Homemade Friday: Dottie Angel Frock and Greenwood Tank

Y'all.

I think my sewing mojo is busted.

There are many factors that could contribute to the fact that everything I've tried to sew lately has ended up less than stellar. I mean, I've been super sick, ridiculously sick, full-on worst sinus infection of my life sick. Then there's all the meds I'm on to fix said sickness, which are helping but also hurting as I spend most of my days now dizzy and woozy and whatnot.

And then, also, Sebastian is at his first overnight camp, his first time staying away from home in this type of setting with people he has never met before.

I'm stressing and worrying and can't stop obsessively pouring through the generous amount of photos the camp provides online to parents. (Thank you internet. Let's be best friends.) So while I can't tell if he's made friends, or what he's doing at every minute of every day, or whether he's homesick, I can see his face and see a bit of his experiences.

So, anyway, the last two items I've sewn have been kind of disappointing. First up was a Dottie Angel Frock that I cut out possibly a year ago. This was the second time I've sewn this particular pattern. This is the first one:

I think I like the idea of this dress more than I like the actual dress. Or - if I tweaked the pattern, the dress actually would be perfect. It's light weight, but also can be layered. It's got big front pockets for carrying all sorts of things - cucumbers and snow peas from the garden, maybe? Eggs from my imaginary chickens? One of my new kittens?

Also pictured - a sewing project that worked well.

But the neckline is not right. I think the first time I sewed the dress I graded between sizes because my hip to bust ratio is rather large, so I'm usually two different sizes - much smaller on top. But maybe I didn't do that with the second one? I didn't take any notes and it's been so long that I don't remember what I did. Obviously I have to fix it. If I do anything other than stand completely still the whole thing falls off my shoulders. I think I may just sew a seam up the back of the dress from the waist up. It probably isn't what I should do, but will at least make the dress functional.

And I want it functional because I think that it could be really wearable, and I love the colors. Here's a better photo that shows that:

Next on my sewing table was another Greenwood Tank from Straight Stitch Designs - also my second time sewing. And also completely wonky. I think that I should have used a regular stitch instead of a straight stitch on the neckline and armbands, because, once again, it's too wide. And also too stretched out.

This was my first Greenwood Tank:

I loved this one. It was a bit wonky, as well, but not nearly as bad as this new one. But that fabric isn't as stretchy as the fabric from the most recent, and I think that's why I got into trouble.

I was thinking about sewing up some pleats on the front and back, and try to make it look like I intentionally made it all too big. We'll see. I'm wearing it now because it's really comfortable, even if it looks weird.

So there you have it. Misshapen clothing. I gotta go sew something easy to make myself feel better. (My daughter is begging for an Elsa dress. I'm not sure I should do that until I'm over this slump.)

Motherhood & More: When your child is a lot like you, try pickin’ together*

My son is too much like his mother.

I can see parts of his personality grow­ing to become mirror images of mine. We’re both entirely too sensitive and take everything personally. We see the world in black and white, right and wrong and are hard to dissuade when we’ve made our decision on which is which. That one I’ve almost grown out of and am much more flexible these days, I promise.

However, the hardest one to overcome is our need to be good at everything we decide to attempt – drawing, music, soccer. No matter what it is, we don’t want to do it if our natural abilities won’t let us start better than everyone else.

Now, my son is having this issue with music.

I was raised with music as a large part of my life. My dad is a musician – guitar, bass, Dobro – and my sister and I grew up watching him perform in countless bands or have jam sessions at family pig roasts and get-togethers. We both took piano lessons; however, I quit early on over a difference of opinion with the piano teacher. She was mean and I didn’t like mean teachers.

But I still can play a tiny bit of “Stand By Me” and “Heart and Soul,” and, of course, “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” We all sang, although my mom insists that she “only plays the radio.”

I decided around 15 or 16 I wanted to learn the guitar. I was pretty ob­ses­sed with Janis Joplin and “Me and Bobby McGee” was No. 1 on my learn-to-play list. Plus that was when Lilith Fair was happening and there was an explosion of girl folk singers. I fit right in.

So I got a guitar, my dad taught me some chords and I started playing. I learned classic rock songs and oldies and angsty, acoustic girl power songs, then began writing my own angsty, acoustic girl power songs. I played guitar in church on many Sundays with a group of friends and a couple of times played at school chorus events.

