Just in case you've been wondering--biting your nails every night as you try to go to sleep, but can't because you're fretting about my poor, rained-upon head--I think I've found a hat that I like.




Cute, yes or no? Is the plaid too much? Will it go with everything? There were a couple of solid grey ones (one with a little flowery trim and another with button details) that I liked on the rack, but the flowery-trim one seemed too big and floppy on top, while the button one was too tight. I didn't want to get black because it's too boring, so I was trying to go with either grey or brown as a fall-ish, not-black neutral.

And where, you may be asking, are all these hats I was trying on? Fred Meyer! I found a whole rack of exactly the kind of trendy hats I was looking for while I was there with the girls to buy cough drops, milk, and eggs. And the hats were all on sale for $14.99! So much cheaper than some of the ones I was looking at online. I was quite pleased--way to go, Freddy's. One stop shopping at its finest.

Though you can't tell in the picture, I do still have the tag on it in the back. Just in case I decide it's not right for me. Maybe that other grey one with the flowery trim wasn't too floppy...I may need to go back (without the girls) and stand in the hat section trying them all on for an hour or so before I'm completely sure.

And here is my other major fall-weather steal of the week:





A new coat!


I really love it--the color, the fitted waist, the shiny buttons, the little pockets. And I think it will go with the hat pretty well. (Comments on whether or not they would look good together, from more fashionable folks than I, are welcome here.)

And guess how much I paid for it. Any guesses? I'm waiting.....

One dollar! Yep, you heard me right. One whole dollar, at a garage sale around the corner from me. It may be my best garage sale buy ever.

So: a whole new winter look for me, for the grand total of $15.99. If I can just find a pair of black boots for a deal like that, I'll be completely set.

Child with a cold, to me: Mom, my nose is runny.

Me: Well, wipe it off with a tissue.

Child: No, it's okay. I just wiped it clean with my tongue.

So I thought I would just get started on looking through a few photos from 2007...and then I ended up spending the rest of my day selecting, editing, uploading and laying out a years' worth of photos. Please tell me I'm not the only one who can suddenly get seized by a new but not really necessary project and then at the end of the day wonder why exactly you decided to spend all those hours on it?

2. punctuation= x-rated? I almost didn't post that picture of the bread semi-colon yesterday. This didn't occur to me, pre-baking, but when I took it out of the oven, I suddenly became afraid that it actually looked like a you-know-what. But with only one of those other you-know-whats.

3. Sore throat=end of the world. Or so it seems to my oldest today. She came home from school complaining about a sore throat. (I know, second week of school and sick already). And I just can't seem to find anything that will make her feel better. I've given her Tylenol. I've given her cough/cold syrup. She refuses to drink tea or hot water with lemon and honey. We tried a chloraseptic throat spray and she hated it. Any other suggestions on easing sore throat pain? Because I am going to go absolutely crazy if I have to listen to the whining much longer.

4. Pioneer woman cake=too buttery. I made a yummy apple upside-down cake from Pioneer Woman Cooks the other day. It was really, really good, but after a little reflection, I've come to the following conclusion: it was actually a little TOO buttery. That's sacrilege, I know, to say a dessert was too rich and good. In general, I'm a person who likes rich desserts. I am of the opinion that if you're going to have dessert, just have dessert. Low-fat, low-sugar stuff just isn't the same. But in this case, I really think decreasing the butter in the pan by half a cup or so would have allowed more of the fresh, apple-icious taste to come through and improved the overall flavor.

5. Pop = bad. I think I'm going to have to give up soda. Lots of people have told me it's bad for me, and expensive, and even people who drink only diet soda still gain weight, and on and on, but I resisted. But then my dentist told me this week that yes, I really ought to lay off the soda. So I'm finishing the store-brand diet cola currently in my fridge, and then I'm saying goodbye.

6. Re-writing a previous article=harder than it sounds. An editor asked me a few weeks ago to re-work some of what I had written for an article earlier this year into a new article for a different publication. I said yes, thinking it would be so easy. The work was already done! I did a couple new interviews and am now attempting to write the thing. And you know what? It's hard! Because I already covered this same ground before, and I put thought into figuring out the absolute best way to organize this information. And now I have to come up with a new, but still awesome, way to write this same article. Apparently I only have a certain amount of creativity in me, because everything I can come up with is pretty much exactly the same as what I already wrote before.

7. Etiquette=dilemma. Imagine the following: you have been working on making a gift for a friend. You are 95 percent done with your work on this gift (which is a surprise for the friend). During an unrelated conversation, this friend happens to mention that she already has SEVENTEEN of this particular item that you have been working on. NOW what do you do? Not give it to her after all? Or give it to her even though you know it's probably the last thing on earth that she needs since she already owns 17 of them?

