Doll Sleeping Bag Sewing Tutorial

Hunter stayed home from school today after a middle-of-the-night onset of a stomach bug. I was sorry for her to feel so bad, especially since the nighttime episode involved a very difficult hair-washing. But when the morning came, and she had slept 3 hours later than normal, and her stomach was feeling better, I think she and I both agreed that the nighttime upset was worth a day at home together.

After a movie, some crackers, and a morning of attempted work and chores, we finally ended up in the bonus room, which I am trying to dub the Creative Studio, on a Hunter-and-Will-style camp-out. Since Will has joined the Cub Scouts and has already had his first camp-out, sleeping bags are all the excitement in our house right now. Hunter grabbed her sleeping bag, and I came dragging her comforter to set up camp in the open space between the boxes, the ironing board, and the childrens’ library, which desperately needs shelving. I had full intention of napping on that fluffy pink comforter while Hunter did whatever you do when you pretend to camp out. She did not have that same intention.

Five minutes after I got nice and comfortable and nearly to snoozeland, she realized we were within arms distance of my sewing corner. And there was her brand new Janome Sew Mini sewing machine she got for her 6th birthday, perfectly boxed up and sitting amidst the boxes of fabric and craft supplies. And guess who didn’t bring a sleeping bag? The teddy bear. Before I knew it, Hunter had plopped the Janome box right in front of me and was picking tape off the box in preparation for making the sleeping bag she determined we would sew.

As I lay there, half awake, I kept making up excuses of why there was no way we could create a sleeping bag for her teddy bear right then and there, with no planning and no prep, and no idea how to use the new sewing machine. She wasn’t buying it. She knows we will attempt to make anything in our house, and the more complicated the better.

So out came the manual, which I, in my nerdiness, read cover to cover while she unwrapped the foot pedal and AC adapter. (I did, fortunately, get to read in the comfort of my camp-out palette.) The whole time I was thinking, am I really doing this? I can’t even think straight right now, much less think of how to concoct a sleeping bag zipper. And with a machine I’ve never used. I tried to convince her to think of something easier. Maybe something that didn’t need a pattern or a plan. Or something we already had a pattern for. Nope. The afternoon project was definitely going to be a sleeping bag.

We finally agreed on some striped flannel I had just 1/2 a yard of and some light pink flannel to line it. After a quick inspection of her sleeping bag, I determined that this really was quite a simple project. We folded the fabric over her teddy bear to get some dimensions, and then I just started cutting away. I found some quilt batting in my closet too, so it ended up being fluffy like a real sleeping bag, even though Hunter thought it needed to be flat.

I did the prep work, and Hunter did most of the sewing on the new Sew Mini. My new (old) Singer sewing machine table from Bill’s grandmother’s house turned out to be too high for Hunter to work at, so we moved her Mini down to an end table, which was the perfect height for her little self. I was extremely pleased with the Sew Mini, and I highly recommend it to anyone wanting to teach a child to sew or just wanting to learn themselves without a huge investment in a machine. It really sews beautifully, and it was fast and easy to learn. The simplicity does mean it lacks a few things that I’ve grown accustomed to on my Bernina Virtuosa, but the Sew Mini truly is a great little machine. I can already see Hunter putting the miles on it.

I’m going to write the sleeping bag up like a tutorial, though a quick and un-photographed one, because it truly was so super quick and easy to make, that nearly any novice seamstress should be able to make one in under an hour. I’m sure there are dozens of tutorials or patterns out there for this very thing, and there are a couple of things I would do differently if I wanted to take more time, but for a quick, one-hour little girl project, this is what I came up with.

P.S. That Singer sewing machine table? It still has the original sewing machine in it. Talk about Heir. Loom. I’ve thought of shabby-chic-ing the table, but I just don’t know. It’s decidedly full of character and deliciously brown and musty.

Doll Sleeping Bag Tutorial

Material

1/2 yard each of 2 coordinating fabrics
1/2 yard of quilt batting

Cutting Measurements

2 15″ x 22″ Rectangles of fabric, cut with the 15″ side going with the grain
1 15″ x 22″ Rectangle of quilt batting

Notions and Tools I Used

22″ Coordinating Zipper, Coordinating Thread, Scissors, Iron and Ironing Board, Seam-ripper, Straight Pins, Tape Measure, Fabric marking pen

Notes

This tutorial assumes a 1/2″ seam allowance, unless otherwise specified. All seams should be back-stitched at beginning and end, and corners and curves should be cut. The size could be completely varied; we made this for a teddy bear, and a small 12″ doll fit it perfectly. It would need to be slightly larger for an American Girl doll or a standard 18″ doll. This is such an easy project to custom fit.

