Four-Year-Old's Thoughts

Tonight after supper, I sent Helen to the bathtub. I let her soak while I was cleaning the kitchen. Several minutes passed until I checked on her, letting her know I was ready to wash her.

She said, "Mom, I just want to die."

I wasn't sure I heard her correctly, so I asked her to repeat herself.

"Mom, I want to see Quinn again."

Sweetheart.

I explained that Jesus had a different plan for Quinn than He has for her, that He has something special for her to do here on earth while she is alive, something special for her to learn. "And besides," I told her, "Daddy and I would miss you so much, and we would be so sad if you died."

Her solution? "Then our whole family should die together."

Late Christmas Projects

This Christmas, we filled stockings for the kids. As usual, I wanted to make my own version.

I found the perfect fabric at JoAnn, so perfect in fact that I bought more to make myself a blanket. I drafted a pattern for the stockings, and cut out and sewed one late at night while watching the latest Bond movie. Neither turned out well. I gave up for several days, then finished the other two later. Of course, each stocking needed to be marked with its owner's initial. And once again, no crafting supplies have my heart as much as felt and embroidery floss. Since I've learned to move when inspiration strikes, I scissored up the initials in between adding product to and blow-drying my hair one morning. I used a diamond-shaped cookie cutter as a pattern for the ornament, and frantically sewed them the day the kids opened their stockings.
The cookie cutter pattern gave me an idea:


A gingerbread man in the hand is worth two in the....cookie jar? This poor guy will have to wait a whole year to join the ornaments on my tree, since I made him in January during our Life Group's getaway to Pine Mountain, Georgia.

On our way home from Pine Mountain, we stopped in Auburn for lunch and some shopping. Do you think the kids love their new shirts?

Thinking about...

...dead babies and crooked landlords.

One gracious hand of God holds us tightly. The other is hidden, for the time being.

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
my hope comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge."

Psalm 62:5-8

Dress for Bella

Here's a little dress I made for a friend whose baby girl is due in February.
In my typical last-minute fashion, I was sewing on the buttons as Jason drove to the party. (The little Swiss Army knife scissors in my truck's console has been a lifesaver on more than one occasion.) I've made this pattern before, but it has a few problems. I was extremely satisfied with myself for figuring out some of the kinks, one being that the collar always stuck up funny, and another that the sleeve hems looked frumpy.

Sometimes I am timid to give handmade gifts because I'm afraid they won't be liked. Hit or miss, I still love to make things, and when I make a gift, I'm thinking of and praying for that person. At any rate, I look forward to meeting little Bella some time next month!

Cooking with HIPPY

This summer, I enrolled Helen in her first non church-related organized event, and this fall she began the HIPPY program in Atmore. And if you wonder what in blue blazes HIPPY is, skip to my link.

Helen was standoffish at first, and dreaded the initial testing. Gradually she warmed up to our home educator, Mrs. Teresa, and now she looks forward to doing a little fun activity with me each day, even though we don't get to it every day.

Most of the lessons are literature-based, and follow the theme of a children's book that we get a copy of, but last week we had a cooking lesson. We took two completely different substances and combined them to make something different. In our kitchen, it was pudding mix and milk. Complicated, I know, but Helen loved it. She even chose the pudding flavor in the grocery store. I opened the box of lemon pudding, poured the milk, and she whisked for a long time while I yakked on the phone. I totally missed the part where we were supposed to taste and feel the separate ingredients. Oops. Then we divided the pudding into espresso cups, and Helen put three snowman marshmallows on each cup. She counted the cups, counted the snowmen in each cup, and counted the total amount of snowmen. It was fascinating for her, and fun for me to see her learn.

Saturday

Our day began with junk food cereal and Tom and Jerry cartoons, both Saturday morning traditions around here. For the record, Marshmallow Pebbles cereal is a little too junky for my taste. I felt queasy for a long time after my bowl full.
When Jack woke up, his first words were about needing his "scoon." I peeled back the covers in his crib and found my slotted serving spoon, which apparently was his choice sleep aid last night.

I had a hard time leaving last night's memories behind. The moment the hospital came into view, dizzying emotions slammed into me. The parking lot where Jason and I had walked to get my contractions going strong was torn up, making way for new construction. A small blessing.

We visited the labor and delivery wing and dropped off a beautiful white poinsettia for the desk. They hadn't forgotten us.

The grief counselor that had worked with us was finishing her shift. I handed her a blanket I sewed after Quinn was born, along with Quinn's birth announcement, to be given to the next mama that needs it.
And we held Bryce. And it was hard, but it was good.
We felt God's peace in those moments. We still trust that his peace is always near, even when we choose to ignore it and give in to despair.

Patches

Thank goodness for my large supply of felt and embroidery floss, two of my current favorite sewing supplies. They come in handy when my children get snippy with scissors.

Jack cut a hole in the sleeve of his dump truck shirt. It took me a little bit to think up the solution, but I thought the road sign was an appropriate warning for his sometimes difficult-to-maneuver self.
Helen, age four and fabulous, must have wanted designer gauchos instead of the off-the-rack pair that Aunt Jan found for her. The first time she wore them, much to my shame, she gouged a hole in them on purpose. She confessed, but only after I questioned her. Grrrrr...

And the kitty tore a hole in her beloved snowman jammies. Felt and floss to the rescue!