But I slowed down considerably in college and stopped all together once I had my first kid. Time, you know? There’s only so much of it.

So when my son showed interest in music, I pushed for the guitar. My dad, who stresses the importance of nurturing musical talent, fixed him a left-handed one and we scheduled lessons with a local teacher.

But the problem is there was too much time between scheduling and the start of lessons. He had a couple of weeks to think and too much time to try it and see he’s not going to be able to play the guitar well without practice. He’s worried he’s not going to be good enough and so we had many, many discussions on why it’s important to work at skills, to push yourself, to just try. Because it’s in the trying and the effort that you see what you can accomplish.

He went into his first lesson excited and nervous and came out ready to learn. I can hear him in his room after bedtime and early in the morning strumming, trying as hard as he can to fret the G chord using his pinky.

What’s really great is that this is something we can do together. He wants me to work with him, to play with him. So now I’m excited and ready to pick my own guitar back up and play.

I wonder if he wants to learn any Lisa Loeb?

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on March 23, 2016.

Motherhood & More: When the kid's right, he's right — even if he's wrong*

I have a kid who knows more than me.

At least, that’s what he believes. And he’s right in some instances. For example, I do not know whether emeralds are stronger than diamonds in Minecraft or how to work the Playstation remote or the different life cycles of certain bugs.

I do, however, know that Valentine’s Day always, every year, falls on Feb. 14, not Feb. 7. The child was adamant to the point of frustration and near tears that he was right and we, his parents, were absolute idiots for not knowing the true date of the holiday.

This type of thing happens often. When he is sure, he will fight you with the determination of a stubborn 7-year-old dealing with his out-of-touch parents. Sometimes he’s right, sometimes he’s wrong. Always he’s obstinate.

I try to think back to when I was his age and wanted to be taken seriously and whether I was as much of a jerk to my parents. (Yes. The answer is yes. I am still not quite clear how my parents didn’t regularly drop me and my sister off somewhere for extended periods of time just to get away from the enormous amount of attitude heaped upon them daily.)

I know it’s horrible to be dismissed and not respected as an intelligent, thoughtful person, even at 7. I try to be as supportive as I can while still needing to banish the child to his room until he stops talking to me as if no one in the entire world could be as “un-with it” as I am.

And the thing is, he’s super, crazy smart. He does know much more than I do on certain subjects, which makes all of this that much harder.

I honestly thought I had more time before this became an issue. Twelve? Thirteen? Isn’t that the age the eye rolling starts? But now I can see years and years spread out before us, with him being increasingly right and me being increasingly wrong.

We, the parents, will become progressively out of touch with what “the kids these days” are doing. Already I can’t keep up with technology, so I am becoming a stereotypical mom who needs her kid to show her how to use all the new-fangled phone apps. I also now am using words like “new-fangled.”

So he will grow ever away from me — seeking more time with friends and less time with his boring, dorky parents.

For now, though, I still can get him to discuss books and movies and whatever else is interesting him, though I tune out when he starts in on Minecraft. There is only so much interest in Minecraft I can fake and I met my limit a year ago. (Sorry, kid. This blank stare totally doesn’t mean I’m not interested in seeing the new house you built. Swearsies.)

And maybe, if I am lucky and patient and can ignore the eye rolling, he will continue to teach me new things and I will be able to learn with him.

At least until he turns 13, right?

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on February 24, 2016.

Motherhood & More: Hoping kids remember more than Christmas magic misses*

I think I may have single handedly ruined the magicalness of Christmas for my kids.

I mean, there’s only so much enchantment I can create, you know? As much as I would love to present my children with a Pinterest Christmas, I gave up on that attempt the year my daughter destroyed the homemade applesauce cinnamon ornaments just because.

They have an advent calendar with a daily treat (mostly cheap chocolate because I am not an idiot) but we had to move that surprise to the afternoon because someone (my son) wasn’t sleeping past 4:30 a.m. He was too excited because of all the anticipation, and I was too tired because of all the early rising.

But sometimes I forget to have their treat out when they get home from school. They run expectedly, eyes bright hoping for their tiny snowman chocolate. I have to inform them that no, their mother wasn’t prepared. Again. But hold on a minute and I’ll get it for you. I guess that ruins the surprise, or something.

