Blue Yonder

The Supers

Who says you can't buy happiness? 

I happen to know that it can be had at Hobby Lobby for about six dollars. We made a little trip down there to pick some up, and spent the rest of the afternoon wallowing in it. 

1 pack of popsicle sticks + 1 pack of old fashioned clothes pins + some markers and mama's fabric scrap bin = hours of entertainment. Meet "the Supers," a rag tag bunch of do-gooders if ever there was one :-)   My guys worked and worked at those capes and hair-dos. 

Then, their heros all had to have names of course, like "Lettuce Man" and "Space to the Rescue Guy."

Every good hero has to have a "mobile" too. So there were lots of popsicle stick flying, submerging, "faster than lightening" creations. 

With the transportation situation covered, they needed some bad guys to fight, and some people to save. 

Then, the boys cleaned out the bottom dresser drawer and divided it up with blocks, creating a sort of superhero apartment complex - complete with beds, a shower, computers and "important equipment" made from Legos. Then, came the crowning achievement, the "Time and Space Portal." 

A Super goes in, pushes a few buttons, and comes out where and when he chooses.  

Oh, and a carwash, because you know how super heros are about cleanliness. The Supers have done a lot of righting wrongs and saving innocents, and some even more incredible feats too - thanks to them, I managed to get my online bill paying done, fold my laundry, and (gasp) SHOWER! Super indeed. 

But... they aren't the only superheros in the house. There's another one, a particularly handsome one, and I'm going to brag on him shamelessly. 

For no reason at all, our Papa secretly planned for my boys to spend an evening with Grandmother and Grandfather. I dropped them off, and then Goodwill-hopped until he called and said he was ready to give me my surprise. 

When I came home, he had transformed his office... moved a table in, laid out a tablecloth and candles and everything. He had brought in dinner, complete with appetizer, a salad course, and my favorite red wine. Even more astonishing, he picked out a chick flick and watched the whole thing with me. The whole thing. Now that, THAT is super! 

And it is only one of the many ways that this man is my hero. 

Our hero.

For all the playing at super heros that my boys do, really, they most want to be like their Daddy - their patient, soft spoken, gentle, thoughtful, easy to laugh and slow to anger papa. 

My boys trail after him, eyes wide, and eager to know what he knows, do what he does. They wonder if they will ever be that tall, that strong. I wonder, do they know how lucky they are, to have a daddy who is present, involved, and in love with each and every one of them. 

Filling his shoes will be no small order for them, but they will, I know they will, and I'm fairly certain that it will happen "faster than the speed of lightening" as they say. They will be super heros in their own right, just like their Dad. 

Happy Father's Day, Papa, and to all the papas out there, building the next generation of heros.

They Sparkle

I'm going to have to do some confessing. I think it will make us both feel better.  

I haven't been myself lately. 

The husband  (I will fully admit that he is my right hand. If he did not work from home I think I'd go completely crazy) had a long business trip a couple of weeks back. Then he was sick, then he had some business people in town. It seems like it's just been one thing after another. Throw on top of that some stress about the market and what it might mean for his job and well, we've just been a few degrees off track. We've been like a pot on the verge of boiling over, bubbling, rising.

It's nothing too serious, really, but I've found myself seeing recent days as something to get through and my children as things to be managed, messes to be cleaned, a series of fires to put out. That isn't what I want for them or for me.

So, when I picked up sweet Amanda's book, The Creative Family it was as though a dear friend was standing in my kitchen, holding my hand and saying, "take a deep breath, it's gonna be alright."

So much of her dear, warm, gentle book speaks to how our family lives - valuing creativity and time together, honoring traditions, finding inspiration in nature - so of course, I love the book, but not only for the content. I love it for the (ahem) soul behind it. It is truly an outflowing of the kindness, gentleness and mindfulness that is the Soule family. It has been just the quiet voice that I needed to hear. 

Early today, feeling a little sour and looking for some inspiration, I turned to the Creative Family and I read a few sentences about not worrying too much about the mess, about letting go and going where the spirit of creativity led. 

It led me right to the glitter. 

My guys made paper mache egyptian burial masks a week or so ago (after reading about King Tut), and they've been ready for days now to paint and decorate them. They were shocked when I brought out the much beloved, but VERY rarely seen, glitter. 

