The hiatus.

I like blogging. I just can't seem to find the time to do it lately. Incredible messes made by two little boys have gone unphotographed. Little slice-of-life stories have gone unwritten. A number of Jackspeaks have gone undocumented. (Now that last one's a pity, I say.) But I've been busy. Busy with things like

sewing. (unpicking.) resewing. cutting. pinning. (poking. bleeding.) writing. rewriting. inventing. (trying.) drawing. (trying.) doodling. imagining. dreaming. (and lately, nightmaring.)

and otherwise totally freaking OUT.

Why the freak out? Because. I'm writing another book. Except this time, it's a book. Not a box. It has pages. That you can turn and everything. So very cool.

(Although I did--and still--love that box. And this wonderful publisher, who I'm working with again.)

If you've ever wondered how a book is made--a book about sewing, in particular--here's a very rough retrospective of my experience up to this point. In pictures.

There's a lot of pinning involved.

And much sewing.

And did I mention pinning?

And a lot of trying to get things...

just right.

With little ones underfoot, you learn to ignore the daily messes
so you can get things done.

Alternatively, you can actually let them make messes so you can get things done. (Charlie gets to play in Niko's cat food. I get to finish ironing my binding. I got it done. See, it works!)

Of course, there are some messes you simply cannot ignore. So, because you are eating and sleeping and dreaming BOOK, you make a to-do list. Of just one thing.

And sometimes, you just let the kids join in the fun. (Like when you are trying to take a half-decent picture of something to send to the office.)

Or when you are trying to draw your illustrations quickly but accurately, and your five-year-old does something like this. Which makes you cry. Happy tears, you know.

I hope to share more details about the book soon.

The deadline is approaching fast (I counted, it's 22 days). After the deadline passes, I hope to get back to funnier, more lighthearted stuff here.

Hmm. Funnier, more lighthearted stuff. That's actually what I'm actually hoping this book will be. Sounds like I need an attitude adjustment for these last 22 days. Could use some encouragement, I think.

Meanwhile, I'll prick up my ears for a good Jackspeak in the coming weeks. I'm guessing he won't disappoint.

ALERT: Jackspeak

Teaching words to children is a delight. And a challenge. You do your best to explain what words mean, when they are appropriate to use, and when they are not. Which words are for family ears only. Which words are slang-ish, and when we can and can't use those words. And on and on and on.

Then you tell a little joke like this one. And you realize that, yeah, when it comes to teaching language, you're doing pretty good.

Me: "What kind of bee makes milk?"

Jack: "A cow bee."

"Good guess, but nope. Wanna know?"

"Yeah."

"A boo bee!"

[laughter commences, followed by a broad, silent pause]

Jack: "You mean a breast."

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.