We also acquired an Elf on the Shelf a few years ago as a family gift, though we probably would have gotten him ourselves because everyone has to have an elf now, right?

Guess how happy I am about that little nuisance? Not only does he absolutely have to be in a different spot every night, but parents now are creating ridiculous scenarios where their elf is squirting toothpaste all over the bathroom because he’s just a silly, naughty thing. Excuse me, but I have enough junk to pick up after my children. Sorry, kids. I’m not cleaning up after the elf, too. You will just have to make do with our boring Mr. Christmas.

I also don’t understand how people leave their elves in places low enough for kids to reach. My kids know they’re not supposed to touch him. However my daughter will look you right in the eye as you tell her not to touch and poke the poor guy’s leg. That’s because no one is allowed to tell her what not to do, obviously.

And now my son has started writing to our elf. Usually he tells me when he’s written a letter and asks that I make sure the elf knows about it because we have a special bond, Mr. Christmas and I. But sometimes my son doesn’t tell me and is greatly disappointed when there isn’t a response. That means, of course, that now I have to search for a letter every night, just in case.

As much as I complain, I actually wish I were better at all of this than I am. I’d love to be the type of mom who has everything organized enough to fill every day of the Christmas season with magic. I’m having a difficult enough time keeping up with all I’m supposed to be doing that isn’t Christmas related, and many times I drop the ball. But I hope they don’t remember all the times the elf didn’t respond to a letter, or how we still didn’t put up the outside Christmas lights.

Maybe, instead, they’ll remember cookies we made, the tree we decorated, the Christmas music and hot chocolate, and the holiday shows we watched snuggled up together and offer a bit of forgiveness to their imperfect Mama.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on December 23, 2015.

Motherhood and More: Don't lose your head over Mom-made costume*

I have a Halloween problem. Or, more specifically, I have a homemade Halloween costume problem.

You see, ever since the first time I sewed my oldest child his Halloween costume, I haven’t been able to go back to store-bought ones. I just have a problem paying upwards of $20-$40 for a costume that will be worn once, then fall apart.  That’s not to say that we’ve never rocked the premade ones, but this way makes us all happier.

Plus, as with everything I do as a parent, I have Mom Guilt. My mom made our Halloween costumes. They were always fun and awesome, especially that one year in high school where I made her sew me a sunset costume.

Yes, yes I did. And yes, yes she did.

So I feel it’s my duty to carry on the tradition because I have the capabilities. And it’s just fun. I like saying that I made it, and to me, Halloween should be all about creativity. You can be anything you want and should take full advantage of that.

So I’ve made ninja costumes, wizards, Batman, Harry Potter, an Elsa cape, and, though it wasn’t for Halloween, I’ve made a Luke Skywalker costume.

This year my son has been adamant that he will be the Headless Horseman. It took me awhile to figure that one out. We had a cape from last year’s Harry Potter costume, so that part was simple. But the pumpkin head has given me trouble. I’ve looked at Styrofoam pumpkins, plastic pumpkins and any other pumpkin I could find before dismissing them all as too small, too large, too difficult or too plastic-y. I finally realized that a Paper Mache pumpkin would be perfect. I could make it the size I wanted, easily cut a hole for his head, and it still would be light enough to sit on his shoulders without causing harm.

He wants it painted black with dripping blood, and he also wants to be able to throw it at people because of course he does.

He’s worrying a bit because it’s not quite finished yet.  Don’t worry, kid. I may be last minute but I always get it done.

I started the pumpkin head late because I’ve been fighting with my daughter’s fairy costume. This one was ridiculous. I’ve never sewn satin or organza, and never will again after this. Maybe if I’d done a bit of research before jumping in I wouldn’t have had such trouble, but if I had then I wouldn’t be me.

The costume has a dress and flowing skirt, plus a vest. And it was supposed to have handmade wings but I had to throw in the towel on that and use store-bought ones. There’s only so much torture I am willing to take in the name of homemade Halloween costumes and I had met my limit with all of the hand sewing required.

So I’m excited for Halloween because my kids are pumped about their costumes, which makes me feel good. And I hope that this is something they let me do for years and years to come.

I’ll even sew a sunset costume if that’s what they want.

Halloween 2012 can be found here and here. Sebastian's Luke costume can be found here. And Halloween 2013 is here. I don't have a post for Halloween 2014 because I got lazy, but I do have instagram photos! 

