What a crappy Christmas.

Yes, please let me explain the title of this particular post. You see, each year, the day after Thanksgiving, you won't see the WildCards out amongst the deal shoppers. But you'll see us up just about as early. Because, after a 364-day wait, it's finally here:

Christmas Decorating Day!

Boxes upon boxes and bins upon bins and even more bags are carried, shuffled, and tossed into the kitchen from the depths of dusty and dangerously high garage shelves. As we unpack the abundance of sparkly and twinkly things, we find holiday treasures from years past. The Rastafari-type ornament we bought in Jamaica--our honeymoon destination. The bright-red yarn garland made by my mom while she was in college (now in several long and short pieces). The collection of Santas--oh, so many wonderful Santas!--given to us by my generous mother-in-law. A stunning traditional Christmas quilt, given to me by prolific quilter and fantastic all-around woman, Nancy J. Martin, to commemorate my 10th year of working for her company. All Christmas heirlooms I cherish.

And then, to Brett and Jack's delight, we unearth it. The Christmas decoration that has been in our family for at least a decade. Each year we carefully unwrap it from the tissue we pack it in. Then we carry it joyfully to the place where it graces our holiday home each year.

And where does this mysterious decoration spend its holiday, you ask?

On top of the toilet tank. Tucked inside the Kleenex box.

Yes. It's Mister Hankey. The Christmas Poo.

(Thought I'd share the first photo, just as Jack had left Mister Hankey one morning on the bathroom counter. And as you can tell from this month's blog banner, when Jack isn't costuming himself, he is costuming anything that will let him.)

Jack was so excited to see Mister Hankey after one long year of waiting. He immediately shared the delights of Mister Hankey with Charlie. Then, Jack began teaching Charlie how to say Mister Hankey's proper name.

I caught one of their 18-second rehearsals in an audio file.

Mister Hankey

(If clicking on "Mister Hankey" above doesn't work for you, try right-clicking and choosing "Open link in new window.")

Jack has been very persistent with his lessons. Charlie, a willing student, has practiced a lot. I'm proud of their team effort. And Brett? Well, he says I'm the coolest mom on the block. "I'll bet no other family on the block has a stuffed piece of poo in their bathroom during Christmas." I think he's right.

Funny how family traditions are established. How they evolve and flourish. I wasn't expecting a tradition of this sort for our little family. But it's a tradition nonetheless, born unique and strange and funny. Like any other family's traditions. It's ours. I'll take it.

Although we'll pack Mister Hankey away come New Year's Day, he'll always be a part of our holidays. He's found a place in our hearts. He's found a home in our bathroom. But luckily, not in our noses. Mister Hankey smells just like any other plush toy that has been well-loved.

Thank goodness that's part of the tradition, too.

ALERT: Jackspeak (now with Charlietalk!)

Jack: "Charlie, can you say 'sometimes'?"

Charlie: "Dumtye."

"You."

"You."

"Are."

"Aw."

"Getting."

"Getee."

"On."

"On."

"My."

"My."

"Nerds."

"Ners."

"Yeah, sometimes you are getting on my nerds, dude."

"Dood."

Thanksgiving preparations.

I've been a vegetarian for over 15 years now. I kinda know the ropes. But raising a vegetarian? I'm only five years in. Essentially a newbie. Which makes Jack a newbie too.

Case in point. Kindergarten. I wasn't aware of this, but the day after Halloween, kindergarteners begin a month's worth of celebrating what, for many, has become the focal point of Thanksgiving. TURKEYS. The kindergarteners get into the spirit of Thanksgiving by crafting scores of the birds. Cut-and-color turkeys. Cotton-ball turkeys. Paper-plate turkeys. Coffee-filter turkeys. Handprint turkeys. Turkeys embellished with waddles, wings, and feathers that feature all types of mixed media. Some really fantastic turkeys have come home in Jack's backpack. Surprisingly artistic, given the subject.

