To All a Happy Halloween (and a contest to boot)

I've been trying to figure out a way to have a little contest on this blog. Today, I was unexpectedly inspired.

This morning, Jack and I laid out his Halloween costume for the big preschool Halloween party.

Later in the morning, Jack added one item to his costume that we had forgotten.

And so goes the contest . . . What very important item did Jack remember to add? Post your answer in a comment by Friday, November 9th. I'll choose a random winner from the correct answers and send the winner a free copy of The Little Box of Baby Quilts!

Pictures of tonight's trick-or-treat fest to come. Candy highs all around. Happy Halloween!

Let's talk about sex, baby

Hee hee. Hope I got your attention with this post's title. But no raunchy writing here today. The title simply refers to the sex of our baby on the way. It is KNOWN.

From the moment we found out we were pregnant, I knew the baby I was carrying was a girl. The grand maternal voice deep within my soul--that sacred intuition, painstakingly honed over the past four years--whispered "girl, girl, girl" as I drifted off to sleep each night, in the quiet and the dark. You, oh eternal maternal voice, urged me to thank heaven for little girls. You had me stopping in department-store aisles to smooth the eyelet lace on pastel-pink frilly frocks, size 0-3 months. You concocted a mix of sugar and spice and swirled it into my dreams.

Well, holy snips and snails. Turns out, it's a boy. So much for my maternal instincts.

We're giggly. We're tickled. We're thrilled.

ALERT: Jackdo

Yet another lesson about scissor use: remember this fiasco?

Daddy: "Jack? One thing to remember is that we don't cut our money."

Jack: "Oh. Okay."

ALERT: Jackspeak

Jack: "Stam stam stam. Mommy, I said stam."

Me: "I heard you, I'm just not sure what that means."

"Stam means you see your feet and wiggle your feet. You see your hands and wiggle your hands. You see your head and wiggle your head. You see your socks and wiggle your socks. You see your back and wiggle your back. You see your shoes and wiggle your shoes. And then you wiggle your whole body. Wiggling is exercise, like running and jumping and running and hopping."

"And stamming?"

"Yes."

I can't believe I made that!

I recently saw a quilt I made six years ago. I remember who I made it for and why I made it, but I had no recall of what the quilt actually looked like. It looks like this:

Oh my HECK. The points, look at all the POINTS. These days I would never choose to make a quilt with that many points. Never. It's just too haaaard. (I just plead you heed the quilter's sacred rule: don't look too closely.)

I made this quilt as a birthday gift for my sister, and called it "Florida Blues." She was in Florida with my oldest sister, researching our mother's family history, when I constructed it. The block patterns came from a book called Scrappy Duos, which shows you how to make two scrappy blocks at a time.

The book reminds me of one of my favorite pastimes . . . taking the "s" out of "scrap" and "scrappy" in quilt-book titles. You gotta try this. Here are a few examples to get you started:

Quick Quilts from Your Scrap Bags
Memorable Scrap Quilts
Scrap Frenzy
Scrap Quilt Celebration
Sensational Scrap Quilts
The Ultimate Scrap Quilt

And my personal favorite:

Scrap Happy

Aw, geez. So juvenile. So silly, so immature. I know. I live with two boys. Three if you count the cat. I beg someone, anyone, slap a flowery hat on me and take me to a fancy afternoon tea. Dress me up for the opera. Meet me for an evening at the symphony. I so desperately need to be re-refined.

Lucky thirteen

Seven lucky tests.

One lucky blooming belly. (Yes, starting now you can actually rub it for good luck.)

Two lucky weeks with little or no nausea.

Three lucky shopping trips for maternity clothes. And pool-cover-sized undies.

Thirteen lucky weeks of growing a baby. So far, so good.

Stick with me, little one. You've got a big brother and a daddy and a mommy and a mountain of family waiting to throw you a big bash of a birthday party when you arrive. You won't want to miss it.

Winter's on its way

Taken from our driveway:

September snow.

October snow.

Winter, bring it on. I'm ready for you. Over the years you haven't been easy to live with, here in Utah. Remember my 8th birthday party, three days before Christmas? Your flurries morphed into a blizzard in record time. Only ONE PERSON out of 12 showed up at my party. And how about that time in the 9th grade, when I was walking to school? Remember? You were coming down so fast and furious that a SCHOOL BUS stopped and asked me if I wanted a ride. That was in junior high, Old Man--my budding teenage years. I was mortified. But I took that ride, climbing onto a bus full of snickering faces. Aw, man. Still haven't lived that one down.

I'll tell you what though, winter. This year, I've got a secret weapon to make you bearable. A three-year old. This year, I won't focus on heating bills, shoveling, or discovering how many sweaters I can wear and still move my arms. Instead, my attention will bounce back to a three-year old state of mind. Snowmen, snow angels, snowballs, snow forts. Watching long lines of little footprints appear as we crunch down the sidewalk. Stomping snow off moon boots on the front porch. Sipping hot chocolate with extra-extra mini marshmallows. And my favorite--watching you silently fall onto the deck in big, fat flakes.

So come on down that mountain, winter. I know, we've had our riffs. But this year I say . . . glad you could make it. Stay a while. Just don't wear out your welcome.

ALERT: Jackdo

Jack's "Funny Monster Face," perfected at preschool. Halloween, here we come!