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on October 28, 2015.

Motherhood & More: The kids grow up and, somehow, so do the parents*

Adele took this one.

The other day, my husband turned to me and said, “He’s 7. How did that happen?”

He was, of course, referring to our son, our oldest. It’s so strange how that transpires. One minute you’re wishing and wishing for time to go faster, for you to be older and more independent, then the next, you’re the mother of an almost-tween who acts more like a 30-year-old than most 30-year-olds.

And he does. He’s always thoughtful and responsible, forever trying to improve things about himself — whether it’s increasing the amount of healthy foods he eats or decreasing his screen time. He’s so proud for doing what he considers the right thing and always is quick to call his parents out for doing things they shouldn’t — such as forgetting to recycle.

He’s goofy but shy, respectful but kind of gross in that he loves bodily function humor. He’s learning to play chess and  always is improving on the soccer field. He still will hold my hand in public and give me hugs and kisses, but I know it won’t be long before that changes.

It’s absolutely insane. I don’t feel like the mother of a 7-year-old. I feel like me, you know? I feel like who I was, the same weirdo-goofball I’ve always been. But now there are small people forever needing me.

I’ve never minded growing older. I absolutely believe age is just a number. I’m so much happier and satisfied now than I ever was in my 20s. Of course, having young children will exhaust you to the point where you don’t even remember what it was like before they were there. But there are no regrets. I never feel like I’m truly missing anything. Often, I would like more time to myself, to do exactly what I want to do. But, in my eyes, that’s not the same thing as wishing to be alone.

It’s hard, sometimes, being a parent. It’s hard to remain yourself, to keep that part of you that is only you, not Mama or Wife. And I think it’s absolutely essential to grow and evolve once you are caring for another human being 24-7. Because how could you not?

Your entire life is flipped around and most of your thoughts will switch from, “How will this affect me?” to, “How will this affect my child?” (Or, in many instances, “How can I get more sleep?”)

It’s such a fantastic thing, that development. Nothing else but parenthood can change you like that – from selfish to selfless.

And every time my youngest gets up in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with us, I remind myself of this. She won’t always do it. I need to enjoy it now because it’s part of our story, part of my evolution.

Neither of my children will be small for very much longer, and already it feels like it’s slipping away.

But for now I’m still Mama. And that’s just fine by me.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on Sept. 23, 2015.

Motherhood & More: Silence is golden, but I miss my babies*

My days are child-free. For six hours a day, every weekday, for the first time since I had children, I am at home alone, regularly.

It’s … odd. And quiet.

I’m able to work uninterrupted, forming complete thoughts without the incessant tone of whatever ridiculous television program the kids are watching. I actually can generate an entire sentence without stopping to play another game of Candyland or another game of “where did my daughter run off to, now?”

My house stays clean for longer than 15 minutes and I can keep up with dirty dishes.

I don’t find random half-eaten snacks under the couch or rotten cups of milk. I don’t spend all of my days explaining that sure, fighting is completely normal, but let’s try not to draw blood, OK?

I work. I have made some time to sew. I make jewelry to sell. I knit. I work some more. I perform household chores.  I wait for the kids to get off the bus. I drink my coffee. I clean the house. I work even more.

I’m incredibly, wonderfully lucky to have the opportunities I have. I can work and contribute and learn and grow and use my mad word skills.

But it’s quiet. I can form complete sentences without interruption. I’m not playing Candyland or refereeing or pitching the baseball endlessly to the two batters who never let me hit. I’m not riding bikes in the driveway or looking at fossils with a magnifying glass.

And I miss all of it.

I’m not working to the endless background noises of annoying kid shows. I’m not cleaning up food or one more drink spill in the living room, even though drinks aren’t actually allowed there.
It’s so, so quiet. Peaceful, yes. But also a bit too peaceful. I’m a bit too alone and goodness I do love to be alone.

I know I will need to become used to this, just like everything else. It’s a new situation, one I haven’t experienced before. I am a homebody, most definitely. And yet I also need to make sure I interact with people, adults, at least sporadically.

In a way I feel like being here, being alone, is somehow not natural. I am not supposed to have this much time to myself, because, for the past seven years I haven’t. Since I became Mama, almost every thought, every day, every hour has been spent on my kids.

