swimsuit shopping

is great when you have a baby girl to shop for!

Yes, I realize someday she'll hate me for putting her in a ladybug bikini, but how could I resist showing off that belly?!

shamelessly begging- for a good cause, though

Okay, so last year when I was getting ready for the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, I did a big elaborate post about why I Relay AND I had a contest featuring hand-spun, hand-dyed yarn. This year, in light of the facts that a) I had a baby just a few months ago and b) I never actually announced the winner of the contest (it was Jen's mom's friend, by the way), I figured I'd just put up some nifty links in the side bar and tell anyone who's willing (and able- I know it's a tough year) to donate something that I really do appreciate your efforts.

Also, I figured I'd (finally) put up some pictures of last year's Relay. Better late than never, right?

That's our team- Raggedy's Rascals. The Relay theme was "Movies." Our chosen movie was "Pirates of the Caribbean." We won the award for "Most Spirited Team" (due mostly, I think to my husband's fabulous Jack Sparrow costume and my dad's equally stunning Captain Hook one).

Here's my mom (a 3-year cancer survivor) with the yarn we gave away as part of the contest. (She's not a knitter, but she was still very grateful to all of you who are and who generously donated.)

Our Relay is next Friday- Saturday, but there are events happening all over the country (and even other countries!). I definitely recommend attending one in your area if you can. For those who have been touched by cancer (and really, who hasn't?) it's truly a moving, uplifting event.

(Special thanks to my guest photographer, the aforementioned Jen, whose pictures of my husband, dad, and the luminarias I totally swiped from her blog.)

poem in your pocket day

Today (the last day of National Poetry Month) is Poem in Your Pocket Day, a day to share poetry however you see fit. I had a hard time choosing a poem for today, which is kind of surprising, as I'm not really a huge poetry person. I decided to go with an old family favorite. It was in a poetry book that belonged to my great-grandmother. When my mom was a kid, she and her siblings would read the poem whenever they visited Memere's and when Mem passed away, my mom inherited the book, and would often share this (and other) poems with us. This is one we all loved. I'm not really sure why, maybe the fact that we got to say "Oh Christ!" when reading it, or maybe because of the gruesome picture of a hand reaching up out of the water, with a drop of blood hanging off its finger (the picture below, Inchcape Rock by Gerry Lazare, isn't the exact one from the book, but it's pretty close). Regardless, to this day if you say to anyone in my family "Oh Christ!" they'll reply "It is the Inchcape Rock!" This poem isn't very fancy or sophisticated or modern. It just tells a story; it doesn't really have any deep meaning, but it's kind of fun and I like it, so I'm going to share it. And so without further ado, I present




Inchcape Rock by Robert Southey



No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The Ship was still as she could be;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.



Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.



The holy Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.



When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The Mariners heard the warning Bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok



The Sun in the heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round,
And there was joyaunce in their sound.



The buoy of the Inchcpe Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck,
And fix’d his eye on the darker speck.



He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.



His eye was on the Inchcape Float;
Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”



The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape Float.



Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the Rock,
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”



Sir Ralph the Rover sail’d away,
He scour’d the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder’d store,
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.



So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.



On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.”



“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore.”
“Now, where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.”



They hear no sound, the swell is strong,
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along;
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,
“Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!”



Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.



But even is his dying fear,
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear;
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The Devil below was ringing his knell.
. . . . .



Also, I'd like to say thanks, Amy for making me read some poetry this month- it is kind of fun, and for posting some great poems to your blog- while raising three kids single-handedly no less!

a boy's fascination

Wow, I haven't posted in over a month! And while March was extremely busy, I don't really have time to write about everything we did just yet. For now, here's a pair of poems (as it's National Poetry Month) that remind me of a certain boy I know.

The Little Boy to the Locomotive

by Benjamin R.C. Low

Big iron horse with lifted head,

Panting beneath the station shed,

You are my dearest dream come true;-

I love my Dad; I worship you!

Your noble heart is filled with fire,

For all your toil, you never tire,

And though you're saddled-up in steel,

Somewhere, inside, I know you feel.

All night in dreams when you pass by,

You breathe out stars that fill the sky,

And now, when all my dreams are true,

I hardly dare come close to you.

The Locomotive to the Little Boy

Boy, whose little, confiding hand

Your father holds, why do you stand

Staring in wonderment at me,-

Poor thing of iron that I be?