What also came home in Jack's backpack was a note to parents, letting them know that kindergarteners would be treated to a Very Special Thanksgiving School Lunch. With kindergarten lasting only 1/2 day here, it was a very special treat indeed--Jack had never eaten school lunch before! After receiving the note, Jack and I talked in the car about the upcoming Very Special Thanksgiving School Lunch:

Me: "So, a Thanksgiving lunch sounds really fun! You get to eat at school like the big kids who stay at school all day."

Jack: "So, will they make me eat turkey at the lunch?"

"No, baby, they won't make you eat anything. You get to pick and choose what you want on your plate. If you don't want something, you just tell the lunch ladies and they'll skip it."

"Okay. But mom, what does turkey look like?"

Hmm. I was stunned into a short silence. Certainly the turkeys served on Very Special Thanksgiving School Lunch day were not going to look like the turkeys Jack had been crafting all month long. Jack has seen a real turkey here, but that turkey was alive and running around. What to do?

Ah, yes. I knew the subscription I bought from my niece for a school fundraiser last year would come in handy some day. It's Better Homes and Gardens to the rescue!

Me: "I have a magazine at home that's all about Thanksgiving dinner. I bet they'll have a picture of turkey in it somewhere. I'll show it to you when we get home. Then you'll know exactly what it will look like at school lunch."

Jack: "Okay."

We arrive home. I get out the magazine. I find a full-page color photo and point out to Jack what turkey looks like.

Jack: "Can I tear out this page and put it in my backpack? On the day we have the Thanksgiving school lunch. Just so I remember what it looks like."

Me: Sure, honey, we can do that."

Here is a photo of the photo, all ready for Jack's backpack on
Very Special Thanksgiving School Lunch day. 

Jack enjoyed his Very Special Thanksgiving School Lunch on Thursday. He ate mashed potatoes, peas, bread, and a pumpkin goody. Did he need to use the photo after all? Nope. He told his kind teacher that he was a vegetarian, and she helped him along.

I'm so glad she did. Because, after taking a closer look at the photo above, I noticed the caption on the page:

"Loin of Pork."

Oops.

Geez. I really have been a vegetarian for a long time.

Whatever you choose to grace your table with on Thursday, here's wishing you a wonderful Thanksgiving!

ALERT: Jackspeak

Since this fiasco occurred in our home, Jack has matured. We recently started allowing him to use grown-up scissors for certain cutting tasks. But then, one day, I carelessly left them out in plain view. Jack quickly reverted back to his three-year-old ways.

Of course, I had to capture the five-year-old fiasco on film.

In totally unrelated news, our little family has been talking about recycling a lot lately. To cut costs. To cut the environment some slack. To cut into our creativity and let it the heck out. Lotta cutting around here.

Me: "Geez, Jack. You've had that costume for so long, you've loved it so much. Now it's ruined. We might as well throw it in the garbage."

Jack: "What?"

"Yeah, we might as well throw it away. You can't even find the legholes or armholes to put your legs and arms in anymore. It's just full of holes!"

"No, mom, no. Please don't, please don't throw it away."

"Well, what are you going to do with it?"

"Um, I dunno. But please don't throw it away."

[Jack pauses to make sure he's covered his bases. Then he remembers one more base.]

"And please don't recycle it. NO recycling."

Funny to hear and see how five-year olds take new information and apply it to their daily lives.

One Halloween knight. And his alligator squire.

After face painting ...

... and cookie making ...

... and lots of costume prep ...

... the Great Dark Knight is ready to grace the neighborhood with his tricks. For treats. (With a bright-red, handknit-by-me shield grip to boot, thank you very much.)

The knight's faithful squire, although not thrilled with his getup, got in the spirit when he realized candy was to be earned. Knock-knock. "Tik-o-teet. I wan' candee."

Hope your Halloween was filled with lots of tricks and even more treats. Of the knight and alligator variety.

Summer 2009. Gone.

New schools. New jobs. New projects. New responsibilities. New budget. New outlook. New season.

Autumn, I was looking forward to your cool. Why'd you go and get so dang busy? NOT cool.

I'm still remembering our summertime fun. Fondly.

From the last day of preschool...

to the first day of kindergarten. (Holding self-portrait. Cape included.)