OK, maybe that’s not entirely accurate and a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s still partly true. This is the first time in a long time I’ve been able to be at home alone for this amount of time. I need to learn how to be me, without them.

It’s pretty cool, yes. But, oh, do I miss my babies. My smart, wild, annoying, funny, time-consuming, not-really-babies-anymore babies.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on August 26, 2015.

(This is my 500th post. I probably should have something a bit more special than this column, but this is what I got. Hopefully I'll be more motivated to come back to this space soon. I miss it, and I have so much stuff to show you - lots of sewing and knitting and whatnot - heavy on the whatnot.)

Coffee- and random capslock-infused vignettes

Sometimes I get locked in my closet/office because of a class or Very Important Test happening in the computer lab that is my lobby and I have a love-hate relationship with the isolation.

I kind of love being locked in.  No one will bother me - not that that is a very frequent occurrence anyway, but still.  I can hide and be alone and talk to no one and be an introvert.

However, I also hate being locked in.  And this is mainly because I have to pee a lot in the mornings.  Like a lot.  Like, I could pee every 7 minutes if someone made me pee every 7 minutes because of a weird need to force someone to pee every 7 minutes.

Maybe this has something to do with the amount of coffee I drink in the mornings or the amount of children I have birthed but the problem is there no matter what the cause.

And I could interrupt the test, I really could.  No one would be mad at me except probably the students who are bothered by me startling them because no one expects someone to burst out of a closet in a computer lab shouting "Oh I AM sorry!  Don't mind me - I just need to pee because I've had gallons of coffee and birthed two children who destroyed my bottom half and ha-ha!  You know what I'm talking about, don't you?  But I'll only walk through this once, I promise, except not really because I have THE SMALLEST BLADDER IN THE WORLD."

The students tend to lose their focus when that happens.

So I hide and squirm until the last possible second because I don't want to disturb anyone or cause anyone a slight irritation.

In other, non-bladder-related news I sewed myself another Scout Tee.  This one is made from polyester and is teal with maroon stars on it and really, could there be any better fabric choice?

It makes me smile.

My sewing machine decided it hated me this weekend and started breaking my needle thread and bunching up my bobbin thread and generally being an asshole.  And then it stopped because I blew some dust out of the bobbin area and I patted myself on the back for being an expert sewing machine repair person.  And then it started up again.

And in other-other non-bladder-related news Adele picked out her clothes this morning and insisted on dressing herself completely and actually wore the school jumper I sewed for her and even put on her shoes and had very specific ideas about how she wanted her hair fixed and ate her breakfast and brushed her own teeth and this was a definite Excellent Morning, especially after we had a ridiculous weekend full of both kids bickering and fighting and pinching and my in-laws took pity on us when we went to eat dinner with them and let the kids stay the night at their house.

Chris and I went home and watched House of Cards.

And then we picked them up on Sunday and they were still fighting and last night Sebastian pinched his sister really hard and when he was reprimanded he asked (yelled) WHY DID YOU EVEN GET ME THEN and was very upset about the fact that, as he put it, Adele used to be the one hitting and pinching and now it was him and WOE IS HE WHO IS 6 YEARS OLD AND SUPER TIRED.

And then Sebastian told me that some of our friends' kids said Adele was a jerk which is TOTALLY NOT COOL YOU LITTLE JERKS.

And then everyone was fine and we read bedtime stories and both children actually listened to me read the stories, which is rare because usually storytime is also wrestling time and Adele went to bed again without screaming and throwing things at my head as I walked down the stairs and this morning it was so hard to wake up because I didn't sleep very well and had a 4 year old in my bed laying on my chest but the she got herself ready and it made me happy and a little relieved and Sebastian got himself ready like he always does which makes mornings that much more manageable.

And we played I-Spy on the way to school like we always do and Adele picked the yellow sun like she always does and I picked the red sign like I always do and Sebastian picked the white snow like he always does and Chris picked the brown building like he always does.

Snowbound and down. And then up. And then down.

I've been feeling a bit blah lately.

I don't feel like I have anything to say or any desire to create something out of a few words and thoughts.  I think I've said it all.

I mean, I know.  When did I ever have anything super important to say?  A lot of it was drivel, and I was okay with that.  I need to be okay with it again because it was fun and entertaining and we all need a little fun and entertaining drivel in our lives.