Does everyone know what today was?

I certainly hope you all celebrated!

National Punctuation Day! (Thanks to Jennifer Moody for the heads-up about this one).

In accordance with the suggestions on their website, I created a baked good in the shape of a punctuation mark.

Do you all know what this is?





That's right. Our friend the semi-colon.




I feel certain that ingesting French bread shaped like punctuation made my children just a little bit smarter today.

I have known for a long time that Beth has a big imagination and an aptitude for drama. As she gets older, I find myself being ever more entertained by the monologues that I have the privilege of eavesdropping on.

She has a penchant for creating a story in her head--with herself as the main character--and then describing the plotline out loud. She speaks in a dreamy, dramatic voice, narrating in the third person with whatever it is she happens to be doing. But what I really get a kick out of is how she refers to herself in these little performances.

"And then...there was a beautiful woman standing by the window," she will say as she gazes out the window.


"You saw a beautiful woman pouring water into a bowl," I heard her say to a playmate as they played "cooking" with water and leaves and buckets outside one day. (I listened for his response, but he did not feel the need to comment upon her beauty. This is the same very manly little friend who once made Beth quite upset when he refused to dress up like a King and escort her to a ball. "I'm a cowboy," he said flatly. End of story.)


"And there was a beautiful woman wearing a pink and purple dress, and she was combing her hair," she said into the mirror yesterday as she got ready for school.

No, there's no lack of self-esteem here for my beautiful little woman.

1. After one week of school, Beth is still enjoying herself and eager to go each day. Her favorite parts? Recess and music class. Can't argue with that.

2. Oh, the things my children say to me. The other day, one of them whined, "Mom! I just had a really pukey burp." Ummm...how does one respond to a statement like that? OK? Good for you? What is it exactly you think I can do about that situation?

3. Sign that my daughter is getting way too smart: Leafing through her AYSO magazine, she spots an advertisement for soccer-themed accessories, with their prices boldly displayed in the corner of each picture. One of them is a glittery rhinestone-encrusted soccer ball necklace. "Oh, Mom, please can I get this beautiful necklace?" Beth asks. "Oh, probably not," I said. And then, perhaps anticipating my pat answer to most any request for an unnecessary item (That would be: "It's too expensive.") she added sweetly, "And for only twelve dollars!" I looked. She was right.

Great. She's figured out how to read price tags. Now I'm going to have to come up with a new reason for why she couldn't get the Barney videos at the garage sale. (My excuse being: It's too expensive. The real reason being: I hate Barney.)

4. Really yummy recipe you should try: focaccia from Heather at Muddy Creek Creations. I've made this several times this summer, both as focaccia bread and also as pizza crust (I've got some rising on the counter right now for pizza tonight). I just mix up the ingredients, knead it a little (probably 5 minutes max) by hand, let it rise for an hour or so, shape it and let it rise a little more if I have time, or just put it straight in the oven if I don't. The last time I made this, my husband called it "Frickin' amazing." So if you want some frickin' amazing focaccia, give it a try.

5. The first day we dropped Beth off at school, my tender-hearted little Lucy kept her face buried in Daddy's shoulder all the way home. Then we got home, and Daddy went to work, and Evie went down for a nap. "What do you want to do?" I asked her. "It's just you and me. We can do whatever YOU want to do."

She looked around her bedroom. At the Polly Pockets. And the princess Barbies. And the My Little Ponies. And the toy kitchen. All things she and Beth both love and both usually want to play with. "I want to play with my toys all by myself." she said.

And that's what she did--played happily alone in her room for at least an hour, no sharing required.

6. Evie didn't seem to notice Beth was gone. Or so I thought. When we went to pick Beth up, as soon as we rounded the corner and started crossing the school grounds, Evie perked up. She started pointing and shrieking. "Beh!" she screamed, pointing at the big brown building that had swallowed up her sister this morning. "Beh! Beh! Beh!" she yelled. And she didn't stop yelling Beth's name until she appeared in the classroom doorway. She screams Beth's name on the way to her pick her up every single day now. It was cute the first time.

7. I don't have a seventh thing today. Insert your own witty thoughts here: (__________________________________)


Or, read more quick takes here.

The autumn rains, which arrived today, made that clear to me. I have a very cute new jacket that is the perfect weight for fall. However, it has no hood. I haven't found a nice coat with a hood for several years now. Since I live in Oregon, where it rains half the year, this means that I basically go from October through May dashing as quickly as I can from my car to the indoors. And since I'm often carrying one child and holding the hands of one or two more, my dashing is not particularly quick. And I just end up with flat, rained-on hair all day.