From planting a blueberry bush...

to harvesting and preserving (for the first time!) fruit from an apricot tree.

From turning my baby boy into a little girl... (For just one day. Okay, two.)

to turning my big boy into a concert-lover (his first, American Idol--you Lambert fans know what the blue means!).

From first soccer games...

to first grape-picking.

From costumes...

and costumes...

and costumes...

and costumes...

and costumes...

to teaching Charlie about costumes.

And to this... which may just be the cutest picture of our summer.

Our lives have changed dramatically this past month or two, with hopes for an even better future (although we are blessed to have an incredible, awesome NOW.) But what a wonderful, relaxing, fun summer it was. I'm so glad we took the time to be there for it.

ALERT: Jackspeak

"Mom, do I go to kindergarten tomorrow?"

"Nope. Tomorrow is Saturday."

"Oh. You know what? Tomorrow is kind of sad. Because it has the word 'sad' in Saturday."

ALERT: Jackdo

Okay, I admit it. We have a TV. And we use it. I monitor how much, but I'm not ashamed to admit we excitedly anticipate our favorite shows. For the adults? Dexter, Breaking Bad, and 30 Rock. For the boys? Mostly just Signing Time. Unless, of course, you count every superhero show on every cartoon-type network out there. So, that would be, um, Spiderman, Batman, Ironman, the Justice League, TMNT, and others, in every incarnation available. (I think Batman has like, six or seven different shows: Batman the Animated Series, Batman Beyond, Batman: The Brave and the Bold. On and on. Holy franchise, Batman.)

And for the whole family? American Idol. Every year. Every show.

Of course, I'm all about moderation. TV is fun, but so are lots of other things. So, we negotiate a little each day. And as Jack recently practiced writing his letters, I finally saw proof that we don't ONLY watch the superhero shows. We also watch our fair share of the glorified educational stuff.

Yep. Along with Ironman: Armored Adventures, we think Reading Rainbow rocks, too.

ALERT: Jackspeak

We're a vegetarian family. But once in awhile we get a hunkering for a drive-thru burger and fries, just like every other red-blooded American family we know. And when we do, there's only one place for us. Quite literally. One place. It's Burger King. Because they're the only place around here that sells veggie burgers.

Jack: "Mom, I can't wait to get our burgers. When it gets in the car, I can't stand the smell."

Me: "Huh?"

"I can't stand the smell. Of those yummy burgers."

"Do you mean you like the smell?"

"Oooh, yeah! I can't wait! I can't STAND it!"

ALERT: Jackdo

Jack found my basket of winter scarves. (Yes, a basket. Just for scarves. Pretty big one, too.) Decided to wear them all at once. Along with a knitted baby cap, fingerless gloves, and a Spidey hat.

It's August, I know. But bring it on, winter--this one's ready.

Well, except for pants, he's ready.

Mornings with Mama: Cotton Balls

When you have little boys, you learn to keep certain things up high and out of reach--chemicals, toilet-bowl brushes, medicines--to keep the little boys safe. Over the years, I've learned that you can also keep certain things up high to avoid catastrophic messes that little boys can make. Like lotion. Liquid soap. Folded towels and sheets and pillowcases. (Unless you like folding things twice.)

This particular morning, my little boys found a bag of cotton balls in the bathroom. Certainly no danger in that. But I was shocked to find that on the catastrophic mess 'o meter, it ranks up there pretty high.

Oooh. Fun, fuzzy cotton balls!

After the cotton ball discovery, everything becomes a blur.

Daddy is home, too. See the feet? I'm surprised he didn't want in on the action.

As Jacky grinds the fibers into our BLACK interim carpet with his feet, I wonder if Daddy is googling how best to clean up a cotton ball mess.

Yes, such a mess. But oh, so much fun.

Thank goodness for vacuum cleaners. And tape.

ALERT: Jackspeak

At the kitchen table, talking to Jack about some big changes coming soon to our family...

Me: "So, Daddy is going back to school. And I need to take a phone call about it at 8:30, okay?"

