making our way to three centimeters, we decided to make an appointment to meet you, a few days early, on a Friday that worked well for everyone involved. Luckily, you took to the plan. You arrived in less than three hours. While your birth was quicker than your brother's, yours was somehow more methodical - paced. After I give birth, I have a tendency to shake - violently. I don't know why. It worried my OB-GYN the first time she saw it. I imagine it worried your father even more. After your brother and sister were born, he made quick trips between me and each baby, not wanting to leave me in that condition for long. But with you, Jack, the tremors held off for a good twenty minutes and I was able to witness your father cut the umbilical cord and hold you for the first time, carrying you around the room; standing next to you taking videos as the nurse checked you out and commented on your tight hand grip; petitioning, once again, for the name he thought would fit you best (he was right). Audrey made me a mother, shifting my priorities and opening untapped dreams. Nathan drew us to bring our focus home, to seek and feel gratitude for the calm there, regardless of the whirlwind just outside the door. And you, Jack, gave me the gift of falling in love with your dad falling in love with you. You have already changed the world as we knew it, and we're so glad you're here.

Jack Hudson
7 lbs. 7 oz. and 19 1/4 in. long
With dark hair, pianist's fingers, and a tight grip on our hearts.

For G on His Birthday

Not all the projects around here have been of the practical sort. Some are soft on the hands and warm up the heart like this little crown, made for a dimple-cheeked boy quick to walk and easy to hug, who knows his way around a hearty laugh. These are the projects that you can't help but smile while making because while you wish you could be there to squeeze the intended recipient on his special day, you know that at least this little felt hat will be hugging his head. This, hat (ahem, "modeled" by Nate) made a trip cross-country to help my nephew, Greyson, celebrate his first birthday. Greyson, we couldn't have imagined you any better. And, one year later, we can't imagine this world without you. Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Inside

As the ice stays solid outside, we're holding solid inside, with a few trusty tools:

:: A good stock of snacks (a large batch of granola and granola bars, pulled fresh from the oven last night) and hearty meals that speak warmth regardless of what the view from the window says.

:: Creative projects to keep our hands (especially the little hands) busy (and the house quiet during Jason's conference calls). We began our homemade Valentines this afternoon by cutting hearts from old shopping bags colored perfectly for the occasion.

:: And a little celebration, no matter how silly or small it may be. Tonight, we wore hats to dinner. I found the hat template here. Technically, it's a hedgehog, not a groundhog. Yes, there is a difference. Next year, we might worry a bit more about authenticity. This year, we just worried about smiles. Perhaps, next year we should also worry about the poor dears losing a limb once their excited recipient gets his tiny - and so quick - hands on them. Ah, details - how would we build a warm day without them?

Today

I don't have much time for standing in front of mirrors, but when I do, I am reminded that I have been granted the gift of years (decades full of them). The corners of my eyes hold evidence of a childhood spent squinting in the sun and laughing with friends. Lines (crows feet, to be exact) have lingered.


I spend more time at the dinner table, hanging out in the family room, or riding in the passenger seat. During those times, I'm reminded again that I've been given the gift of years (decades full of them) - years spent next to a man who calls my crows feet "cute" and tells me that if he does his job right, my face should end up covered in laugh lines.



Today, we celebrated years, the years of one man in particular. We ate cupcakes with all the trimmings a four-year-old can dream up (and we only caught 2 of those paper flowers on fire when lighting the candles). Because, four-year-olds understand that regardless of if you're four or thirty-four, those who make you laugh, who create memories that linger on your face should be celebrated with gusto (and frosting and sprinkles and chocolate chips and maraschino cherries and squiggly candles). Because time is a gift. With sprinkles on top. Lots and lots of sprinkles.

And hopefully, lots of wrinkles to come.

To Nate, at One

Before you, I felt sorry for those born in December - their birthdays tossed in with Christmas celebrations, their presents all wrapped in red and green. But as you grow, unwrapping yourself to us a piece at a time, I realize that you could not have been born at any other time. You are like the Christmas tree, signaling that I am no ordinary creation, something special is about to happen here. Be patient. Wait. See. You beckon us with your light, warming us with the joy you naturally exude. We are captivated, caught up in your spirit, the spark of your laughter, the energy of your hands. It is our gift to watch you grow. Our ordinary days, our Decembers, and our lives are brighter simply because you joined us one winter day, not that long ago. Happy Birthday, baby.

