CreativeSpace

fall musings

Moving further south has not been without its challenges, one of them being the weather. I prefer a steady change of seasons that correspond with the page turns of the calendar. When I flip the page to September, I want the feeling of chilly September nights and the red-gold of changing leaves. Little did I know I'd have to wait until close to the end of October to have a night approaching "cool." (we're talking in the low 70's!)

 

So I've stuffed Little Bear into sweaters and jackets while she stares at me with a mutinous look and says, "Mommy. HOT!"

I fall back to my trusty calendar and show her the date. "See, it's October."

Bears could care less about calendars. Next thing I know she's racing past me naked except for her diaper. This is how many of my days end up: naked bear on the rampage.

 

 

 

What I'm really looking forward to is a hard frost that will kill all the damn mosquitoes. Holy carp! We were outside kicking a soccer ball yesterday, and I got bit on the eyebrow. The EYEBROW! It wasn't enough that my lifes blood was being sucked. Oh no. The stinking insect had to taunt me by feeding somewhere ridiculous. I have the bulging red mark to show for it and will dress as Igor for Halloween as a result. All I need is a fake hump. 

 

 

There will be some changes in content around here with some new links going up etc. The timing is perfect. Fall is upon us, the season for cleaning out and organizing. I have quite a To Do List ahead of me regarding the cleaning out aspect. 

And there goes the naked bear streaking past me. Pardon me for a moment...

 

 

the bears and the bees

 

Contrary to her bear nature, Little Bear isn't a fanatic about honey. She has recently discovered the joy of peanut butter, as have my pants, my hair and the window sills. She dissects her prey, I mean sandwich, with the precision of a surgeon, carefully peeling apart the slices of bread and then licks it clean of peanut butter. Sometimes she eats the bread, but most of the time it is abandoned in ragged pieces on the plate. Recently I've begun adding just a dollop or two of honey, and after a tentative lick, she proceeds with her usual enthusiasm.

Have you ever noticed the differences in honey? At one point I blithely purchased honey at the grocery with nary a thought as to the source. It wasn't until my friend, Phil, began keeping bees that I gave it much consideration. The average grocery brand is actually a combination of honey from a variety of hives, and as one of my friends put it, is only good as an addition to yogurt. Or when you're desperate, was the implication. 

My favorite honey is orange blossom or clover which I buy from the organic Amish farmer when I head north to visit my mother. During my first trip to the farmer's market here, I purchased a small jar of honey from a local farmer that declared, BLESSED BEES! across the front. The jar was $8.00, and my mother muttered that it cost that much to have the preacher drive out to the hives every day for a blessing. The honey is good, light and sweet, but at that price it should have healing properties.

For Little Bear, honey and peanut butter is only an appetizer. Real breakfast consists of her favorite food, bacon. The bear is a bacon bandit. I have to place the cooling strips high up on the counter or else she steals them. She acts like she'll share, but I know better.

 

chicken poop sandwich: a morality tale

My mother called the other day irritated and snarly about a persistent someone who was stealing her detergent. She had medical students for neighbors, and although they were very quiet because they were almost never home, they made an appearance to do laundry. The coin operated washer and dryer lived in the basement, and because there were only four units in the building, my mother kept her liquid detergent there as well.

It quickly became obvious that someone was using her laundry supplies, so she left a note taped to the lid politely requesting that they buy their own. When that failed to deter the thief, she moved the detergent and hid it amongst her flower pots and potting soil. The stinker had the audacity to paw through her stuff and used it again. Then failed to cover up the crime by returning it to its hiding space.

To add insult to injury, there was another jug of detergent setting out for anyone to steal. It was a cheap brand, though, and not that great at cleaning.

So what's a mother to do? My mother claimed that she was going to add blue dye to her liquid detergent. When the thief pulled out their wet clothes, navy blue dye would be streaked throughout the load. I was a little shocked at my mother's plan of revenge, and I suggested that maybe she take the detergent upstairs with her instead of leaving it in the basement. That didn't go over well. It was the principle of the thing, you see. Then she told me the story of the chicken poop sandwich.

Her friend Ginny, who was a Quaker, had her sandwich routinely stolen in high school. This happened day after day until her mother decided to make a chicken poop sandwich. She dressed it up with tomato and lettuce so that it looked like the usual sandwich. It was the last lunch ever stolen from Ginny. The moral of the story? Don't screw with pacifists.

So my mother took a page from Ginny's mom's book of revenge. If you're a stealer, don't be surprised if you end up with a mouthful of chicken poop. And a load of streaky dyed laundry.

 

About the photograph: This is my bunny friend, Meadow, and when she first appeared in our yard three weeks ago, I was ecstatic. Having lived half my life in the city, this was the first time I had ever had a bunny in my yard. (It probably helps to actually have a yard. And no fence.) She emerged from the tree line every afternoon to slowly hop through the yard, nibbling at clover and generally looking voluptuous and serene. Everything was beautiful and peaceful, and I spent a lot of time at the kitchen watching my new furry friend. And then Scrapper made an entrance.