Thus: the need for a hat (Or an extra hundred dollars or two or three for a new, hooded, winter coat that I love). I'm just not sure what type of hat I could wear that would be stylish, but not so super-trendy that I feel like I'm a grown-up dressing like Hanna Montana for Halloween.

I'm always afraid I look silly with a hat on. Other people can wear hats--I have friends my age whom I have seen wear hats many times. And they look stylish and hip and not like they're playing dress-up at all. I'm just not quite sure I have the flair to pull off a hat with style.

This is not a recent thing, either. I have had hats in the past that I loved, but I rarely if ever wore them because of the whole "afraid-I-look-silly" thing.

(Sadly, I was probably right about the looking silly with some of them. I remember one in particular that I really loved, circa 1992. It looked exactly like this, but the flower was red):



So. Fashion advice here, people. What kind of hats are in style these days? Are newsboy caps still popular? I've been seeing hats that have a little visor, like newsboy caps, but not as floppy on top. I have no idea what they are called. They look like this:



Or this?





Other suggestions?

And...the big question here...if I do find a hat that I love...will I have the style confidence to actually wear it?

"Happy first day of school!" I said to her as she wandered into the kitchen in her purple-striped pajamas, clutching her stuffed dinosaur to her chest.

She broke into a big smile. "It IS a happy day!" she said. "Because I get to go to kindergarten!"

And that's pretty much epitomized her attitude toward "real" school so far. Happy, happy times.

Last year was her three-mornings-a-week preschool in a church a few minutes' drive from our home. But this is kindergarten. In the elementary school near our house, the one where all the big kids in the neighborhood go. This is serious business, and she's been looking forward to it for months.




If she had any first-day jitters at all, they didn't show. We walked her to school, she hung her backpack on a hook, we helped her find her seat. And then we left her sitting there, hands clasped neatly in front of her, eager for it all to begin. I peeked in at her through the window as we left, saw her so fresh and bright and beautiful, and couldn't help getting choked up a little. My first baby! In school!



"She's going to do great," Eric said. "That kid is going to rule the world someday."

He was right, of course. She's a bright, enthusiastic, self-assured young girl and I think she'll thrive in a school setting. She came dashing out of the classroom afterward, assuring me that she had "SO much fun." It's just hard for the mother in me to leave her in the hands of strangers--nice strangers, strangers with degrees in childhood education, but still strangers. They have a whole class full of kids. How will they ever know just how bright and amazing and exceptional MY CHILD is?

They won't, of course. They're her teachers, not her mother. Loving her with all their hearts is not their job.

It's mine.

Dear Beth,

You amazed me today.

First day of soccer for you--ever--and of course we were running late. And we didn't know which field your team was playing on, and most of the other Unicorns had already shown up by the time we found it. We hadn't gotten your uniform in advance so you had to change your shirt right there on the sidelines. I had your little sisters in tow and it was a million degrees on that shade-less soccer field. I was a flustered, sweaty mess.



But not you. I pulled the way-too-big purple jersey over your head, made you stop for a moment to pose for the obligatory first-day-of-soccer photo, then gave you a nod. "Go on out there," I said. "Listen to your coach and do what he says."



And you were off. Dashing to the field, shouting your name, giving a high five. No hesitating on the sidelines for you, no sir. You exuded enthusiasm and confidence from the get-go. And that's how you were the whole time. You sprinted after the ball. You kicked at it whenever it was within three feet of you. You sat on the sidelines only when forced to, and even then your mind was on the game.



You threw yourself down on the grass beside me. Grabbed your water bottle, wiped your flushed face, kept your eyes on the field the whole time. "Go! Go! Do it! Do it! Score a goal!" you screamed to your fellow Unicorns. You were so intense, so happy, so clearly in love with the game. And I realized that you reminded of those girls.



The sporty girls. The ones from high school. The fit, athletic, assertive, confident ones that I so wished I could be.

Oh, I tried sports. I liked the idea of being an athlete. But when it was time for a real game, I much preferred daydreaming in the outfield or on the bench to actually participating in the event. And when I was forced do something that would contribute one way or another to the team's success...oh, how well I remember the panic that clawed its way up my stomach whenever I got anywhere near the ball. I'm a hesitating on the sidelines kind of girl.



Not you, my Beth. You're a play-your-heart-out kind of girl. Running so hard that the rubber bands slipped right out of your braids and your hair streamed loose behind you. Watching you play, I was proud but bewildered. Where had this mature little athlete come from?




I love your passion, your determination, your casual self-assurance. Maybe, if I watch you long enough, I'll learn them from you.

Love,

Your mom

1. All these '80s fashions that are back in style now just disturb me. At the local elementary school this week I was seeing neon colors, little vests, and skin-tight brightly colored jeans. It's surreal. Flash backward 20 years and that was Connie and I, trying on each others' ruffley layered skirts and leggings in the bathroom before school started. But the worst--the absolute worst--is what I saw on a rack at Ross a few weeks ago.