Christmas in the Making

We've begun to trim the tree, a few ornaments at a time. With a little guy determined to walk before Christmas and a climber-extraordinaire eager to get her hands on anything we place in the tree's branches, we've decided to go simple with the ornaments this year. Think paper. Paper and other extremely light objects that won't shatter or knock anyone out on their way back to earth.



We got the idea for these ornaments from a picture in Pottery Barn Kids. Then, I found this craft tutorial, which taught us how to fold the paper. Several folds (and playful designs by the ornament artist) later, and we had a handful of ornaments to hang.

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A few notes: Ours came undone in several places and had to be retaped a bit. We used cardstock and double-stick tape to make the ornaments. I think they would have stayed a bit better with some paper that wasn't quite so stiff or some stronger tape. To fix ours, I'm just going to use a bit more tape tucked over the tops of the folds.

A Few Words on Gratitude

I believe it's time to discard the pumpkins when they catch their first snow. But, a certain little man refused to go to bed last night, so before we move those pumpkins to the compost bin and ourselves onto the Christmas season, humor me as I take a few minutes to write what I meant to post last night.

During the Thanksgiving season, I can't help but notice all the preparations happening around me (or by me and the members of my own household): the stocked carts of groceries; the composing of wish lists and lines of souls, braver than I, lined up outside of stores on the eve of Black Friday; cars being serviced and prepped for snow (okay, I haven't seen this done at our house, but I have thought about it). Thanksgiving, at times, also allows us to delight in abundance as we stuff ourselves with too much turkey and multiple desserts that look too good to pass us, and give thanks for those "scrapbook moments" - the new baby, that award at work, or family traveling from far and wide to be in the same room at once.

But, last night, during our last few hours of November, I found myself curled up on the couch with a sleepless boy and and ball of yarn, thinking about pizza sauce. Yes, pizza sauce. Monday night, I had planned on making a dish we call Tamale Pie. But somewhere along the way, I got this crazy notion that I might take a shower. I took both kids and a small pile of toys into the bathroom and told them they could play while I showered. I thought things were going swimmingly. In fact, if I had the ability to whistle what-so-ever, I would have been, right out of the shower and across the bathroom floor until I opened the closet door. Where I found Audrey, sprawled out on a pile of clothes, as if she had just raked them up into a huge jumping pile. Every shelf on Jason's side of the closet was clear, knocked to the floor. Ties, hats, shorts, and out-grown baby clothes that I had organized by size (well, somewhat) amassed from one corner to another. I was still refolding and sorting the mess when Jason let me know he was on his way home and asked about my plans for dinner. I told him that I planned to start making it after I finished reordering the closet. He offered to stop off for pizza on his drive home.

By the time he got home, that side of the closet was more organized than it's been in months (or since I began using those shelves for baby clothes storage). Jason dropped the pizza box onto the counter and I opened it to start plating dinner. That's when I saw the container of pizza sauce. The pizza usually comes with a container of garlic sauce, which I don't like. But I do like to eat my crusts and breadsticks with pizza sauce. Jason prefers cheese sauce. But there it was in the corner of the box, the garlic sauce swapped out for pizza sauce - a little moment of thoughtfulness. You won't see a picture of pizza sauce in my scrapbook (if I ever got around to finishing or beginning a scrapbook, that is), but perhaps, you should. Those little containers, and the thoughtfulness they stand for, make me smile every time. It's not quite the same as the blessing of a new baby. I'll grant you that. When everyone goes around the Thanksgiving table saying what they're thankful for, you're not going to get the same reaction from "pizza sauce" as you would for saying, "Aunt Rita being able to travel 1000 miles to be with us." (That is, if you have an Aunt Rita, if not, you might be better off saying pizza sauce, the looks you get will be just as odd). But sometimes, while calming a restless baby or preparing to enter a season known for joyous chaos, it's just as good to remember the little blessings. After all, what is life but a sum of all its little parts? So here's to pizza sauce and a season of Thanks followed by one of Joy. And, here's to you, and those little things that make you smile (even if it's the garlic sauce).