I especially needed it last week during snowpocaplyse or snowmageddon or whatever we are calling the ridiculous amount of snow my area received last week.  Of course, it was probably pretty light by Maine standards, but for Kentucky it was enough to close everything down.

It meant that my work was closed and my children were home with me all day every day and we couldn't drive anywhere the cabin fever set in pretty early so every day was filled with disagreements and whining and fighting and would you two please just separate so I don't have to listen to this?

So I let them watch entirely too much television and play games on tablets and I hid behind my sewing machine in order to pretend that I was alone and not currently in the midst of random outbreaks of sibling war.

I sewed a lot.  Like a lot a lot.

I made Adele three dresses.  The first one was Anya from Green Bee patterns.  I did not enjoy sewing this dress.  The set-in sleeves had wonky corner seams and it was frustrating and all I wanted was something easy.  But I think that had more to do with the person sewing the dress than any actual problems with the pattern.  Adele loves the dress, which she calls her 'cheetah dress' and I love the skull and crossbones buttons.

The second dress I sewed for Adele (McCall's 6728) is out of material from an old dress that Chris' grandmother gave me.  The material is fantastic and I thought it would be nice for Adele to have something from Uri (great-grandma in German).  Plus she loves that it's twirly:

No really.  She LOVES it:

I bribed her with candy to get her to stand still for this photo:

The pattern for the third one is Butterick 5019.  She doesn't like it all that much so I don't have a photo but one day I will either bribe her again or force her to put it on.  For now you can look at this picture and imagine that it's Adele wearing the dress.  Her's also has pink flowers on it.

If you sort of squint you can see me sewing the dress in this lovely photo that Adele took when she stole my phone as I was otherwise occupied.  That green thing on the table is a bottle of beer that is making me sad to look at because I gave up alcohol for lent.

I made myself two dresses.  This white one that I plan on dying red as soon as the dye I ordered gets to my house.  I'll share more about that later.  The pattern is Tiramisu from Cake patterns.

The second dress was another version of the Trapeze Sundress from Weekend Sewing that I cut out right after I completed that one and never sewed together.  It's been living in pieces in my closet since then.  This one is a sort of minty-teal.  Once it warms up enough for me to be able to wear the dress without catching frostbite I'll photograph it.  For now you can see the fabric underneath this jar of homemade face cream my sister whipped together.  If you're interested, she has an Etsy shop called Dixie Daisy Naturals and I highly, highly recommend this stuff.

And lest you think I forgot about the boys in the family, I'll put your minds at ease to tell you that I hemmed my husband's pants for him.  The same pants I have been promising to hem for months.

Sebastian got a whole new pair of pants - knit pants from Oliver and S patterns.  These were super easy and sewed right up out of a thin, light gray jersey material.  He loves them and I'm guessing I'll be making more of them.

I attempted to make a pair for Adele out of khaki because she's outgrown all of her school uniform pants, but unfortunately I didn't take into account that khaki isn't nearly as stretchy as jersey and so the pants have no give and are too small and it makes me sad because they are actually really nice pants.  That she won't wear.

I also made myself a pair of warm pajama pants, but the material was a weird polyester that I thought would be warm but in actuality was ridiculously hot and I can't bear to wear them.  Plus they're too big and fall down, even with a drawstring because the material stretches.  Those will probably be scrapped.

I sewed myself a bag using this tutorial from See Kate Sew:

It's huge!  I love it.  I've been using it as a purse because I like it and want to be near it but I think it would actually work more as a tote bag.

In addition to sewing I also finished knitting a sweater for Sebastian and worked more on a sweater I started last year for Chris.

(Apparently Chris gets pushed aside sometimes.  Woops!)

And I made homemade poptarts from smitten kitchen that were so, so good and homemade blueberry pancakes that tasted horribly and dinner every night and muffins and homemade paleo granola that I can't stop eating with milk and chocolate chips and I occasionally cleaned the house and we put chocolate in our oatmeal because we needed it.  And Adele learned how to write her name, which was super exciting for us all.  Also there was pantsless drawing.

I was so ready to go back to work.

I wasn't at all ready to go back to work.

I'm a better mother when I go to work.

I'm a better mother when I'm at home with the kids.

Such is life, right?

The real question here is how is she already old enough for kindergarten?

I don't think it's any secret that I worry more about Adele than I probably should.