This would make a great fat-quarter project!!

Instructions

1. ROUND THE CORNERS After cutting your rectangles of fabric and batting, place the fabric right sides together, and lay on top of batting. Cut the bottom two corners of all three layers in a rounded shape.

2. SEW TOGETHER With your fabric still right sides together, place the 3 layers on your machine with the fabric side up, and stitch around the entire outside edge, leaving a 3-4″ opening to turn.

3. TURN AND SEW CLOSED Trim the Seam Allowance, turn right side out, and press. Edge-stitch opening closed.

4. QUILT With your fabric marking pen, draw some quilting lines on the inside of the sleeping bag in any desired pattern. Our striped fabric came in handy with those lines, and we chose a typical comforter-type pattern of vertical lines that connect, alternating at the top and bottom. I’m sure there’s a technical term for this. Stitch along those lines.

5. INSERT THE ZIPPER This is the tricky part. And the part I would do differently if this were a bigger project. You’re going to do the zipper one side at a time–pin, sew, then pin, sew. Place the bottom of the zipper in the center of the sleeping bag, and pin one side of it around the edge of the sleeping bag, with the sleeping bag edge on top of the zipper tape. This is leaving the inside of the sleeping bag with an exposed zipper tape. It’s not my usual perfection, but it’s for a doll who won’t know the difference. Cut a few inches off the top of the zipper (with the zipper pull below where you are cutting). Be sure to fold the end of the zipper tape down at the top edge before pinning it so your zipper doesn’t fly off. I left 2 or 3 inches at the top of the sleeping bag zipper free. Stitch the zipper tape to the sleeping bag with whatever sort of edge-stitch or top-stitch you want. Repeat on the other side. I had a regular type of zipper, so when I got to this part, I actually had to hand-stitch the end of the zipper tape. This would be much easier with a zipper that separates completely (forgive my lack of technical terms here), but then you would have to keep putting it back together for your child. I opted for the painful one-time hand-sewn method as opposed to the easy-to-insert zipper that creates constant requests to put the zipper back together. If you get stuck on the zipper, I’m just sorry about it. Google a zipper tutorial or call my mom. She’s a zipper expert.

WARNING: If your son sees this, he’ll want one too. For his teddy bear. So will the neighborhood kids. I’m just warning you. Keep this one hidden.

The Night Before Kindergarten

As if on cue, the rain began falling as I tucked my children into bed this evening. Last year at this moment in time I wrote an article about The Night Before School. I was a bit bleary-eyed at the thought of losing my sweet children to the school room for nine months. This year, however, this moment in time is much more significant. It’s the night before kindergarten for my younger child. It is, in fact, the last night before kindergarten I ever plan to have.

The rain seems to be gently washing away the baby phase of my life. Even though it already seems long gone, Hunter’s kindergarten year is officially ending the days of spit up and diapers, baby food and naptimes, and Little People and the Wiggles filling each day. I am now entering an entirely new phase–one that I have yet to experience. I am a work-at-home mom with no kids at home. I invite you to join me in a moment of silence as we let that thought sink in. I repeat: no kids at home.

Once upon a time I went to college. I fell in love with my husband the year before I graduated. We married the summer of graduation and moved to seminary where I worked full-time to put him through a 3-year master’s degree. Baby came just in time for that diploma, and we headed off to Oklahoma where I entered the ranks of stay-at-home moms purely by choice. It was a guilty-feeling choice at times, but I cherished the time I had my with my little one all to myself. I quickly discovered, however, that staying home was more difficult and tiresome than going to work. My days became filled with the needs and wants of other people, leaving little, if any, time for myself.

Then Baby #2 came along, and I went back to work. From home, that is. I began working from home when she was still an infant; I cleaned up spit up and crumbs all day, then worked late into the night. I never planned for it to happen that way; life just found me too driven to leave my career pursuits entirely unused while chasing little people around all day. Staying up until the wee hours or getting up before the sun became my safe and quiet place where I could still pursue some me-time apart from my mommy-time.