A Birthday Celebration Recap

Between our trip to California and battling a few minor health issues, some of you might be wondering if we decided to forego a birthday party for Audrey this year. Nope. We just decided to keep things on the simple side this year - no mama-made circus tents or elaborate cakes. Knowing we'd be out of town right before the party, I aimed for an occasion that could be prepped ahead of time. The idea for the party began with the gift. Audrey, so true to her fall season, loves to dress up and attempts to revisit Halloween as often as possible. I've been wanting to begin a dress up collection for her, and her birthday seemed like the perfect excuse. My idea was to collect items and make items throughout the year, so I wouldn't feel rushed at the last minute to find the perfect gift. While I only managed to finish a couple mama-made costumes to include, I love how the gift became somewhat of a family and friends project. The veil my older sister wore for her wedding, along with a little opera jacket my grandmother made, the new ballerina skirt my younger sister gave her, and an amazing cape one of the party guests made found their way inside. When I couldn't find the trunk I originally envisioned tossing all the costumes into, I went shopping in my closet. I found a suitcase I had been given while in high school by a grandmotherly family friend. It's burgundy with tiny wheels, and perfect for the job.

Gift idea underway, we stuck with a dress up theme for the party. Guests came in costume and Audrey took advantage by wearing her Halloween costume again (she lost her wings early in the afternoon before the cake was cut or gifts were open). I took advantage of the theme to make the cake as simple as possible. Audrey and I made some cupcakes (and a small cake), which she insisted be decorated with the sprinkles of her choosing (I opted for a banana cake with white icing, although for her birthday dinner, Audrey opted for this chocolate cake). The day of the party, I popped some paper dolls on top that I had printed and colored days before the party. You can find them here. They doubled as party favors. A few simple appetizers and a handmade invitation featuring a picture of Audrey in her Halloween costume, and we were set.

Audrey didn't seem to mind the simplicity. The dress up suitcase (and clown costume) was a hit. After all, it is a four-year-old's prerogative to change her mind, and her outfit.

*Sorry for the lack of pictures, we were a little too busy celebrating to get many decent shots.

Nine!

I remember several things from my high school graduation: the buzz of energy coming from the seats surrounding me; the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes; my grandparents making the drive to attend; how my parents' house felt as if the air had been removed and every inch refilled with friends attending my open house; the tears that did come when I met up with one of my cross-country teammates who was younger and I was leaving behind. But this is the hug. The one I remember. Weaving through a shuffle of people, I had found him, and then I buried myself in him. And stayed.

I'm still there. Some boys just know how to hug. Some boys, you would marry again and again. Every chance you got. Happy ninth, Jas.

Mulligan Monday

Somewhere between six and six-thirty on Sunday night, I declared a mulligan - on Father's Day. It began with a postponed trip to the grocery store (okay, it began with my tendency to procrastinate and pretend that national holidays - or those celebrated by over 50 countries, to be more precise - will wait on me to make up my mind, channel some energy from a pink, drum-playing bunny, and devise a fool-proof plan. But why get lost in specifics?). Plan finally in mind Sunday evening, Nathan and I were ready to head out the door. Audrey was not.



Audrey, let's go. Put on your shoes.
She put on the one pair of shoes I keep hiding because they are too big for her. (Somehow, these shoes keep getting found).
No. Your tennis shoes.
She put on a pair of boots thrown into the closet the day before due to rain (also too big for her, because the rain boots that fit her have hidden themselves so well that no one can find them).
Audrey, I don't have time to wait. Put on your tennis shoes.
She put on a pair of my boots.
Audrey, I'll see you later. I have to go.
I go tell Jason (playing the rare daytime video game - this coupled with a nap was Father's Day gift enough in his book) that Audrey will be staying with him while Nathan and I run to the store. Then I left her, crying in my boots.



By the time I got to the checkout line, it was past six, Jason was calling just to check in, and I was calling a mulligan (I don't play golf, so I should just say do-over, but mulligan sounds like such a jumbly mess in your mouth that it seems more appropriate). I got home, whipped something together that we called dinner, and called it a day.

Monday, we set about doing over. We got our aprons, our faces, our fingertips, and the door handle dirty while we played in chocolate. We tried out new recipes (grilled corn on the cob and The Pioneer Woman's mocha brownies) and relied on one tried and true (red potatoes diced, coated with a mix of olive oil, Italian spices, salt and pepper baked on 500 for 20 minutes or until crispy on the outside/soft in the middle). We made man food (okay, mocha brownies are on the edge of man food, I'll give you that). The man helped by manning the grill. We ate at a decent time. No boots were hurt.

It wasn't Father's Day, just Monday. But sometimes a Monday feels so good (especially one spent thinking of a certain special Daddy).