She's stubborn and mule-headed and sweet and caring and wild and completely ignores me when I ask her to do something as annoying as 'STOP STANDING ON THE TABLE.'

I stress and stress and then stress some more.  And I've just added more to my list of things that worry me because now we are discussing kindergarten.

Her birthday is in a weird place - September - and the rules are changing soon for kindergarten eligibility.  Namely, in 2016 kids will have to be 5 before August 1 in order to be able to start school. It was a little up in the air as to when exactly that was changing because I've gotten conflicting information but I just called the school and got the 100 percent, here-is-how-it-works facts so yes, Adele will be going to kindergarten next year.

Holy shit.  Holyshitholyshitholyshit.  Holy shit.

I mean, we do have the option to keep her out next year if we don't think she's ready, but I really do. I haven't always, I admit it.  I've been so worried about how she is and how she learns and where she is on a scale of ready or not but she's grown and learned so much in the past few months at her preschool that I know she'll be ready for Real Live School.

Plus she's much better behaved at school than she is at home.  I haven't gotten any notes about her spitting in her teachers' faces so I think that's a good sign.

Of course, I've made everything about the school situation even more difficult because now we are deciding where exactly she should go.

A little background - Sebastian went to two years of preschool our local catholic preschool/elementary school/middle school.  It's an amazing school.  Like capital 'A' Amazing.  The teachers are great and the other students are great and even Sebastian's public school kindergarten teacher said that kids coming out of this preschool generally 'know their stuff' when they start kindergarten.  We didn't keep him in the catholic school when he started kindergarten because, well, it's expensive and I wasn't working at the time.

Adele is going to the same preschool this year and now I kind of want to keep her there for school-school.  And move Sebastian from his public school to the private one next school year.

We've had really good luck with public school - both of Sebastian's teachers for kindergarten and first grade have been amazing.  But this other school - it just gives me a really good feeling, you know?  It's my pick.  I want to give my kids the best that I can and I think this school is the best.  And I don't worry about Sebastian switching schools.  He may be shy a bit at first but he's an adaptable boy and incredibly social and he genuinely likes people.

The only issue is money.  As it usually is.  The school isn't cheap and we'd have two kids to cover.

We are mulling it over.  We are discussing.  We are budgeting.  We are strategizing.

(This is going to sound super selfish but in addition to the money aspect I'll also have to pick them up every day from school instead of relying on public transportation and IT'S ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN!  So I'm taking that into consideration.)

Sebastian, age 6 1/2 years

This morning on the way to school Sebastian asked me if, when he's an adult and has a job, if it doesn't pay enough for him to buy a house could he just live with me?

I said sure thing.

This kid.  He's so thoughtful, you know?  And I don't mean 'thoughtful' as in kind and caring, though he's that, too.

I mean 'thoughtful' as in he thinks deeply about everything.  He's continually analyzing and learning and delving deeper into whatever subject he's interested in.

He asks me religious questions that I can't answer, ones that I've never even considered.  He's talked like an adult since he was 3.  He's quick to defend everyone and everything.  He's genuinely worried about sharks getting a bum rap, and wants to help out all the endangered animals.

He pretends to be humble so we tell him how awesome he is.  He can read his Harry Potter book, but I think the thickness intimidates him.  Everyone who meets him loves him.  He's polite and quick to help - this past week he decided to make my bed for me every day because "I don't want you to have to do it, Mom."

He also unloaded the silverware from the dishwasher and has kept his room clean.  He is the easiest kid ever to get ready in the morning because he does it all himself.  He wakes up, gets dressed, brushes his teeth after breakfast and puts his coat and shoes on.  The only thing have to do is make him breakfast - and that's because I won't let him use the toaster or bread knife without me, I'm pretty confident he could do it all alone but I'm not ready to let that go just yet.

He loves books and reading and calls himself a bookworm, but also would have his nose glued to his tablet if I let him.  He's obsessed with recycling - but in his case it means using the boxes that his legos come in to hold other toys.  "I'm finding other uses for it, Mom," he says.

He runs in front of me to hold doors open.  He is ridiculously sensitive and takes everything literally, both of which he gets from me.  But that helps me understand him.  It helps me watch what I say and I can tell what he's thinking, or how he will react in certain situations.

He's tougher than he should be, and is a physical boy, running and kicking and wrestling and flipping and jumping - sometimes on his sister.