But let’s not get too cream-coated about it. As the years have progressed, and my business has blossomed, and my kids sleep less than before, working from home has become terribly difficult. Every day for the last several years has been dominated by acrobatics and spinning plates. Several client emails, phone calls, and work tasks each day have intermingled with meal times, homework, ball games and preschool pick-up. I wouldn’t trade it all for the world. And if I had found myself having to give up anything, you can bet your bottom dollar it wouldn’t be time with my kids. That took first priority over client-work. But wow. I’m tired. And I’m sorry to say I did it all to the neglect of my house and my body. (And yes, I would do it again.)

But here, on this day, I find myself preparing to embark on an exciting adventure in my motherhood. As I drive away from the school tomorrow, no doubt in a puddle of tears, I will be entering new territory in my life. I will return home to enter a household that is frighteningly quiet for seven whole hours at once. Every day. And if all I had done for the past seven years was raise children and clean house, I would probably be quite forlorn. But I’ve done more than that. I’ve given my all every single hour of every single day. I haven’t watched the first sit-com in a decade. I only slept in past 7:30am for the very first time in nearly a decade THIS SUMMER. I’ve given 150% to my family, to my church, and to my clients, and now I finally have time to celebrate…er, ummmm…time to clean up the last seven years worth of clutter and grime from every corner of my house.

My to-do list for the next few weeks is a MILE long. No kidding. I have just begun to start making a list of all the lists I need to make in order to catch up from everything I have failed to do over the last seven years. I am sorry to report that my seemingly super-human efforts at working from home did not have super-human results. My kids are happy, healthy, and well-fed, and my clients are satisfied and with me for the long-haul. But my HOUSE. Oh, my house. And my body. Oh, my body. Let’s just say I have a lot of work to do.

And I have seven hours a day to do it.

My Sunday Cup

This afternoon I am drinking from my Sunday cup. It’s one I haven’t used since before I lived in this house, which means I probably haven’t used it since becoming a mother. I drank from this cup every Sunday afternoon BC (before children). Drinking from my Sunday cup was a privilege I only allowed myself on a Sunday afternoon when my entire house was clean and sparkling, something of which I regrettably cannot currently boast. The delicate, ornate, blue and white teacup and saucer were a gift to me from the tea room the day of my bridal shower. Somehow that teacup spoke to me of a life which I had yet to live. It seemed to represent a person, a season, an experience that I had yet to embark upon. Now looking back, I see that my teacup was indeed symbolic–symbolic of my journey into adulthood where fantasy and reality intermingle too delicately to tell them apart.

I’m not sure why, but I’ve been afraid to use my teacup here. It’s been nearly seven years since I’ve filled it with coffee–long enough to forget my preferred proportions of cream and sugar in such a small vessel. I have kept it in a special place in my cupboard, right next to the Waterford stems I have recently begun to use as every day glasses, yes, even right here in my 80’s kitchen. I have seen the cup often, but have never ventured to pick it up at tea time. It doesn’t seem quite adequate for handling the weight my motherhood coffee must bear.

Back when I used to drink from my Sunday cup, it was only to relish in the quiet self-satisfaction of a job well-done and a house well-cleaned. It was a way of rewarding myself for working hard all week at the hospital and working hard on the weekend to keep house. Even then it was something new and different and meaningful to know that I had successfully entered adulthood, and that my childish enjoyment of noise and excitement had finally given way to a strong and grateful preference of peace, solitude, and a few moments to myself.

Now, several years later, my afternoon coffee doesn’t often find itself in the midst of reflection on a blissful afternoon. Nor does it simply exist for a moment of mere pleasure. My motherhood afternoon coffee carries the responsibility of refueling me for the harder part of the day–the part where homework and dinner and bathtime prevail. In some ways, my afternoon coffee really represents me–the me that I am now. And my Sunday cup represents the me that I was then. The Now Me is less me and more Mommy. And that’s a good thing.

The Night Before School

Tags are trimmed off new clothes and the door lined with shoes. Packs are stuffed with supplies that have never been used. Uniforms are laid out with white bobby socks too, and my children are sleeping, I know not what to do. Should I blog, should I work, should I sit and boo-hoo? It’s the night before school starts for Thing 1 and Thing 2!