A Bag, A Bouquet, A Birthday

Yesterday I mentioned that we got a full dose of weekend, complete with a little bit of celebrating. My older, yet, younger-looking (I'm not just saying this, a few years ago she was asked if she was going to prom while having her nails done. My sister had gone to prom - a decade or so before) sister had a birthday. I had a present in the works. My sister and brother-in-law, like many of us with little kids and a sudden excess of "stuff," have been trying to reorganize and simplify things around their house. Both are neat by nature, so I was aiming for a gift that might be of some use, not just one more thing to organize or toss out later.

I settled on what I'll call produce bags - part mesh/part printed fabric with a drawstring and toggle closure. My goal was to make a set of three in different sizes with different fabrics that she could take to the farmer's market, the store, or even the beach to collect shells with her son - the possibilities are a bit endless. My free time, however, was not. I finished one bag before we stopped by her house to wish her a happy birthday. What's a little sister to do when her project comes up short? Grab a bouquet of her sister's favorite flowers and go on her celebrating way. Luckily, big sisters tend to grant their much less-organized little sisters a little leeway. Just one more thing to celebrate.

*I wish I could tell you where I got the inspiration for the bag. I saw it somewhere, most likely a book or magazine. In my idea pile was a simple sketch and some dimensions, halfway written down, which means I must have been interrupted by a certain toddler before I finished writing down the dimensions or a description of the directions. Sorry for the dark picture. What can I say, that's the quality you get when the photographer, ahem, forgets to take a picture until riding in the backseat of a car to her sister's house, sandwiched by her babes, on a cloudy rainy day.

A Very Merry UnBirthday to You

Yesterday was a Tuesday, a typical workday for most. It also happened to be my birthday. This birthday was about as unassuming as a Tuesday. No entrance into a new decade or life phase, a hefty but not obscene amount of candles due for the cake. We had already celebrated the weekend before with a fancy (yet comfy on the dress code) dinner and movie out. I planned on yesterday being an ordinary day. And, in large part it was. Jason had to head out early for a meeting (due to a firefighter's convention downtown, the meeting was farther away than usual and a hotel room had been booked for him to spend the night due to evening and early morning events, which he assists in running). The kids and I ran to the fabric store for supplies for a new project. At lunch, Audrey and I discussed the latest books she's listened to over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (mine all peanut butter, hers all jelly). We enjoyed one of Grammy's routine visits to spoil the kids with her attention and time.

On our calendar of events, things seemed pretty ordinary. But my email's inbox buzzed all day. Cards arrived in the mail and family members called. Grammy left and Audrey insisted that we bake a cake. (I have come to realize that in the child's version of the dictionary, next to the word "birthday" is a picture of cake - candle-torched icing-dripping cake). So, that's what we did. I pulled ingredients from the pantry and Audrey ran for her wooden stool. On weekends as we make pancakes, Jason tends to play music. I assume that, to Audrey, our cake-baking session must have felt like a Saturday, because my tech savvy little girl scuttled up the kitchen counter and managed (rather proudly) to turn the ipod on. In minutes we were baking to the breezy sounds of Colbie Caillat.

The cake was in the oven when I received a text message. "Leaving soon. What do you want me to pick up for dinner?" Jason had canceled his hotel room. He was going to get home a bit later than usual. He was going to have to go to bed a bit earlier than usual. He was going to have to wake up much earlier than usual. (On the whole, it may not have made much sense). But it was my birthday and he planned on showing up, dinner in hand.

I often like to celebrate the ordinary: a beautiful Monday might warrant the return of our hammock to the lawn; Nathan's laugh leads to an hour of nighttime play when we should both be asleep; Audrey's wonder at the rain stems to raincoats, boots, and a walk through the puddles. But sometimes, on a Tuesday, it's nice to be celebrated amongst the ordinary - to be pulled up by the kind words of others, the sweet gestures. For others to go to the trouble of showing up, of baking you a cake. Thank you to everyone for making an ordinary day one I was happy to call my own. A very merry unbirthday to you!

33!

One day last year Jason came home to find me utterly defeated. I don't remember the day or the events that led to my defeat. I just remember Jason walking through the door at the end of his workday. "I didn't even get the dishes done today," I said.

"It's fine that you didn't get the dishes done," he said. "But just be happy that you didn't do them." Those two sentences changed my outlook that night and every day since. Now when my days get rushed and I start to feel like the cartoon character being dragged from a speeding car by her own shirt sleeve (that she was silly enough to get stuck there in the first place), I think of his words. As everything around me spins and falls out of my control, I smile for a minute and think of all the tedious things I'm not spending my day doing. And, suddenly, the ground feels a little steadier.

