Why my kid is smarter than your kid

Seth had drumming class yesterday, which means that I didn't get home till 6;15 or so. I put a nice roast in the crock pot, then called Jill on the way home and asked her to peel some potatoes so that we could have some nice mashed potatoes (which I seem to mysteriously have figured out how to make to Thomas' satifsaction).

Got home, had lovely potatoes, and even though the crock pot had somehow turned off and left the meat rather are, I finished it off in the microwave and we had a nice, albeit very chewy, dinner. Thomas amazingly unloaded the dishwasher without being asked -- be still my heart -- and we started cleaning up, only to find that the kitchen sink was clogged. Running the disposal was no help, because everything just backed up into the other sink. Yuck. I couldn't figure out what the heck the problem was till Jill said "the only thing I put in it was potato peels." Well, there was the problem.

Back when we lived in an apartment, the maintenance guy told me that the #1 clogger of disposals is potato peels. He told me what #2 was, but I can't remember -- I think maybe onion peels, but I'm not sure. In either event, I'm pretty respectful of the disposal, and try not to put anything too iffy in it. I always peel my potatoes onto a newspaper or plastic bag, then throw them in the compost pile, and even though the kids have done the same, I don't know if they knew why, but they did, till yesterday.

Dan was getting rather grumpy about the whole thing, because the one time episode of peels in the disposal led to a night of plumbing that ended up with us having no kitchen sink or dishwasher to use. He groused about the fact that the kids should know better, till I pointed out to him that it took me till 28 years old to find out that you can't put potato peels in the disposal and, since Jill is 18, she's ten years ahead of the game. He didn't have a response to that.

That reminded me of another kitchen rule that she knows, that maybe not everyone does: don't put dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher. Now, it might make seem to some that you can put Dawn in a dishwasher, but let me give you a clue: dishwashing liquid means someONE is washing dishes. Dishwasher liquid means someTHING is washing them.

Jill put Dawn in the dishwasher one time when she was about ten. Next thing you know, she's screaming, so I went running into the kitchen, thinking someone was dying. Well, she might've thought that she was heading toward a quick death, because the bubbles had already made it halfway across the kitchen floor, with no sign of letting up. Turning off the dishwasher was no help, because there's no way to get them out once they've started. Jill was looking rather panicstricken -- that look a little kid gets when they know that they are in real trouble -- when I just picked up a big handful of the bubbles and threw it at her. This turned into a melee of bubbles flying that only stopped briefly when Dan walked into the room to see what all the laughing was about. He just stopped, looked, and left the room without ever saying a word, while we went back to our own tamer version of Girls Gone Wild.

I didn't have to wash the kitchen floor for a month.

So yeah, my kid is smarter than your kid, cause she knows 1) not to put potato peels in the disposal, and 2) not to put Dawn in the dishwasher. Of course, she also knows how to do her own laundry correctly, how to saddle a horse, how to train a dog to do about a dozen tricks, how to plant bulbs, how to parallel park WELL, and how to bake some wildly delicious chocolate chip cookies, so all in all. That's just a sample of her talents. Like the apron pictured above. Click the image to shop, cause I've gotta pay the plumber somehow.

A stomp down Memory Lane

I've been dashing madly through three states in the past couple of weeks, gathering sewing patterns everywhere I go. Dan, of course, thinks it's really weird, especially given the fact that he doesn't like car travel, but I'm in my element.

The patterns I got today contained tons of wonderful styles, including 50s party dresses, 40s sundresses, and everything from playsuits to swimsuits and wedding dresses. But what I found interesting was the kids' patterns.

I don't usually get a lot of kids stuff, because it's not a huge market of mine, but these were some seriously cute ones. The one that caught my eye is shown at left. You may wonder why this one? Well, it's because it reminds me of my two sisters and me.

The dark haired one on the right reminds me of my "big" sister Linda. I say "big" because she's a few years older than me (ahem: eight) but she is quite a bit shorter than me. She does, however, have the dark hair shown here. The lighter haired one on the left reminds me of my "big" sister Amy, who is as vertically challenged as Linda. Being the youngest, I always looked at them as so cool, and such fashion plates -- especially because they wore cool 70s high school stuff, and I not only had no fashion sense, but also was too big to fit into their petite hand me downs, once I got to be about ten years old.

Tiny, petite cool hipster sisters. How cool is that? But look on that pattern envelope at the little tyke in front. That little one looks like she has some serious attitude, so she MUST be me! She looks like the sisters have probably told her not to do whatever she wanted to do, and in her little head she is saying "oh yeah, man, I'm GONNA," while she stomps off with her Barbie.