Jack: "Daddy is going to school?"

"Yes, to become a teacher. There's some chance he could even be your teacher someday because he wants to teach children who are around your age."

"Around, like some are 3 and 4 and 5?"

"Well, you have to be at least 5 to be in elementary school. Um, so, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, I think."

"Or 161."

"Well, I don't know anyone who has ever lived that long."

"Santa has."

"Oh, yes. I forgot about him. He's been around a long time."

"And his reindeer. I don't know what it is about that weird Santa and his weird reindeer. They have been around forever."

"Yep. Weird."

I wore pillow shams to my high school reunion.

This weekend my husband and I attended our 20th high school reunion. We caught up with many friends from our pasts, unearthed answers to decades-old questions (both trivial and significant), and stumbled across memories we didn't even know we had forgotten. After the events came to a close (yes, events--there were three), I felt happy. Happy to know that old friends were doing well, happy to find that--in anticipating a major upheaval in our little family during the coming weeks, months, and even years--we are doing quite well, too. Nice to have that reminder reflected right back at you. We're solid.

But of course, the weeks leading up to the reunion weren't filled with deep thoughts about my past. No philosophical musings about how both of our lives had been shaped in part by these people we were about to re-meet. No. The weeks leading up to the reunion, at least for me, were spent sifting through my closet. What to wear, what to wear? I mean, THREE OUTFITS. That's asking a lot of a stay-at-home mom who hasn't been to a fancy restaurant, a dressy social gathering, or even a movie in over a year. Right now, "Steppin' Out with My Baby" means exactly that. Out with my baby. Capris, t-shirt, slip-on Mary Janes. And baby wipes for the impending mess on the t-shirt.

After a try-on marathon I felt confident about my fashion choices for two events:

Friday evening, alumni-only night at the high school: typical Stay-at-Home Mom attire. Capris, t-shirt, slip-on Mary Janes. With the addition of a beautiful beaded necklace my sister made. Fancy enough.

Saturday evening, dress-up banquet with real alcohol drinks and other indulgent stuff I had forgotten existed: chose the Stay-at-Home Rock Star look. I put the outfit together a few days before and walked into the front yard to show my husband. I immediately felt like I should hide. My neighbors didn't know this Jenny. Bretty said it was my style, though. And he had that look in his eye. (Yep, that one.) Done deal.

The third event was a Saturday afternoon picnic at a local park. Take the kids, bring your lunch, hang out and have fun kind of thing. A few weeks before I came across this post about making a skirt out of a sheet. I had been stuck for days trying to sew my first skirt from this Amy Butler pattern. I needed a break from it. A skirt from a sheet, huh? I figured I could at least finish it.

But instead of a sheet, I found two pillow shams I liked. Four bucks thrifted. See?

I unpicked the seams and decided I had enough fabric to do . . . something.

I added a raw-edge detail similar to the detail in the Amy Butler pattern I had been trying, trying, trying to complete.

Then I decided to add a big fat hem.

Ran out of fabric for a second hem, so I stole a bit of green from my stash.

And here's the finished skirt, all pressed and prettied up.

And here it is on me.

And finally, with less than ten minutes to decide what to wear before we departed to the picnic, I chose the pillow-sham skirt. With a t-shirt. And slip-on Mary Janes. And baby wipes for the mayonnaise and mustard and chocolate that 15-month-old Charlie ground into my skirt and shirt in an effort to keep mama within arms' reach among all the strangers. (I think there was some ground-in cheese, too.)

So. Stay-at-home mama. Stay-at-home rock star. Stay-at-home pillow-shams-into-skirt maker. Hmm. Perhaps I confused a few old friends who saw me at all three events. I mean, who was the real me? Who had Jenny become over these 20 years?

I remember reading a required book for one of my Women's Studies classes in college. It was called "Women's Ways of Knowing." It detailed exactly seven different ways that women could develop their self, voice, and mind. Seven ways of knowing.

When it came time to discuss the book in class, I was called on for my opinion. All I had to say was, "I am all of these women. I am all of them."