Your unsophisticated eyes

Are full of beautiful surprise;

And oh, how wonderful you are,

You little, golden morning-star!

Poor thing of iron that I be,

A mortal man imagined me;

But you- you drop of morning dew-

God and his heaven are globed in you.

tell her about it

For the past couple of weeks, various colds have infiltrated my house. Thus, I have been quite popular as both Magic Boy and Happy Girl need me. All. The. Time. This has obviously cut into my blogging time (not to mention my almost-nonexistent-anyway alone time). Hopefully they will recover soon and I will be able to return fully to my blogging duties.

In the meantime, I give you these quick anecdotes courtesy of Magic Boy (who turned three this week... while he was sick, which really should not surprise me as he has been sick every year on his birthday).

I tell people that most of my day is spent narrating my day. This is because Magic Boy constantly asks me to ask or tell the baby what's going on with us. As is, "Momma, I want cereal. Tell her about it." Then I have to respond with something like, "Happy Girl, Magic Boy wants cereal." Likewise, we have conversations that go "Momma, do you know where my choo-choo-train is?"
"No, honey."
"Ask her about it."
"Happy Girl, do you know where Magic Boy's train is?"
"What did she say?"
"She said no."

The thing about these conversations is that we have them regardless of where the baby happens to be. So if we're in the kitchen and she's upstairs napping, I still have to ask her where the train is. Last week my parents took Magic Boy to their house for a few hours and my mother said he made her narrate the day to the baby- even though Happy Girl was at home with me. Also, if he tells me to ask the baby something and I don't he can't get past it. He'll wait, repeating, "Momma, ask her about it!" louder and louder until I finally ask the four-month old whatever it is he wants me to ask her. (Trust me, it's easier just to ask her right away.) I'm not really sure why he wants me to ask and tell her things, but it seems he really believes she's communicating somehow. This week, for example, I was sitting in the kitchen finishing my lunch. Happy Girl was relaxing in her swing a few feet away, and Magic Boy asked me if he could watch a movie. I whipped out the tried-and-true "We'll see" (I really don't like to let him watch t.v. but he's been sick so I've made exceptions). He went over to the swing, leaned in and whispered "Baby, can I watch a movie?" A few seconds later, he came running up to me, crying "She said no!!" Ummm... apparently the four-month old caves less easily to the boy's demands than I do. Who knew she could be such a strict disciplinarian?

Then, at dinner this evening, my husband and I were trying to convince Magic Boy that he should eat something (he hasn't been having any stomach problems). He didn't want to (clearly the pizza we were feeding him was really liver-and-onions in disguise) and got all worked up crying and carrying on about it. I put him on my lap and tried to calm him down, but apparently I was a bit late for that, and he vomited all over the floor and a good bit of my clothes. We went to the bathroom to clean up and when he was feeling a little better he said, "Tell Happy Girl I spit up like her."
"Happy Girl, Magic Baby spit up like you do."
"Tell her if she cries a lot she'll spit up."
"Happy Girl, if you cry a lot, you'll make yourself spit up."
"Tell her when I spit up it sprayed like a fireman putting out a fire."

That's right "it sprayed like a fireman putting out a fire." Not only does my life now contain similes comparing vomit to firefighting, but I get to relay these to an immobile blob who, apparently, has better control over the three- year old than I ever will.

Remind me again why I spent all that time in college?

photo meme

Amy tagged me for a photo meme recently, so here goes. The rules are: Go to your sixth picture folder and pick your sixth picture. Pray you remember the details. Tag five others.

My sixth folder is labeled "Around the House- Spring 2006" and the sixth picture in it (taken on May 28, or so says my computer) is this:
My husband holding a crying Magic Boy, who was almost exactly three months old at the time. Coincidentally, Happy Girl is almost exactly three months old right now, so I figured I'd post a picture of her crying, too, just so you could see how much they look alike.

Not buying it? How about these pics?

(I swear, my kids are usually happy. Although the pictures in this post seem to suggest otherwise.)

And just to make things interesting, here's a picture of me at the same age. (In the interest of fairness, I tried to find a picture of my husband too, but I couldn't. Trust me, though, my kids look nothing like him.)

Is it just me, or are my genes completely overpowering? I mean, Happy Girl and I were even born with the same hairdo. It's kind of freaky.