That'd be me, and I dare my sisters to say I'm wrong. They won't.

Turkey and mayo on the rocks

My friend Jen, of
momspatterns.com has finally given up the ghost and decided to part with her to die for Givenchy Audrey Hepburn dress pattern. I just love this pattern, but understand her sadness, because I have a few in my store that I'm pretty attached to, but Audrey? I'd be buried with that one, personally.

I just love Audrey Hepburn. She was gorgeous, refined, and heck, she was Dutch. Dutch people have cool accents, and Audrey had a wonderful lilt that was just her. And besides her sad war-torn life, and her beautiful heart, she was just so graceful and unique. Yeah, I love her.

I read her bio a few years ago, and was mystified at the humility with which she looked upon herself. She thought she was too skinny, and she hated her teeth, so many of her photos show her with her lips closed. Teeth or not, I could look at photos of her all day.

So when I got thinking about people with teeth fixations, it reminded me of when we got our braces. We, meaning the hubby and me, because we got them, sitting in side by side dental chairs, when we'd been married for six months. I hadn't particularly planned on it at the time, but when I saw the oral surgeon about my impacted wisdom teeth, he mentioned that if I had ever thought of braces, now was the time, because I'd have to have a couple of other teeth pulled too, in order to make room.

Yes, folks, my mouth was too small. I have dcumentation of it, too.

And so it was that we got our braces as newlyweds, and I got them off four years later, as a mother of two. The same orthodontist did braces on those two babies, years later, and when they were explaining the cash discount, the sibling discounts, etc. I, of course, inquired as to the gestational discount, since the guy had mentioned that although he'd taken care of lots of parents and children, he'd never taken care of a pregnant woman, and then later, the bun who was once in the oven. I figured that'd be worth something, but no go. ::sigh::

Hubby, on the other hand, only had his braces for about a year, but it was a LONG year, folks. Heck, the day we had the braces put on, we went home and had pizza. They told us that our teeth would be sore the next day, but I had no idea what was up -- especially in this time before over the counter ibuprofen. Yes, folks, it hurt, but I figured it was pain that was for a reason, and just sucked it up and took my Tylenol.

Hubby, on the other had, had a different sucking up in mind, because he could not bear the idea of "soft foods." The man has a food fixation, remember? He goes into a bit of a minor tailspin at the idea of not eating, or eating inflicting pain upon him, so he concocted his own menu to get him over the rough spots. And so it was that the day after our braces were applied, that I came home to him putting his turkey sandwich into the blender.

Turkey, bread, lettuce, tomato, mayo -- mixed with some milk and ice -- put on purree, then dumped into a glass. That had to be one of the more disgusting things I ever saw, but he slugged a few gulps of it down and pronounced it delicious. Took another couple of slugs, and the pace slowed, then stopped, when he turned a little pale and said "this is really gross" and tossed the remainder down the sink.

Hunger breeds desperation, but if the man is this bad with just some sore teeth, I'd sure hate to see him in a refugee camp.

I didn't buy a blender for years after that, and Dan still doesn't use it, thank God. Come to think of it, maybe this explains his penchant for taking ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch now. At least he's never drunk one.

Seth-anese

So, we were on our way to Tennessee in a rented van, with the two youngest kids, both of whom are teenagers. That means that there is always some enlightening conversation.

Now, before you read further, realize that I live with a very dingy blonde kid. He's been like this since birth, and we love him for it, of course. It's one of his endearing qualities, and everyone's been aware of it, at least since he pronounced, quite loudly, during the children's sermon at church, that "we have food in our house." Never one to quit when he was ahead, he also shouted "I threw up on Daddy." When the sermonizer said "I'll bet your mom took good care of you when you were sick," he proudly announced "no, she was on a cruise."

Granted, it wasn't a lie, but still.........

So there we sit in a restaurant in Lexington, and Dan decides to take advantage of a teachable moment, and asks if Seth knows what state we are in. "Yes. Nashville," says my baby.

Ummmm.... wrong. And wrong. Dan just shook his head.

Later that day, we were playing word games in the car. Seth loves puzzles. We were playing things like "give me a three letter word for a mode of transportation." When it was Seth's turn, he said, "give me a five letter word for a color." Dan said "green," to which Seth replied in the negative. I said "purple," and was, of course, right. Dan promptly went into protest mode, saying purple didn't have five letters, but I told him he didn't speak Seth-anese. Seth is an excellent speller, and a whiz at math -- he's just dingy. Did this several times, and I was right every time, so Dan started using my strategy. He never did pick it right, when Seth-anese showed up, because it's erratic, and probably only predictable to the mother.