I’ve cried lots of tears getting ready for school. In the very same moments I’ve thought it was cool. School is cool and it’s bad, I must be going mad. I cry when I smile and I laugh when I’m sad. These kids they just do it, I don’t know what to say. I love them so much, so much more every day. But they drive me so crazy! Get under my skin! They whine and they fight and they do it again.

“This color-book’s mine!”
“No! I had it first!”
“Well I have it now!” down the hall voices burst.

“I’m telling mom!”
“Well I’ll tell her too!”
“You can’t have my color-book, or I’ll take it from you!”

How any mom could cry about five days of peace, five days every week with three hours at least, I do not have answers for such silly things. For sobs and for tears over children with wings.

We guide and we teach and we love and we pray. We kiss and we hug and we do it all day. We clean and we wash, we sweep and we fold, we mothers keep house like it never gets old. We do it all proudly, and we do it with love. We do it–goodness knows–with help from above.

Now it’s time for Thing 1 and Thing 2 to grow up. I’ll tie on their sneakers and wish them good luck. Though I’ll walk them to class on the very first day, the next day it surely won’t happen that way. I might get a hug with a cheek on my face, but quickly they’ll run–up the sidewalk they’ll race. That big ole school will swallow them whole, then off I’ll drive, very slowly I’ll roll. The tears will be flowing as onward I go. My babies how quickly they managed to grow.

I’ll spend the ride home wiping tears from my face, using every last kleenex that’s found in the place. Then quietly I’ll open the door of my house; not a child will be stirring, and there best be no mouse. I’ll enter my home that once I could claim. I claimed it to be my very own domain. I gave it up for a while, and I’ll give it up yet, to two wild little monkeys with not a regret.

And then it will hit me. This house is all mine. From eight to eleven, I won’t hear a whine. I’ll clean or I’ll work, or I’ll sit and drink tea, and I’ll do it alone, just the silence and me. And then they’ll be gone–those tears on my face. They’ll stop right in their tracks when I reclaim my space. It will not last long, I’ll be racing the clock, but I’ll cheer and I’ll turn up the music and rock. I might miss the ‘Movers with their catchy tunes, but that TV is mine, I can watch it till noon. You know I won’t bother, if you know me at all, but the freedom is there if that TV show calls.

My kids will come back, and I’m so glad they will. My Thing 1 and Thing 2, how I will miss them still. They’ll come bearing homework, dirty clothes, hair and shoes, but I’ll grab them up quickly, my Things 1 and 2. I’ll hug them so tightly they’ll beg I let go, then we’ll snack and we’ll play till the bath water flows. We’ll brush and we’ll read and I’ll tuck them in bed, as the next day of school they will already dread. Truthfullly, I probably will dread the day too, I love lazy mornings with Thing 1 and Thing 2.

School is here; summer’s gone with it’s leisurely pace. I’m both happy and sad with big tears on my face. Tomorrow is dreadful; tomorrow is grand. I’ll have time for myself but have no little hands. I don’t know what I’ll do when to college they go. I want them with me, but I want them to grow. I know at my side they will not always stand, but for now I will hold them as long as I can.

Brimming…

The tears took me by surprise last year when I saw Will off to his first day of kindergarten. I had so looked forward to having some relief from the constant entertainment I must provide to keep his smart little wheels turning. I remembered my mom telling me how she had cried the day I went to kindergarten, then on other monumental years as well. But I thought I had conquered that crying business last year. After all, we’re seasoned elementary parents now, with a big first-grader in the family, right?

This isn’t a real good time to be writing an article like this, since I’d rather not have red eyes before Bill and I head off for dinner to celebrate our ninth anniversary. But I have a few moments of peace, a cup of coffee, and a heart that is brimming over with emotions just as sure as my eyes are brimming with tears. I just have to take a few minutes to let some of them pour out on the computer keyboard–the emotions that is. I’d sure hate to ruin a keyboard the way I ruined one back at the hospital with a hot, sticky cup of coffee one Saturday while I worked overtime. Somehow, though, I always seem to feel better, in some strange way, after laying my soul bare to the world. Like somehow I’ve gained some sort of cyber-hug by anyone who happens by to read. It’s weird, really, to blog such intensely personal feelings in such a public way. I guess that I have this little glimmer of hope that my writing will find someone who identifies with my feelings. Someone who maybe has the same feelings about their own life, but maybe couldn’t quite express it or just didn’t take the time to write it down.