I'm not one to get worked up over messes. I don't shy away from potentially messy projects, but glitter... the stuff gets in EVERYTHING. It spreads like a sparkly virus. For weeks on end you find it stuck to you, in your food, on your furniture, EVERYWHERE! I am not a fan of glitter in the hands of small children. Not. A. Fan. 

So, bringing out the glitter was an act of faith on my part. It was my way of saying that I was willing to experience some fun, enjoy the moment and let go of some of the adult worries and stresses. Just be. 

My boys were all too willing to oblige. 

At first they painted their masks, according to plan. Then they got a little more creative. And then all hell broke loose. My internal mommy, the one who has been pretty darn crabby lately, wanted to say, "NO NO NO!!!!", but thankfully, I managed to just go with it and let them explore the wonder of being shiny. 

This one, he had it in his bellybutton, his ears, between his toes, and stuck in his hair and eyelashes. I just let him do it. I stood back and watched as he deliberately coated himself in silver. Then he looked at me, and he smiled and he said, "I sparkle Mama!" I just about cried, because he does. 

He really does. 

Whatever the rest of the day brought, for that moment, we sparkled, we four. 

The rest of the day was not perfect. I'm still working my way out of my rut. My attitude is still a little rough around the edges (and let me tell you that it's contagious), but here's the thing... for the next few months, I'm going to find glitter in the strangest places. It's going to pop up at odd moments, and I"m glad of that, because I know that it's going to bring a smile. That delicious moment is going to reach into days far from now and remind me that my life, even when it's messy, is pretty sparkly too.

Grumpy's Day In the Sun

My kids call my dad Grumpy, which is kinda right on the money, only not where they are concerned. When it comes to "his boys" he's Mr. Here's A Five Dollar Bill, No Make it a Ten, Sure Have Two More Doughnuts, Anything You Want is Yours Baby!

A far cry from the man I grew up with.

My Dad was in the corp at Texas A&M. He trained as an officer for the Marines. After that, he flew helicopters for the Houston Police Department, followed by a stint as an undercover narcotics agent, then police chief, then investigator for banks (think fraud/forgery/etc).

So, you might imagine that he could be a bit of a hard nose. He ran his house like a tight ship. Trash cans in bedrooms and bathrooms should be empty at all times. Lines from the vacuum should be visible. If they aren't it ain't clean. There would be no sleeping in sister, there were cars to wash, miles to jog. We woke to reveille or the theme from Rocky and we walked the line.

Turns out though, having grandchildren turns you into a biggo softie.

My Dad revels in his new role. He thinks his grandkids are the best thing that ever happened.

So imagine his delight when the opportunity presented itself to take them to his alma mater, Texas A&M, home of the Aggies, for the weekend!

I don't know who was more excited, the boys, or their Grumpy.

We started with a little trip to the world famous Dixie Chicken.

This is more or less a yummy grub, honky tonk, pool hall, place to while away the hours drinking beer and playing dominos kind of establishment.

It's one of those things you just have to do, if you're an Aggie.

We managed to time it just right. There was a crawfish boil going on out back. My poor deprived children had never seen such a thing as a crawfish. They kept calling them crabs.

After that, we headed off to the campus bookstore for new hats. Cuz, you gotta have yourself a hat.

Then on to the maroon and white scrimmage.

I know it's silly, but it was really kind of goose bump inducing thrillicious to watch my fellas walk up the dark ramp and out into the big bright brilliance of Kyle Field for the very first time. They were gape mouthed.

Grumpy was tickled, head to toe.

From the national anthem, to the big scoreboard, to the Dippin' Dots, to all the Aggie yells (that's cheers, for the uninitiated) and the fight song to the fireworks... well, it was a lot of fun.

And I think Grumpy got his wish... three little men went home all on fire to be Aggies someday.

Imagine, all of my shaggy headed little boys growing up to be big men, with crew cuts and uniforms, and girls waiting to dance with them down at the Chicken.

I might need a sedative.

Chicken Fried

Oh, y'all. I am spent.

I think my lazy rear end got soft over the winter.

Three days in the sun and the wind about did me in.

I mean, don't get me wrong, mild temperatures, sunset over the lake, wading in the (FREEZING!) water, boat riding, butterfly catching, deer watching, sitting by the water and reading while your kids just soak in the very best of life, it was wonderful, but I am dead. DOG. tired.