I am a stay-at-home mom. I am a rock star. (Okay, a wanna-be rock star. Still.) I am a thrifty pillow-sham-skirt-makin' fool.

I am all of these women. I am all of them.

Five years.

For those of you who have been following along for awhile, I need to tell you something incredible that happened this month. Jack turned five years old. FIVE. YEARS. OLD. I am officially the mama of a five year old. I'm feeling quite proud.

Jack, you have grown so much this past year. In shoe and shirt sizes, yes. But also in your mind and in your heart. You have transformed from a pant-leg hugging, bashful soul into a social butterfly who will walk right up to a new person, look them straight in the eye with a smile, and say, "Hi, I'm Jack!"

That's huge. Not even I can do that. And I'm 37.

You are gentle and thoughtful and helpful with Charlie, your little brother. You often introduce him to others by simply saying, "This is my baby." Yes. Just as much as ours, he is yours. And you his.

You have become intensely inquisitive, asking me questions I need to open a dictionary to answer. Being shrouded in the throes of mamahood and babyhood these past few years, I thank you for getting my mind back up on its feet. I've been in a fog. You are making me think again. It's a good thing.

One of my favorite changes in you during the past year? Your facial expressions. Coming from a family of many deaf people (hereditary, on my side), you have effortlessly learned the art of communication through animation. In your hands, in your feet, in your face. You are expressing yourself visually. And it's all quite convincing. You can convey emotions ranging from satisfied to terrified just with a tiny squint or widening of your big blue eyes.

(Oh, and let's not forget that this year Jack learned to cross his eyes. Always used to express excitement. Silly excited. Makes me think we should all cross our eyes when we're excited. Try it sometime. Really. It will take your excitement to a whole new level.)

This year I put together a special birthday party for you, with art as the theme:

The invitation.

There was quite a bit of party preparation on my part: 

Testing of projects, collecting of materials . . .

Calling of other mamas to make sure their kids could come.

And then party day came. 

There was painting of shirts . . .

Collaging of frames . . .

Painting of paper (a keepsake for Jack) . . .

Tracing of bodies . . .

And decorating of cupcakes, too.

I think some people wondered why I went to all the trouble. I mean, I worked on your party for a month. It was a two-hour long party. And I worked on it for a MONTH. Why? Why, mama, why?

I'll tell them why, Jacky. Because you turned FIVE. Because you are wonderful. Because I want you to always remember what it was like to be five. I hope you will always remember.

I have a feeling you will never forget.

Mornings with Mama: Fort Building

Okay, I admit it. Sometimes, I wish I had a daughter. Yesterday I watched as my neighbor helped her daughter sew her first skirt. It was delightful.

Sometimes, I wish that was in my future.

It's not in my future. I have two boys. And a husband who, well, would be against his boys wearing skirts. Sewing them, maybe. But wearing them? Unlikely. And there's certainly no fun in making and not wearing.

I'm not giving up, of course--there's lots we can sew, and have sewn, and plan to sew, me and the boys. And with a mama like me (stay-at-home feminist/Women's Studies graduate/quilt lover-maker-designer/make-something-out-of-nothing soul) you can bet my boys will be in touch with their feminine side. (Meaning their sewing side.)

So I'll continue to encourage an interest in sewing, yes. That's where I can be creative, imaginative, and inspired; maybe my boys can reach that through sewing one day, too. But I'm assured that you don't need a needle and thread--and you certainly don't have to be a girl--to create, imagine, and inspire. My biggest little one did just that this morning.

Need bricks and mortar to build a fort? Malarkey. All you need is a nursing pillow, some painted, half-painted, and unpainted blocks, and selected items from your treasure bowl (on the left).

The fort's fleet.

Even the ghastliest winged bat-thingy monster enjoys a little color--preferably in the form of batik scraps left over from a Craftfail-style sewing project.

Hands eagerly pile on a flurry of treasure-bowl contents (including leaves from a front-yard bush).

Ah, I finally understand why he insists on saving the bothersome tags we cut out of his shirts.

Creativity, imagination, inspiration. It's all here. No sewing required.