Today, that husband of mine, the one who steadies my ground and seems to come with an endless supply of much-needed pep talks, turns 33. And, while I know it's his birthday, somehow I feel like I'm the one who got the gift.

Thank goodness for this day. Happy birthday, Jason.

Let Them Eat Cake (and Some Appetizers)

This year Audrey has begun to group like things: pointing out the blue objects in a room, mastering Where's Waldo, and just this morning comparing my eyes to the browning trees outside. So, it should come to no surprise that after attending a few birthday parties this year she began to associate all such gatherings with the presence of cake. To hear her tell it, the most important aspect of any birthday party is the presence of cake. I was careful to not disappoint.

Last year, with a 50% off coupon, I ran across and purchased this Giant Cupcake Pan by Wilton. Then, like most of my random kitchen purchases, it sat in a cabinet for a year waiting for the perfect occasion to unveil itself. That occasion came last weekend when I decided that a huge cupcake looks an awful lot like the shape of a tent.

Armed with a box mix (I decided to take a little help this year) and this recipe from Anne Bryn, aka the Cake Mix Doctor, I got to work. I didn't use a German chocolate cake mix since I had a chocolate fudge one on hand. I opted out of using pecans as well (having other plans for decorating my cake in mind). I didn't have cinnamon chips at home (and my box mix had small chips in it) so I used 1/4 c. of 60% cacao bittersweet chips, although next time I think I would throw in the entire 1/2 c., simply because I can't think of a good reason not to. I also used a different recipe for the frosting. During high school and summers off from college, I worked at a little tea room called Almost Home. They make an incredible carrot-pineapple cake with cream cheese frosting. I used the cream cheese frosting recipe from their cookbook for Audrey's cake.

I liked the flavor of the cake, but I think I over baked it a touch because I was hoping for something just a hair more moist. (And due to my inexperience with the odd-shaped pan, I didn't know how long to keep it in the oven). Once out of the oven and iced, I used Pull-n-Peel Twizzlers to make red tent stripes (I was looking for a quick-fix to decorating). A few M & Ms on top (my husband's brilliant suggestion) to hide a mishap that occurred when I discovered our cake container was a tad bit too short for the cake and one blue flag made using, card stock, a toothpick, tape, and a "3" stamp, and the cake was finished. The fake grass is some that I reuse every year for our Easter baskets. As for the little elephant candle in front, that was the candle on my ninth birthday cake (that my mother saved and gave me when I was pregnant with Audrey). The cupcakes were made using another box mix and some store-bought icing, topped with more homemade blue flags. Easy-peesy.


Of course, as much as my toddler would love to try, one doesn't live on cake alone. So we added a few little snacks in the mix. Our veggie tray included some carrot "shavings" made using the vegetable peeler, because while Audrey rarely eats carrot sticks, carrot shavings are a different story. Then the Noah's ark cookie cutter set made a reappearance. I used them to make animal-shaped Jell-o jigglers and then again for some animal-shaped cheese slices.

It may look as if I went a little overboard with our party and theme. But most of these ideas are inexpensive, easy to do ahead of time, or just plain easy. Because while I was into a small party that celebrated big, big stress was not on the agenda. And now to go find out what this whole third year is about...

What's a Circus Without a Tent?

Just animals on parade, perhaps?

Like most toddlers, Audrey loves to tuck herself under her sheets with as many stuffed animals as she can manage to gather around her. Cushions are simply "blocks" for weekend fort-building sessions with her Dad. If you're not up for a game of hide-n-seek, involving crawling under clothing racks, strapping Audrey in a cart to navigate department stores is a must. As for those curtains that I thought I hung to give the option of blocking a little more light, well, they're much more practical for hiding from monsters.

You know where this is going. Before you could say "Barnum and Bailey," I decided that Audrey needed a birthday tent. I looked for an internet tutorial on how to make a tent and found this one on the Sew Mama Sew blog (their teepee pictures are much better). It's actually a tutorial for a kid's teepee, but close enough. Of course, I didn't follow the pattern to the letter. It calls for painter's canvas, but I used duck cloth, which seemed to work just fine. Oh, and as for that little teepee/tent problem, I tried to solve it by making a blue flag out of felt to slide over the tops of the bamboo posts - not a perfect fix, but it worked. (I will tell you, this is not a simple project to pull off for a late fall/winter birthday. Bamboo garden posts are not easy to come by in the off-season. Luckily, Audrey's Grammy works at a nursery and with her help, we were able to procure the posts we needed. Thanks Grammy and John!).