Here's are the highlights:

Water+tent+well worn sheets = rock-a-bye-baby-in-the-tree-tops kind of sleeping. The five us, piled up on our air mattresses, with the stars above us, and the sound of the water lapping just a few feet away, was just about heaven. I mean, I'm pretty certain it would get old at some point, but then so would chocolate cake, and I haven't turned down a slice yet, you know?

Speaking of food... is it just me, or does every little thing taste better when you are camping? Maybe it is the fact that my husband does most of the cooking when we're camping, or maybe it is just that you work up such an appetite romping around in the wild, but whatever it is, even a peanut butter sandwhich just tastes better outside.

And yes, there was a good bit of romping. The very self same children who will not venture one big toe into the bathtub if the temperature is not just so, will flop belly first into a FUH REEZING lake like it ain't no thang. Go figure.

Because I am the mom though, and it is my sworn duty to annoy the pants off my children, I insisted that the boys did their reading, math and handwriting at a picnic table. Honestly though, I think they learned a lot more from watching the mallard chase away the goose only to be chased by the black swan (why is it black? Do they come in other colors? Is it rare? Do the other swans make fun of it?). Or by noting that the grass was all bent and crushed in one area, and pondering the reasons why (only to find a big bunch of deer there the next morning) or watching the space shuttle pass overhead at exactly 8:35, and wondering if the people on board could see the big dipper too, or how come it starts in Houston and lands in Florida, and do they carry it back on trucks or just build a new one, and does the Space Station have a Wii, and and and...

It might have looked a little like vacation, but eager young minds NEVER take a day off. Oh to have that energy...

I think I might sleep for the next two straight days!

Have a wonderful weekend, friends, and come on back Monday... I feel a contest coming on...

Saturday Is...

Waking up to the sound of rain on the roof.

Snuggling under the covers to watch the rain drops fall.

Belgian waffles with strawberries and cream on top.

Wearing pajamas well into the afternoon.

A little mama/boy jam session.

A little observational drawing.

Seeds sprouting in the windowsill, lifting their little heads to look out and survey the patch of earth that will soon be their home.

His favorite story read three times in a row (such a patient Daddy!).

Our latest favorite song played again and again, cuz it fits today just right.

"We have all we need, and all we need is enough."

Yep, just right.

Heaven, I'm in Heaven...

I don't seem to have a whole heck of a lot to say these days. Seems I'm stuck in a slipper-wearing, coffee drinking, takin' it easy kind of mood.

Here's some stuff that's makin' me smile...

This shot, which just about sums up the quality of my Christmas-making this year. See how that poor angel is hunched over? We meant to trim the branch so that she could sit properly, but never got 'round to it. So, there she sits, with a horrible crick in her neck, cursing us from her lofty branch. Sorry, sweetums. It's been one of those years.

I finally broke down and joined Netflix, because we got rid of our satellite ages ago and the selection at our local Blockbuster stinks. I need old movies, obscure period pieces and good old family classics like the Apple Dumpling Gang. Blockbuster just wasn't makin' the cut.

On the very same day, I received my first movie (my all time favorite old movie, Top Hat - click here for a sweet bit of it) and a box of goodies from Tracy.

Out of sheer sweetness, she sent me two of her gorgeous prints (one of them is framed above, and one will be very soon!), her amazing calendar, a handmade black cherry candle, sweet handmade ornaments, and (wait for it....) THE MOST DIVINE GINGER CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES EVER TO BE EATEN, along with a sweet sweet green glass teacup for sipping coffee alongside those delectable cookies.

Oh I like her. I like her a lot!

It was so nice, too, to have a little sit in front of a sappy old movie, eat cookies, drink out of my new cup, and just veg after all the nuttiness of traveling, shopping, sickness, wrapping, Christmasing. Very good indeed.

Oh, and we had a little Boxing Day celebration this year.

Of course, our version was a bit different from the traditional sort.

Some sweet folks down the street (have they really been down there all this time?), who have two boys, invited my guys down to make good use of all the post-Christmas boxes. A load of old boxes, + a bunch of Mr McGroovy's Box Rivets = a whole bunch of fort building fun for a handful of little men.

Yep, smiles all around. Healthy, rested, quiet, content smiles. Life is good.