Stirrup pants. Stirrup pants! I kid you not. If ever a fashion trend deserved to die a natural death and NOT be resurrected, it is stirrup pants. And yet here they are again, like a zombie rising from the grave, the hideous undead returning to attack the living.

If you ever see me anywhere near stirrup pants, you can be certain that the zombies have eaten my brain, and you can feel free to cut off my head.

2. The girls' current favorite bedtime song is "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid. Thanks to my sister's childhood love of this movie, I know every single word and can belt it out, no sweat. I rock the awesome lyrics ("Look at this stuff/isn't it neat?/Wouldn't you think my collection's complete...") every night in their bedroom. Come on, you know you're humming along. I think I do a pretty fair job of it--they keep requesting it, night after night.


However, when we were actually watching the movie, and Ariel is singing the song in her underwater secret hideaway, and I started to join in, Beth turned to me with a polite but pained expression and said, "Um, mom? I like it when it's just HER voice."

And so I stopped singing. Ouch.

3. The girls' love for the Mermaid song is not reserved to just hearing me sing it, either. The other night when I was away for the evening and it was daddy's turn to put them to bed, the girls requested the Ariel song. And Eric, being the fantastic daddy that he is, looked up the lyrics online and sang it to them. I really wish I'd been there to hear it.

Why is it just so heart-melting to see a big strong man being sweet to his daughters? I don't know, but it gets me every time. After all, sometimes being a real man means that you wear little pink fairy wings.

4. Beth starts her first season of AYSO soccer tomorrow, and kindergarten on Monday. She is beyond thrilled about this. I am just in shock that I have a child who is this old.

5. My friend Meg is transferring to OSU and bought a house on my street to live in while she's going to school. Did you hear that? On my street! She moved in this week, and it's so cool to have a friend just three doors down from me. We've been back and forth at each other's houses every day. It's like dorm life, the grown-up version. We get to hang out and talk and laugh and watch TV together, but then at the end of the day, we get to sleep in our own space instead of having bunk beds stacked on top of each other, listening to each other breathe all night long.

And also: good thing we went to Grenada when we did! Because going to visit Meg now that she lives half a block away from us makes for a much less exciting vacation.

6. Thought-provoking post for your perusal: What would Jesus weigh?

7. I'm starting to feel done with summer. It's sacrilege to say so, and a total switch from how I was feeling a week or so ago, but I'm OK with that. Bring on the cool, frosty mornings and hot beverages, the dark, clear nights, the jeans and boots and scarfs and sweaters. I'm ready for dinners of hot soup and fresh bread. I have a cute new jacket I want to wear. Fall has my permission to arrive.


More Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.

Good writing thrills me, but it's an enjoyment tinged with both hope and sadness--hope that one day I could write something so beautiful, sadness at how much I fall short. The last two stanzas of this poem express everything I could ever want to say about life and love. And in such simple, rich words!

Read it. Think about it. Enjoy.

In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

--by Mary Oliver

Evie is walking now. Actually, charging around the house at full speed, getting into all kinds of devilment even whilst looking like a cherub, is what she's doing.



And, now that she has more power than ever to get into things, she is sometimes (quite frequently, actually) a naughty little girl--and when she is being naughty, she clearly knows what she is doing. But she's just so darn cute! Heaven help us. The older she gets, the more fully her cheerfully evil nature asserts itself.

She looks straight into my eyes and grins merrily at me while reaching directly for the ink pen (or book with paper pages, or thumbtack, or other forbidden item) that I had just told her not to touch.

I tell her to say please when she wants a drink (a skill I thought we had down) and instead she screams, turns her back on me, and marches away rather than submit herself to my will.

She climbs up on the couch, snuggles with her sister, gives a toothy grin, and then bites her on the arm.



And then, yesterday, I found her sitting on the floor playing with my cell phone--another item she knows she's not supposed to play with--and discovered that she had dialed the following number: 666-6666.

Oh dear.

Was she phoning home?

I think perhaps we ought to be scared.

Somebody better alert FAIL blog.

This is what it was supposed to look like:





Adorable and clever, no?


This is how mine turned out:



It's like a "this is your panda/this is your panda on drugs" kind of thing. Mine's the smooshed, misshapen, deformed, panda.

But you know what? Still tasty. I'm off to eat some panda-bread-fail toast.

It's that time of year again. Blackberry time!

And if there are blackberries, then in my house, there will be pie.







Oh yes, there will be pie.



It is not summer unless there is blackberry pie.



But now, we've had our pie. And it's September.

Is summer really over?

Already?