goodbye to school

I was a bit emotional with school ending this year.  Because the year flew by frighteningly fast.  Because I loved teaching and won't be back in the fall.  Because Aidan is suddenly a third grader.  Because I won't have to do mid-day Kindergarten pick-up for four blessed years. 

These were the teacher Thank-You's we made this year: 

One for Davyn's beloved Miss Arnold.

One for Aidan's saintly Miss Roberts (who patiently helped my chatterbox A to learn a little self-restraint).

There was also one I didn't snap a picture of.  For my favorite teacher this year.  Mrs. Patch shared her curriculum and patience as I taught the overflow of her loaded schedule.  I loved working with her and was honored to teach some fabulous books.

...

Here is my graduate:

Doesn't he look old?  And handsome??  And crazy smartt???

And my Aidan on the last day of school..with strep:

the curly girly

Once it relaxed a bit, it was pretty darn cute. 

Of course, on Sunday, when we tried again for church, she tugged them all out. 

grooming my little humans

I'm the mother of that child...you know, the one over there who looks like she has no mother.  Filthy face, ratty hair, dustdevil clothes. 

Yep, she's the one. 

I've always been that mother.  With those children - happy, independent creatures left to their own devices in their backyard wonderland (or that's the positive spin I've officially adopted).  Sure, the lifestyle leaves them looking motherless.  So please avert your eyes when they come your way.  Pay no mind to the unscrubbed skin behind their ears or their forever overgrown fingernails (condolences to Davyn's piano teacher who is paid to notice the latter). 

It has never bothered me much.  But somehow it's starting to matter much more now that I have my Azure. 

Poor boys.

I don't mean to be discriminatory, but dirtly little boys are infinitely more lovable than dirty little girls.  Right?  (Go ahead and shake your head, because I do realize how discriminatory that does sound). 

So I am making concerted efforts to to help my Miss be tidy..and feminine..and cute. She happens to love all things girly, so please don't think of this as abuse. The latest trappings I purchased for her grooming were these rollers. 

 

I'll let you know how it goes. 

 p.s.  grooming for now.  we'll address toddler nudity in another lifetime.

weekend news

Jim and I went to prom.  To chaperone.  Mike and Kay took the kids overnight.  We got a hotel and leisurely (and gratefully) slept in this morning. 

Then had breakfast at this fantastic spot:

I chose the french crepes, which were filled with gruyere, veggies and ham...covered in a tasty sauce.  Jim got the "big breakfast", and the star of that plate was both the mashed potato cake and sauteed mushrooms.  Oh my.  And, of course, we had dessert to top it off.  A hazelnut macaron for me.  Double chocolate cookie for him.  Visions of my own little sandwich spot/bakery have filled my head ever since...

We grabbed the boys, left the Miss with Kay, and went to the movies.  Thor.  Which had a {surprisingly} decently developed story line.

Then we returned for the girl (and apricots which are falling off their backyard trees..but we forgot those...perhaps they'll still be good on Monday when I come by??) and headed home.

Which is when I was greeted by the kitchen mess from this Friday creation:

It was a fun one.  But I need practice on covering spheres in fondant (even more apparent in the pictures). 

I ignored the mess and graded research papers until Azure became restless.  Then I painted her toes.  And mine.  Then her fingernails.  Which was when she started throwing a fit.  Between her sign language, screams, and pointing, I realized she would not be satisfied until my fingernails were a bright pink match to hers.  So now they are.  She always wins.

But I look at my blaringly bright hands and feel like a winner, too. 

And now I'm off to clean the kitchen...or cuddle Jim.  I'll leave you guessing.

ode to a kitchen aid

The warning signs have barraged my senses for months.

A reluctant grumble of the once reliable motor,

the shaky shimmy of once immovable nuts & bolts,

a complete standstill at speed notch 6.

But I pretended it didn't matter.

Because you're only a piece of metal, after all. 

Never mind that you joined my world at the same time as my firstborn.

Never mind that you helped me make his first cake

- my first cake -

or that you've partnered with me in hundreds since. 

Birthdays, Weddings, Babies, Tuesdays, Just Because.

We had a brilliant weekend one month ago. 

Between Jim's birthday and one huge order we managed thirteen recipes of cake...

eight batches of buttercream...

one cream cheese filling...

two cups of cream whipped. 

Epic. 

But two weeks ago you beat your final round

as we were making cake for a lifelong friend

(of course that makes me smile).

Her firstborn just became an Eagle Scout. 

A milestone moment. 

You held on through the four recipes of chocolate fudge cake

but gave out on our second batch of buttercream.

Jim rushed in to recuscitate.

But I knew that it was useless.

Your work was done. 

I surprised myself with a barrage of tears...then thirty minutes of full sobs.

Silly. 

Because you're only a piece of metal.

After all.

But to me - in that moment

you were also a rush of memories, moments, milestones...

significant slices of my life.

Because my love language is my food.

And you have been my best & longest companion in all I've given.

My first Kitchen Aid.