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Month: September 2015

quilting

quilting

I’m making quilts for the kids. I just want to. I wanted to learn how to quilt, and in my mind I think that it is something the kids can watch me do and know that I love them. And then they will have something to take with them throughout their lives that will remind them of it. Really cute, I know.

Simon’s quilt came first. He’s the oldest, he’s been waiting the longest. And the perk of getting the first quilt is that . . . he gets the experiment. It’s fine. It looks good. If you don’t look too close. Or maybe if I don’t. But Simon doesn’t notice, and that’s what’s important.

And then I did Oliver’s. He had so much time to anticipate it, watching me make Simon’s. And he loved it. He especially liked the “bears” fabric. He loved it until . . . I brought home the fabric for Elsa’s quilt. And then he saw how many of the fabrics had animals on them. And then he realized that I don’t love him. Not a bit. There are no jellyfish in his quilt. No elephants. Not even any snails. The only animals were those stupid bears. 

So, so much for all the love I put into picking the pattern and the fabric and cutting and sewing and quilting and binding. So much for all that love.

Ha! But I am pretty good at damage control. And all this snafu cost me was the promise of a new pair of pajamas. Homemade. With jellyfish. And possibly elephants. Because nothing says love like jellyfish and elephants.

begin again

begin again

It seemed as though summer was both much longer than I expected and that it was over too soon. Or maybe once it actually was over, it seemed like it was over too soon. Retrospect is like that.

As always, we made a production of the first day of school. Everyone biked in for the festivities. Elsa even wore her best kitty clothes and a backpack for the occasion. We got there early, took pictures, and then . . . waited and waited and waited for things to get going.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Simon is a big kid now and didn’t have to wait in the courtyard for his teacher to come get him. So we said our goodbyes and watched him head up the ramp to find his classroom and his teacher by himself. As a 3rd grader he also wears a uniform now: polo shirt with logo, conservative colored pants that are not jeans.

But after we wished him luck with hugs and waves, we went to find Oliver’s class. Of course all the parents were there, so there were swarms of people. We said hi to the few parents we knew (there are only 4 or 5 kids from his kindergarten class in his new class) and chatted with a few newbies. And then we waited and waited and waited and waited. It just felt like all this build up to drop-off, and then . . . instead of the balloon popping dramatically, it just kind of slowly deflated. His teacher finally came out, and she needed to talk to each parent to discuss the dismissal procedure for the day (parent pickup? bus? after school program?) and we were among the last parents to be questioned. So it seemed like an age before we finally got to watch and wave as little Oliver in his bright orange shirt walked up the ramp with his classmates.

Elsa and I went home to have our own little school (the goal is to have her reading and writing a bit by the end of the year) and to make cookies, of course. Which we devoured with some milk when we got home, as we always do after the first day of school.

And then . . . the celebration was over and it is all work from here on out. :/