The book I’ve been reading lately, The Wednesday Sisters, has done that for me. It has expressed beliefs and emotions about life that I have held so very deeply, yet never have quite been able to express myself in such a meaningful and tangible way. It has even drawn me back to the idea that maybe I should write my own book. I don’t know where, exactly I will find the time to write more than a monthly blog article, but I love to write. I really do. I never would have known that growing up, but I’ve developed quite a passion for creative expression through writing. It seems to soothe my soul in ways nothing else can.

Goodness knows I need some soothing right now as I prepare for both of my kids to go off to school this year. Last year the tears on that first day of school were unexpected. I thought I was a big enough girl to handle a little school time away from my first born. But this year there’s no surprise about it. I’ve already started crying buckets, even with school two weeks out. Well, less than two weeks by now. It’s gonna take some serious writing to soothe this mommy’s sadness! I haven’t finished my thoughts on this subject, but it’s time for me to go. I guess I’ll write more later…

Our 2008 Tree

I’ve always admired people who have a Christmas tree in every room. I personally find it far too difficult and time-consuming to put up more than one tree, although I have been known to put up maybe one big tree and a couple of small ones. After all, we don’t usually finish our tree until the day or two before Christmas. We start early enough–don’t be mistaken. The day after Thanksgiving, I’m usually banging my head on the attic rafters while the rest of the world risks being trampled to death in public places. Bill drags out the Christmas decor (less and less each year, at my request), and we get the pre-lit tree put up and re-lit. But we don’t always put the ornaments on it just yet.

This tradition started about three years ago when Hunter was just a wee one. With a two-year-old and a vomiting baby, I just couldn’t bear the thought of decorating the tree with fancy ornaments and then roping it off with a baby gate, or, worse, leaving it out in the open and spending every waking minute scolding curious fingers. And with Will being such a project-lover (where did he get that from?), I thought it would be a good idea if we spent our Christmas season at the table making indestructable Christmas tree ornaments. Well, some of them are fairly destructable, but it that happens, we just plunk them in the trash can! He absolutely loved the season of perpetual projects, and our tree became a source of great pride and joy for both of us. When Christmas finally arrived, we could stand back and look at all of our handiwork, knowing we had done it all together. It was wonderful, and Will had free reign over decorating the tree and touching it afterwards.

The next year, we actually downsized and put up only a 4 1/2 foot tree on top of the console table to keep Hunter’s mischievous little self out of it. We did a mixture of the glass ornaments that Will adores and our handy dandy homemade ornaments. Then in 2007, we went back to the big tree and filled it with all of the ornaments we had made two years prior, and the kids developed the neat little game of UNdecorating and REdecorating the tree. All day, every day. It was cool at first. It gave them something to do together besides argue. But then it just became one more mess for me to manage. We decided to let that tradition fade right along with the construction paper chain.

So we come down to this year. Will is in school, and man–that takes it out of us. For a couple of minutes I even thought about leaving the big tree in the attic again. Since we traveled to my parents for Thanksgiving (yes, 20 hours one way), we went ahead and got the tree up before turkey day and let it sit there dressed with nothing but lights for a couple of weeks. I thought it was beautiful that way. One day…

When we got home, I was faced with the big decision. Do we put the glass ornaments and shoo the kids away all month? or try to salvage the handmade ones? By this time, those original handmade ornaments weren’t looking too adorable any more. We went for a happy medium, reusing the best of the old ones and making a bunch more new ones. And what fun memories we’ve made in the process! It started with an idea for a felt mitten garland I found in the Land of Nod catalog. I bought a truckload of felt while on a fabric shopping trip an hour away, and one night I sat up until the wee hours cutting out twenty-something brightly-colored mitten shapes and coordinating stripes and shapes to decorate them with. Then the kids and I spent Veteran’s Day gluing them together and then gluing buttons all over them. I sewed on ribbon hangers and let them hang them all over the tree.

The only problem was that Will really likes the glitz and glamour. Felt just doesn’t sparkle enough for him. So I picked up a cheap box of shatterproof silver balls, half of them solid and half of them glittery, and together we tied red and green grosgrain ribbon on them for hangers. Even after adding the bright red celophane lollipops we made in ‘05, the tree was still looking a bit bare. So we took the plunge and started on a paper chain that took us all the way until yesterday to complete. The whole family has been in on the process, and on any given day of the week, you might have found two or more of us sitting around sharing double-sided tape and strips of brightly-colored cardstock. It was great fun. For me and the kids anyway.