On the way home, Dan was reading the newest issue of People. I had bought it so that he could read about Tim Russert (RIP), but somehow he got reading the article about the sexiest bachelors. Actually, he wasn't reading, he was just making fun of all of them, whilst Seth peered over his shoulder. Seth said "Lance Armstrong. I know about him. He walked on the moon."

His sister just rolled her eyes, his dad choked on his drink, and I tried my best to explain to the spare to the throne that that was NEIL Armstrong. ::sigh::

Somehow, the conversation drifted to Billy Bob Thornton, which means that Dan went into his best (aka annoying) Sling Blade imitation. Having a discussion about the merits of Billy Bob, especially in "Bandits", led to my kid saying "OOOOH! I know who he is. He was on Dancing with the Stars."

What planet does this kid live on? I know he wasn't born in a barn -- I was there -- but what in the world?

Turned out he was confusing Billy Bob Thornton with Billy RAY Cyrus, who WAS on Dancing with the Stars (though what he did could only very loosely be called dancing). But Anglelina Jolie never walked around with a vial of Billy Ray Cyrus blood around her neck, that's for sure.

You just have to love this kid though, because he may be clueless, but he's always very sincere. Everything he says comes from the heart, including the time on a cruise when, in the middle of the night, he suddenly shouted "I don't know what it is, but it's REAL ketchup-y!" Darn near gave his brother a heart attack, right there in the middle of the Caribbean. Of course, then he sat and laughed, but Seth was none the wiser, because he was sound asleep.

You can have whole conversations with him when he's asleep. He'll respond with totally nonsensical things, eyes open, and it's just hilarious. He fell asleep on a plane, on the way home from the aforementioned cruise. Suddenly, he sat straight up, looked me in the eye with a mournful look and announced, "I fold. AGAIN."

Can you tell the kids had played a lot of poker on that cruise? Who says homeschooled kids live in a box?

And so, for the spare to the throne, the poster child for all persons blonde, here's a cute vintage baseball uniform pattern, from my store. In honor of his illustrious baseball career at Irvington Sports Association, his papa's alma mater. It's almost as cute as Seth.

Uncle Sam meets the electronic age

I haven't even started on our taxes yet. We always have to pay, so it's too depressing to think about at the moment.

There are tax places all over our side of town. The one closest to us has a guy outside, in full Uncle Sam getup, standing on the corner for advertisement. Last year, they alternated between Uncle Sam and a girl who was the Statue of Liberty. Uncle Sam stood out there, in every kind of weather, with his iPod in his ears. He was always dancing and waving to the passing cars. We got a lot of amusement out of watching him. His dancing always looked kind of like he was on crack -- in our neighborhood, he might've been -- but he always looked really happy.

This year's Uncle Sam is a different dude, and he's not as reliable at being out there. Maybe business is better, and they don't want to advertise as much. This guy wears the costume, but not the iPod. Instead, he has a boombox going full tilt, with all kinds of tunes on it. Funniest one was the day I drove by, and "Another One Bites The Dust" was on. How appropriate is that, for a tax place?

You could get a whole repertoire of music for that kind of place: "The Winner Takes It All" comes to mind, among many others. So if you are part of the depressed economy and need seasonal work, grab this Uncle Sam pattern, from marymaul on ebay. It's a yankee doodle dandy!

Excitement, dismay, and heartache

Counting pattern pieces is like therapy. Most of us could use a little therapy, but it can be get your mind off of things, but can also bring out heartache.

Take this vintage 60s Nina Ricci Vogue Paris Original pattern for a mod coat. It is FAB. Reminds me of the blue trenchcoat that Rebecca Romijn was seen in recently. Absolutely fab. I was happy just to look at it. But I've been looking at it for weeks, and all good things must come to an end.

Went to offer it up today, and realized OMG -- there are 56 pattern pieces. 56! I don't think I've ever seen a pattern with that many pieces. I've done jigsaw puzzles with less pieces. Freaked me out. How does one count 56 pieces, without losing count? But it's a fab pattern. Oh well, hubby is watching football tonight, so it's all good. I just was hoping I didn't jump and tear some pieces up when he shouted GO BRONCOS!!!

So I start counting. And ended too soon, because I realized that all of the pattern pieces for that fab coat are MISSING. Gone. Nonexistent.

That made me so sad. I love that coat. I really did have full intention of counting all those pieces, and only about half of them are there. For a cute 60s suit, pictured below. But I still hope to find the coat. Not that I'll look like Rebecca mind you, but ain't it cute?