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May 2009
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July 2009



marc's gone. again. all week.

company's coming. again. on friday.

trying to finish the upstairs bathroom project. so i can move on. to everything else.

put on all the new hardware. which was matched to all the old hardware.

every door is now. a quarter. of an inch. off.


i need to hire a weekday husband. do they have ads for that on craigslist?

july/august memory makers article

we are now firmly ensconced in summer ... july is just around the corner (wha ... ?!), the kids both have one of their summer camps under their belts, the first round of guests has come and gone, and the second round is just days away. unbelievable as it seems.

it also means that the latest issue memory makers is on the newsstands and i get to talk to you about the "tell your story" article i have in it!


the story i challenge you to get down this time around is about endings. we all keep track of the firsts - first kiss, first date with our significant other, first trip outside the country, etc. - but few of us make mention of the lasts. but aren't the lasts just as significant?  i can write on and on about all the firsts with my kids - their first day, their first solid food, their first step, but i've never taken the time to examine the lasts - the last bottle, the last time i had to rock someone to sleep, the last diaper. and those stories are just as significant as any first.

for this layout, i chose to look at august 2005, the last month of henry being my "little kid;" the next month he would head off to kindergarten, and then from there life would speed up and i would be only a partial participant in his day. the thought of that really made me stop and think.

i spent that month documenting what he did each day, things he said, all the indicators of him still being "little" and the emergence of the "big." at the end of the month, i realized i had an inventory of a "last" - the last month before the first day (kindergarten) of the rest of his life. and i know i will do the same for his sister when the time comes, because tracking who they are before other people become influential on their lives seems like a very important milestone; the "last" time they are solely OUR kids, not the world's.

look around and see what the "lasts" are in your life. and take some time to really think about it, remember and reflect upon them, and create a tribute.

(page made exclusively with the studio calico bibliography kit from jan '09.)

for those who will ask for the journaling, here you go:

August ’05. The last month before kindergarten. The last month before you start becoming who you will be. The last month you will be with me more hours of the day than with anyone else. From here on out, you will be with teachers and friends all day long. From here on out, you won’t let me hold your hand. From here you will start to grow up and away, and that makes me a little weepy. But I will still come into your room at night and stroke your head, and kiss you on the cheek, and tell you how much I love you. That won’t stop till you move away.

it's flippin' HOT!

i mean, come ON! it's only june! and it's *minnesota*!! this does not bode well for august.

henry has been at a science camp all week, from 9 a.m. till 3:30 p.m. love! i forgot how nice it was to deal with one kid at a time during the day ...

for the most part, harp and i have kept busy with a friend's birthday party, little errands here and there, and tomorrow she has little gym. but it's so dang hot that mostly we stay in, play barbies or do puzzles, color, and hide in the basement where the a/c actually does what it's supposed to do. upstairs is a losing battle.

and in the afternoon, when henry gets home, out comes the slip & slide.


he tried so patiently (for a minute or so) to explain to her how to slide, but the moment she saw the sprinkler it was a no-go. then after watching henry slide a few times, harp became more brave. she wouldn't slide, but henry still thought he could get her down the tarp.

pushing ...


going tandem ...


another method of pushing ...


finally henry gave up and just went for it. and harper contented herself with watching, doing a little cheer dance for henry, and tossing grass on the slide.


then they both gave up and drowned ants.


harperism, 6.07.09

IMG_4425vint lunchtime, at the table ...

"mama, i hate how the years go by," she says with a pout.
"what? where did you hear that?" i ask, totally amused.
"i don't know. i just hate how the years go by. i don't like it," she sighs.

after dinner, she brings over a magnetic dress-up doll that she beautified with dresses and shoes and sets it on the table. i ooh and ahh over it, then ask her to put it back while we're clearing the table.
"no!" she says, aghast, "it's the decoration!"

getting ready for bed ...

she hangs over the edge of the bed, arms flung over her head.
"it's so HARD being a girl!" she declares.
"yes," i agree. "all the pretty nightgowns, all the lip gloss, all the accessories," i tease.
"no, i like all that. it's just so HARD to be a girl," she laughs.
i never do get an explanation as to WHY being a girl is so hard.

adding one more: at 5:30 a.m. this morning the house rattled with a crack-a-lackin' clap of thunder. i knew harper would be scared witless, so i waited for her to come running. but she didn't, so i went quietly to her room to check on her. she was laying perfectly still, but completely wrapped from head to feet in her blankets. i carefully tried to pull away the blanket from around her head and face, and found her - both hands tight against her ears, and her eyes as big as saucers. then she starts chattering a mile a minute: "mama, that was really loud thunder! i don't like the thunder. did you hear the house shake? mama, that was really, really loud! it was scary, so i put my hands over my ears like this ..." and on and on. poor little thing was so scared that she was almost giggling with nerves. so i laid down with her and snuggled for a bit to get her to settle down, but the hands never did leave her ears. she went back to sleep, smiling that the storm was over.

sigh. love her.

this child never fails to crack me up with her dramatic declarations. maybe we've read too much fancy nancy ...