Scrapper looks exactly like his name. He's scrawny, and thin and his fur is coming out in tufts. One afternoon as I watched Meadow begin her supper, Scrapper came racing out of the woods and promptly thumped her with his hind legs. Have you seen rabbits fight? There is nothing cute and snugly about it. They leap high in the air and propel their back feet at their opponents with powerful kicks. Poor Meadow was no match, and she retreated to the shelter of the holly bushes along our back porch. Scrapper knew he had her beat, so he waited for her. She couldn't stay under there forever. After watching him for a few moments, only one solution came to mind.

I let the dog outside.

in bear news

In recent bear events, there was the declaration that only dresses would be tolerated. Being a devoted mother, I set about sewing just that. Little did I realize that there were dress specifications. I mean, I'm talking about a 2-year-old. Surely, there can't be that many specifics. Foolish. Last. Words.

I purchased the most darling Oliver + S pattern; Tea Party Sundress, Bloomers, and Playsuit. You can see the dress patterns here and don't blame me if you spend the rest of your day clicking through their website. I have to give them high marks, not just for the excellent design and packaging of the pattern but for the high quality pattern paper and specific instructions. My proverbial hat is off to you, Oliver + S.

Here is the top of Little Bear's sundress (because you won't get a decent look at it in any other picture).

 

I made that bias tape my very own self, and I made it incorrectly. But still...I made it! It matches the lining and the bloomers, which have yet to be sewn together.

 

 

The buttons are my favorite part aside from the bias tape. (that I made!)

 

 

My first mistake was showing her the dress while I was still sewing it. She cried when she couldn't wear it that very moment. My second mistake was trying to get her to wear it when I was finished. You see, she didn't want to wear it when I wanted her to wear it. As with all Little Bear things, it had to be her idea first.

I whisked the freshly pressed dress into her room and asked, (excitement shining in my eyes) "do you want to try on your new dress?"

"No." Little Bear wrinkled her nose like it smelled bad.

"Mommy sewed it just for you. Look, it has blue kitties on it."

"NO!" Little Bear shouted. "Dress!" she said and pointed at her green Easter dress. The one with the FULL skirt that twirls. (You know who else required dresses with full skirts that twirled when they were little? Little Bear's Nonna. But that's a whole 'nother post.)

Her new dress with the blue kitties hung in her closet a full week without being worn, and every day I asked if she wanted to wear it. Every day she said no, and each day I cried a little bit into my coffee. OK, so I only cried the first day. Then I decided to get sneaky.

The thing about bears is that in a head-to-head confrontation, you'll never win. Bears are strong and willful with claws. I realized that I had to present the dress as if I could care less about the outcome. So I hung it on the handle to her closet with a nonchalant glance, like, "oh I'll just put this here temporarily while I'm busy doing something else."

Five minutes later Little Bear brought me the dress. "Dress," she said.

"Do you want to wear it?"

"No," she said.

"Fine. Well, I'll just hang it here until later." I turned my back and left it there, but Little Bear couldn't resist and carried the dress downstairs to The Husband.

Ten minutes later she was back upstairs handing me the dress. I put it on her and she wore it the entire day. The entire day!

So Creative Peeps, I am one happy girl today. Not only did I complete a sewing project but I outmaneuvered a bear. (I'll have to savor this moment, because they're few and faaaaaaar between.)

ME NO LIKE!

Little Bear is a two-year-old of definite opinions. See that expression? She has decided that she doesn't like having her picture taken. Nor does she like to wear pants.

EVER.

One fine spring morning not so long ago, I pulled out a pair of pink pants from the Pants Party Days that are now about an inch to short (although I ignore that and pretend that they're toddler capris) and proceeded to go about getting Little Bear into them. She promptly burst into mad tears and wailed, "ME NO LIKE!" As if I were trying to squeeze her into a mohair bodysuit, not a pair of soft, cotton pants that she's worn a bazillion times before.

"What would you like to wear?" I asked.

"Pretty dress," she sobbed and covered her face with her hands.

I trudged back to the closet, rolling my eyes where she couldn't see them and pulled out a dress. "This one?" I asked.

"No. Red one," she said between the cracks in her fingers.

My loud sigh coincided with her dramatic sniffle, but I produced the desired togs and we went on with our day. I thought the incident was a fluke, but I fear it's now a full-blown stage. And I've been so busy with writing and preparing my submission for Skull Appreciation Day (more about that in the next day or so) that sewing for Little Bear has fallen by the wayside. For the time being we rotate the same dresses (sometimes twice depending on how bad the blueberry stains show up) every week. This morning I saw a spot of dried porridge on the dress of the day but just turned it to the back. She'll never know the jumper's on backwards.

Check out one of Little Bear's favorite dresses:

 

My mom made this for me back in the day, and it fits Little Bear perfectly. She wore it to church on Sunday even though she dripped maple syrup on the skirt. (By the way, an extra thanks to the man behind us who permitted Little Bear to take his hymnal for her horses to read.)

I think the embroidered flowers are my favorite part:

 

 

And lest you think Little Bear changed her mind about the photo shoot...

P.S. She practices that face in the bathroom mirror. (I wish I were kidding.)