He attempts to reason with Adele - asking her nicely if would please stop spitting on him because he really doesn't like it, which never works but it's good that he keeps trying anyway.

His hugs can hurt because he squeezes as hard as he can and he still insists on jumping into my arms before bed.  He calls them jump-hugs.

He takes his own showers, requiring no assistance from his parents.  He's ridiculously independent but still sometimes wants to be babied, which I'm happy to do because it is a rare occurrence.

He's grown up much faster than I ever thought he would.  I worry sometimes that I'm doing him a disservice because his sister requires, or demands, so much more of our time and attention.  Sebastian doesn't, but he still needs us, just not in the same way.  He's much quieter about it.  He does what we ask him too, mostly, without fighting or arguing and he respects our rules.

This kid.  This boy.  He's 6 and 1/2 and I can't hardly believe it.  He's reading and writing and doing math in his head and he's empathetic to a fault sometimes.

I can almost see the man he will become.  But he's still and will forever be my sweet boy.

And I have how many days left until they go back to school?

I am currently 56 percent zombie, 41 percent coffee and the rest cracker candy.

That's because my sweet 4-year-old Adele had a minor freakout at 2 in the morning in the form of hysterical screaming about spiders in her bed.  (Spiders this time, not snakes.)  And so I lay with her for awhile to calm her down, and I noticed that she sounded horribly congested and wouldn't stop coughing.  I got her some cough medicine and hippie decongestant salve and returned to my own bed, hoping to quickly return to sleep.  I knew it was wishful thinking because I am self aware, but still.  I wanted to believe it was possible.

But then, of course, Adele began fake crying because she's not supposed to get out of bed and that was her way to get our attention.  She's not supposed to get out of bed because for the past few weeks (WEEKS) she has come downstairs in the middle of the night to our bed.  We let her stay for a bit then one of us (me) will carry her back to her own bed.  And neither parent goes back to sleep.

So instead of coming downstairs after we told her not to she put her head right by her door and fake cried until I made it back upstairs.  I gave up at that point.

I stayed in her bed until around 5.  I think I slept some.  A bit.  But not nearly enough.  And today I needed to run to the store for jewelry supplies because I had two necklace orders and desperately needed chains even though I was sure I'd bought an obscene amount the last time I stocked up and how did I go through so many so fast?  (Obviously, this is a good problem to have.  Just not today.)

So the kids and I went out, me partially awake and Adele majorly tired and possibly on the verge of a meltdown.  But luckily that didn't show up until we were waiting in line at the bookstore to get a drink and I refused to buy her a cookie.  We were at the bookstore because I didn't have the energy to disagree with my son who really, really wanted to go there.  That's also how we ended up with a chapter book.  Well, that and I'm a sucker for books and it's pretty awesome that he's reading chapter books and I'm ok with encouraging it.

And maybe I would have been okay with buying a cookie for the kids if they hadn't spent the entire weekend eating nothing but sugar.  We had three parties to go to on Saturday which included cupcakes and gingerbread house and cookie decorating and hot chocolate and chocolate covered pretzels and - and - and ...

And on Sunday we had my parents' Christmas party where the rest of us ate lasagna but my two unnatural children don't actually like lasagna and so survived on Pez.

So I thought I'd attempt to get them back on some sort of halfway-healthy-type of food plan, which didn't include overpriced cookies from the bookstore cafe.  Adele flipped out so we left that line and went in the book-buying line, which actually was longer than the over-priced coffee and cookie line.  And she wouldn't stop flipping out so I put her Barbie book back and just bought Sebastian's book because he was behaving like a civilized human being.

And then she screamed in the car when she realized I hadn't bought her book.

Thems the breaks, kid.

We went home and ate lunch and Adele took a nap, which means that she was exceptionally tired because she didn't even protest me forcing her in her room all that much.  I honestly think she was a little relieved.

I probably should have taken a nap myself but I had three baskets of laundry to fold and Gilmore Girls to marathon and so I just made another pot of coffee and had a few more bites of cracker candy an considered myself sustained.

Lest you think I was completely neglecting my older child, he was around, and perfectly behaved because he spent his afternoon watching youtube videos of a boy opening toys and playing with them.  Now, I don't necessarily understand the concept of evantube, but it keeps him occupied.

Good Lord, is it only the first day of Christmas break?