Snow Day

"Softly, genly in the secret night,
Down from the North came the quiet white.
Drifting, sifting, silent flight,
Softly, gently in the secret night.

White snow, bright snow, smooth and deep.
Light snow, night snow, quiet as sleep.
Down, down, without a sound;
Down, down, to the frozen ground.

Covering roads and hiding fences,
Sifting in cracks, and filling up trenches.
Millions of snowflakes, tiny and light,
Softly, gently, in the secret night."

(by Alvin, Tresselt, excerpted from "White Snow, Bright Snow")

Yep, that's what we were going for, silently falling flakes of wonder... breaking out the shaving cream, whipping off shirts and headed out to create a winter wonderland despite temps in the upper 70s.

Hmmm, okay well maybe we didn't quite get "quiet as sleep" or "frozen ground" and it would have taken far more cans for "hiding fences." No, there will be no sledding or building of snowmen,
but we sure had fun.

Spreading it all over the yard,

and ourselves.

Smearing and drawing in it; rolling and sliding through it.

.

As an added bonus, our skin is smooth and minty fresh now too.
Ya don't get that from real snow, now do ya?

Tempura and Toy Cars

Why settle for one dinner date, when you can have five?

Husband's boss was in town earlier this week, all the way from Japan, and was kind enough to take ALL of us out for dinner.

When he heard that my guys had never been to a Japanese steakhouse, his mind was made up. It was... little boys fighting over the last piece of tempura shrimp, oohs and ahhs over flying knives, Daddy catching fried egg in his mouth, young men hiding under the table afraid of the big flames, the steaming onion locomotive trick, delicious in every imaginable way.

Just when I thought that Mr. Suzuki was the most wonderful boss in the world, he out did himself... out came little Hot Wheel sized remote control cars. One for each boy. He thought ahead, bought toys in Japan, and brought them half way across the world just for the delight of watching little boys play.

He has two college aged daughters, you see, and I think he's pining for grandsons in a few years :-)

My men did not dissapoint. They love their cars, sleep with them under their pillows, and have constructed a small town for them, from our scrap bin.

Let me give you a little tour:

There's the "Gaz Station"

You can choose your flavor: orange, blueberry, kiwi or lemon.

Next stop, the Drive In Theater.

We came across this drive in on our recent road trip, and they've been thinking on it ever since. In their version, you can drive your car right inside the building, get your snack, then drive out back for the show.

You might want to swing by Whole Foods on your way home from the movies. They must have very wide aisles.

After your busy evening, you might need a little tune up. You know, a massage, a fruity drink. I'm not sure that's what they had in mind when they made this service station out of the aforementioned TV parts, but that's what I'd want in a machine shop, if I were a car.

They said it was to "pimp their rides." What? I am not kidding, and I am not impressed. I AM very glad that the TV is in pieces, and the satellite service is gone. Sheesh. Pimp their ride.

So anyhow, after you're all pimped, you can head for home through the "Chunnel" (we are fascinated lately with the Chunnel. I don't really know why.). Each of the cars has their own digs (built post photo shoot), but if you're just visiting for a while, there's a high rise hotel too. It has a glass elevator inside, and they serve Shirley Temples there. So says the staff.

Thanks, Mr. Suzuki.

You do know the way to the hearts of my men.

The Rattlin' Bog

This is just one of those things we have to do.

We have to read this book,

which by the way has a lovely page of silhouettes, and you do know how I feel about that, right?

So anyway, as I was saying, we have to read that book, and we have to play "Cranberry Bog."

We have to because it isn't fall, and it isn't almost Thanksgiving if we don't. It just isn't.

It's sort of a love note, a crimson ode, if you will, to my favorite season.

Parallel Play

At the end of a day, when they are tired and over stimulated from their one day of school; when I'm spent with errands and house cleaning, we all take comfort in creating, side by side.

I love these times, when each child (literally) brings his own talents and interests to the table.

There is the artist

The architect

The little punk under the table, whose talent at the moment is tickling feet and assisting gravity (and also evading the camera).

And the mama, who is quite taken, of late, with her X-acto.

(after, of course, a heaping helping of pink pearl eraser)

I love too, that my guys not only take comfort in their own creative process, but that they also give it, in the way of lots of, "Wow brother, that's a tall building."

"Cool picture, Luke!"

or even a "Whoa Mama, good job!"

Busy hands = happy heart = contented home.