I kept this project hidden away while I worked on it. Jason rearranged the family room furniture and we set the tent up in a corner for Audrey to find the morning of her birthday. And while I don't have any pictures to demonstrate (I don't like to spend my time at parties taking pictures, nor do I like to post pictures of others' children without permission), the tent was a hit with our roomful of toddlers, especially the birthday girl.

The nice thing about this tent, or teepee, is that it's portable and doesn't take up much space when taken apart. Use it inside or out, put it up or down as needed. Jason deconstructed ours after the party, but this morning Audrey asked of its whereabouts, so I have a feeling it will make a reappearance this week. Oh, and as for you non-sewing mamas or papas who would love a teepee for your little one? It's a no-sew project. Although, I think I would like to sew up two hems on mine, just to keep fraying at bay.

Now will you humor me with one more day of birthday celebration posts? Then I will move on to something else, I promise.

Weekend Circus

I was in the Virginia kitchen of one of Jason's aunts when another aunt began explaining what I have now come to think of as Aunt Laura's "begot principle." She used the principle to explain the cozy kitchen surrounding us - how one piece of furniture begot the purchase of the curtains, which begot the purchase of table linens, which begot... (you get the idea).

Audrey's birthday weekend was a little like that. It began with some innocent fabric. Free fabric. Child-friendly fabric. Fabric that one has no idea how she will use, just that she can surely find a way. Irresistible, bringing-it-home-with-me fabric.




So three lengths of fabric, the size of table runners, came home with me at the beginning of the summer and sat in a pile to await what they would become. The longer they sat, the more determined I became that this little fabric was destined to party - children's gift bag-style. Conveniently, I have a child. Even more convenient, she has a birthday. And luckily for the both of us, she thinks circus animals are just great.



Two of the table runners stayed as is and continued their function as table runners at Audrey's party this weekend. The third became eight small tote bags tied with white ribbon and a thank you message from Audrey to serve as party favors. They're perfect for stashing childhood treasures, and before that, perfect for stashing some homemade sugar cookies, which is just how we used them.

The lion cookie in the first picture was made using a Sassafras superstone cookie mold that one of my sisters had given me years ago. The lovely people at Sassafras included a sugar cookie recipe on the mold's label, which turned out to be yummy (and easy to make with the help of toddler hands - well, at least the dough). Of course, I couldn't just fill our bags with lions, which is where the whole begot process started. I began buying other cookie cutters (using 40% off coupons as rationalization): a Wilton set of stackable cutters to create unique bear faces, which I kept simple and unstacked for this party; and a Wilton Noah's ark set for some smaller projects I had in mind.

I wish that I could tell you that this is where the principle and I parted ways (albeit, if we had, the party would not have been quite the circus it became). But, clearly, that's not the nature of the begot principle. And so, hand-in-hand, the principle and I continued, and begot some more: more ideas; more projects; more supplies; and a little less sleep, but definitely more birthday smiles. But more on that tomorrow...

Weekend Celebration

Happy Birthday to my little sister, who lives far away in distance but is always close at heart (and who I'm so excited I was able to spend Sunday with). The cake is carrot cake, made by my mom, half slathered in icing and half not-so-much in fitting with her mother's desire to please us all. Contrary to what the candles might imply, my little sis did not just turn three (although, when looking at this picture Audrey insisted that it was her birthday cake - and acted as such when she rearranged the candles, hence the extra holes on top). But three or not, my sister has managed to hold onto that inner joy so fully present in childhood and so easily spread. And, that is a reason to celebrate. Happy Birthday, shaky mama!

Let the Party Commence

After several stamping and coloring sessions (intent on keeping little fingers busy),



and a demonstration on double-fisted drawing,

this weekend I finished Audrey's birthday invitations. We tend to keep our parties simple, family and a few friends (we aim for not more than one same-age friend for each year of the age she's turning, so 3 this year) at home. Still, I find myself a bit preoccupied with birthday-buzz each October as I try to think of creative ways to ring in the beginning of a new year of Audrey adventures and celebrate this vibrant little one who has made each day since her arrival a day to celebrate.

Let the circus, I mean, party planning begin.

Countdown to Three

This weekend I pulled out Audrey's birthday crown to sew on the flower that will mark three years come November (I add one for every year). I can't believe we're almost there. And, I can't wait to see what this new year brings.

But first, there are things of great import to think about. Like cake. Definitely cake.