Now our 2008 tree is completely finished, and I must say, it is our cutest one yet. With all of the bright pinks and oranges, yellows and blues mixed with traditional red and lime green, it has a flavor all it’s own. The best part about it is that it’s chock-full of memories from the precious little hands that made it. I cry every other time I look at it, because I’m already sad about the gaping hole that will be left one day when the little hands have grown big and there’s noone here to cut and glue with me. I know that raising young children is only for a season, and despite the hardships and challenges, what a joyful season it is. I thank God every day for choosing to give me this joyous season of motherhood. May our little felt mittens be a symbol of our praise as we lift our hearts and hands to worship the King of Kings this Christmas season.

Unexpected Tears

I had planned to get to work as soon as putting the kids to bed tonight. Instead, I am sitting here in a pool of tears at the thought of my first-born son going off to kindergarten Wednesday. We met his teacher today, and she seems really nice and well-organized. I had a pretty good feeling about his school, and I think he is really excited about it. I’ve so loved having him at home this summer since preschool let out, and I’ve sort of dreaded this moment in time. I thought I was handling everything like a big girl, until I popped in his preschool classroom today to say hi on my way to Hunter’s 3-year-old preschool orientation. Just the sight of his little preschool room turned me into a fountain of tears I didn’t know I had.

So now I sit here, Macbook on lap, ready to work, and I can’t stop the flow. I always wondered why in the world my mom cried the day I went to kindergarten. And the day I went to middle school, and high school, and college. They’re milestones! Milestones are supposed to be times to celebrate! But instead I feel so very sad. Ever since I started my mommy career I’ve sort of looked forward to getting my freedom back once school age hit. Even this last year I’ve found myself longing for just a good half day to myself. A whole week of days just seemed like a dream. But now that it’s really time, having an empty house is the last thing I want.

Raising young children is SO HARD. The days are long, the house stays messy, and we go ‘round and ‘round about simple things. At the end of the day I’m so pooped I don’t want to pick myself up off the couch. Every day of my mommy life I think about how much closer we are to school, and that much closer to a clean house, and that much closer to peace and quiet. And right now the thought of that coveted peace and quiet does nothing but make me sob. Why is it this way? Why so hard to make it through, but so hard to let it all go?

The one thing my heart takes comfort in is knowing that I have spent as much time as possible with my children while I had them under my wings. I chose to not work full-time, because I did not want to come to this day, August 11, 2008 and regret the time that would be forever lost with my son. I have sacrificed a lot of nice things to stay home with him. I’ve worked late into the night and early in the morning to help provide some extras. I’ve gone without manicures, eating out, and nice clothes. I seldom buy anything unnecessary, and I shop on a cash-in-hand shoestring budget. And every sacrifice has paled in comparison to the delight that has been raising my children in the comfort of my own home, where they have been free to learn and grow and roam around in pajamas until the afternoon if they wanted to.

I’ve made plenty of mistakes. I’ve been frustrated too easily, cleaned too little, emailed too often, and not played on the floor nearly enough. But I’ve done my best, and I’ve tried my hardest to show my children the joy of the Lord and the ways to honor Him. I’m glad I don’t have to have a score that beats any world records to know I’m doing my job as a mommy. I am the best mommy I can be, and the blessing of raising such precious children is all the gold medal I need.

I hope I can gather myself enough to work tonight. I’ve got some serious work to do to get the next phase of my career rolling. And I hope I can gather myself before I drop Will off first thing Wednesday morning. I think I better plan something to do Wednesday morning to keep from being too sad with just one little person to keep me company. I’m afraid if I don’t, I can probably expect some tears.

Paper Airplanes

“I’m sorry to tell you this son,” said Bill, “but I’m afraid we’re going to have to save this one for outside only.” I messed up tonight and made THE best paper airplane either Bill or I have ever seen. I’ve prided myself in my paper airplane crafting expertise for a while now, but this new and improved version of the Heather Kate airplane really soars to the top of the homemade toy charts.

