Last Harvest

Two Sundays ago Zach and I went to our neighbor’s house and cleaned the last of the apples off his trees. We’d already had a few frosty mornings, so we were worried that we wouldn’t be in time. Lots of the apples were moldy, bird-pecked, or worm eaten, but Zach was still able to make applesauce, fresh juice, and dried apple rings from the good ones. They’re small, but SO delicious, and Zach processed three boxes worth.

The Boogedy enjoyed the hour or so we spent under the trees, he just kept eating big bites from the apples we picked, and throwing them back in the boxes. We made those ones into juice. We had the boxes of apples in our entryway for a few days, but kept finding them tossed onto the stairs and under the stairs and into the dog’s bed. The Boogedy’s getting diaper rash from eating so many.

Bohemian Baby

Thanks to Michelle at Green Kitchen for a fabulous tutorial on these sweater pants! I shopped at the local thrift store last weekend, and found the perfect sweater, but it was a women’s medium, MUCH smaller than her tutorial suggested. So, I couldn’t use the sleeves, but I was able to cut a pattern from the front and back of the sweater. I’ve never sewn pants before, so my mom had to help, because my brain wasn’t grasping it (again, that’s because I didn’t actually follow Michelle’s explicit and clear instructions).

Oh yeah, and the sleeves from this thrifted sweater are going to be a pair of trendy legwarmers for me. They are sure to be way cooler than the plum slouchy pair I had when it was actually the 80s.

Now my guy is a colorfully clad dreamboat. This bohemian outfit is finally something stylish enough to rival Sonia’s quirky kids. Yes, I did knit that hat. And that sweater (successfully put in a zipper, by the way!!). But those maroon curtains are original to our 90s luxury van. I wish you could see the big tv in there …(it’s true, I’m not the mom I thought I’d be…he watches Winnie the Pooh when he’s cranky).

Sicky Boy

I learned something interesting this weekend. Motherhood has changed me in a funny way. The smell of my toddler’s vomit in the middle of the night does not turn my stomach. A handful of vomit is just something I’ve got to hold onto until I can throw it away after settling the baby back down to sleep. Sheets that smell like vomit can wait til tomorrow to be changed, or even the next day, if it looks like the gombu is going to last a while. Leaving work early to go home and be immediately barfed on is still worth it for the look in a Boogedy’s big brown eyes when dad says “mom’s home!”. A look that says, “this substandard Dad-care is no substitute for Mommy-love when I’m ill”.

He was sicker than this last January, when he was so wan that he could neither protest nor enjoy a pony ride. Those thermometer pacifiers are Nice, if a tad inaccurate.

January 08 flu