Anyway, I'm tagging the following people (if any of you have been tagged already I apologize, but I checked and didn't see that you've done this particular meme yet):

1. Rose Red
2. emma
3. Nadine
4. Kathryn
5. You! (Yeah, I'm cheesy like that.)

Can't wait to see your pics!

baby photos

Just thought I'd share some pictures!

The fat little fingers...
the chubby cheeks...

the big eyes...

the smiles and laughter (yep, she laughs now!) of one very Happy (not to mention sleepy) Girl!

monkey card!

For some reason, I always find cards with monkeys on them hilarious. And that Barenaked Ladies song is pretty funny, too. So what would be a great thing to receive in the mail? A card from Monkey, Nadine's little boy! I promised him I'd flash it on the blog, so here it is- all the way from the Netherlands!

Thanks, Monkey!

a day in the life

January 5, 2009

Get woken up ridiculously early by Magic Boy, who insists that he needs to go to the library right now.

Nurse the baby while trying to explain to the boy that the library is closed (seeing as the sun has yet to rise) and that we'll go as soon as they open. Also, protect the baby from her brother's repeated displays of "affection."

Pop waffles in the toaster for Magic Boy and down a fortifying glass of coffee milk. (Mmmmm...)

Butter the waffles, throw a banana on the plate and give it to Magic Boy. Take the baby in the next room to change her. Discover her diaper has exploded.

Wrestle with an inhuman amount of poop. Look over to find Magic Baby next to the bassinet. Eating Girl Scout Cookies. (Where the hell did he find those? 'Cause I thought I'd looked everywhere for that box...) Tell him we are absolutely not going to the library until he finishes breakfast.

Eat breakfast. Change Magic Boy. Dress Magic Boy. Tell Magic Boy to eat so we can go to the library. Feed the baby. Change the baby. Dress the baby. Tell Magic Boy to eat so we can go to the library.

Play with the baby. Attempt to clean the house. Tell Magic Boy to eat so we can go to the library.

Change Magic Boy. (Two words, kid: potty training.) Feed the baby. Change the baby. Tell Magic Boy to eat so we can go to the library.

Consider taking a quick shower, but quickly realize how foolish that idea is, as I haven't even peed by myself in two weeks. (Why he feels the need to join me, I have no idea. It's not like it's inspiring him to use the potty or anything. Not that I'm bitter, of course.) Instead, opt for throwing on some clothes, sticking my head in the sink and brushing my teeth.

Realize Magic Boy has finished breakfast. (Finally.) Look at the clock and see that it's... noon.

Debate with self and decide that a Good Mom would feed her kids before dragging them out of the house. Debate some more and conclude that I want to be an aforementioned Good Mom (plus I'm a little lightheaded- did I eat breakfast?). Prepare lunch.

Eat lunch alone, as Magic Boy is not hungry. ("Momma, I just had WAFFLES!") Feed the baby. Change the baby. Look over to find Magic Baby next to the bassinet. Eating pretzels. (Seriously, I don't even remember buying those...)

Decide to forget the whole Good Mom thing and just get out of the house, even if it means dragging starving children, as I'm pretty much ready to scream and/or have a nervous breakdown and at least getting to the library- hell, even getting to the car at this point- would feel like a major accomplishment.

Realize Happy Baby (in a wonderful show of irony) is not at all happy, and is in fact crying. Find and put on Magic Boy's shoes and jacket while listening to the baby cry. Find and put on my boots and Jedi wrap while listening to the baby cry. Find and put on Happy Baby's Baby Surprise Snowsuit while listening to the baby cry. Realize she has outgrown it already and resolve to add a few rows to the button part. Take a picture of her in it to post on Ravelry (before it's too late) while listening to the baby cry. [That link takes you to my Rav project page for the snowsuit. Stupid Blogger won't let me add pictures right now.]

Grab the baby from the bassinet and hoist her to my shoulder. Hear a splatter. Look over to find that the baby has vomited. Spectacularly. All over her snowsuit. And the Jedi wrap. And my only clean pair of pants that fit.

Sigh in defeat. Cover my ears and tell Magic Boy we're not going to the library after all. Explain (over his wails) that I'm pretty sure they have a "pants mandatory" rule, that's why.

Sit on the couch with the two of them. Nurse the baby to sleep. Read the boy to sleep. Cuddle, and get some peace back. Some. Until they wake up, of course.