Several months ago Bill complimented my paper airplanes and tried to no avail to make one that could fly higher or farther. Earlier this week he did come up with a design that had a nice lift on it when we had our contest in the backyard, and I feared that his engineering and math genius would eventually overpower my sheer luck in paper aircrafting. But it was really hard to tell who was the true winner since 20-mile-an-hour wind tends to give copy paper a bit of a bumpy flight.

Tonight, though. I modified my tried and true design with my favorite part of his design–the angle of the top fold–and I finally gave in and used 2 strategically-placed pieces of tape (which I had scolded him for earlier this week,) and backup, Jack! The coolest airplane maker of the house just got a whole lot cooler! (At least in Bill’s eyes.) Not only does my plane soar far and long, it goes up, then flies straight for like, ever. Bill threw it from the kitchen to the other end of the house, and then marked off the distance at 45 feet. And that was around furniture, lamps, walls, and the still-decorated Christmas tree. I cannot WAIT to see what that thing does outside.

But the plane was too good. It was so good that it became a weapon, easily capable of putting out eyes, breaking furniture, and toppling fortresses. So now I have to work at making bad airplanes, so we can keep them in the house!

Bittersweet Treats

Santa Claus brought my children the most delectable big red lollipops with teddy bears painted in icing on the front. He always brought them to me when I was a kid, and now he brings them to my children. They are every kids’ dream–the kind they go to bed dreaming of on Christmas Eve. But they are also every parent’s nightmare.

I felt a knot in my stomach the moment I saw them sticking out of the kids’ stockings. I have developed quite a distaste for anything with refined sugar, esPECIALLY if it is hard, laced with red dye, and stuck on a giant stick. The deadly combination of such atrocities is enough to send any parent into complete revolt.

Let’s start with the sugar. Sugar rots teeth. I know this very intimately, because I paid the dental bill after a trip to a far-away city for fillings under general anesthesia for my uncontrollable three-year-old. And we brush. Not only that, but one iota of sugar makes either of my children go absolutely ballistic. As if we need any help with that. Have you ever seen my two-year-old in action on nothing but an empty stomach? I recently discovered that her Sunday school teachers designate one adult to shadow Hunter every Sunday because she is so wild. They wonder how I do it at home!

And lastly in my case against sugar, it spoils appetites! I do not need any help convincing my picky eaters not to eat their meals. Hunter only eats peanut butter, breads, and fruit as it is. Add some pure sugar to the diet, and what then will I feed her?

So, if you took the sugar out of lollipops, what then would we have? Red dye. Scientifically proven to initiate hyperactivity. Enough said.

And the cute little stick? Paired with a large sticky object, it becomes nothing but a tool which my two-year-old can wield to make a BIG, STICKY mess.

On Christmas morning I hid the darling lollipops in the mantle decor hoping they would be forgotten. But when I was cleaning house this afternoon, I couldn’t handle their being out of place. So I stopped the procrastination and put them in plain view in the kitchen. I figured it was now or never. When is there ever a good time to drink disaster upon oneself? If I was tough enough, I would have just thrown the dern things away. But I, like every endearing parent out there, want my children to enjoy the fantasy of their childhood. So when they both ate all their dinner, they got to choose between a brownie that was still in the oven or the lollipop that Santa’s elves made at the North Pole.

Relieved to be finally ridding my house of the big sticky nightmares, I happily let the children tear into their lollipops while stuck to their chairs at the table. It was so cute to see the icing smeared all over their faces, particularly Hunter’s, that I started snapping pictures. And then I got so caught up admiring them on the camera, deleting the bad ones, and laughing at what a good time they were having, that I forgot to guard Hunter like the end was near. I looked up from the camera as I heard, “SMASH SMASH SMASH!” and little slivers of red sticky lollipop went flying.

{Let’s pause for a moment of silence to reflect on the monstrosity of the situation. Special note: I cleaned the house today.}

The kitchen is now cleaned up, but I’m still paying the price for that little slip of sanity, because my kids are running around the house like wild dogs. I must now retreat to the bathroom to fill a tub with water so that we can throw bubbles all over the clean bathroom. Maybe after bathtime I can upload the pre-disaster pics I shot.

The Nightly Collapse

I did it again. I do it every night. And every night I try to talk myself out of it. In four brief seconds from the time I close the kids’ bedroom door to the time I round the corner and reach the guest bed, I manage an entire conversation with myself arguing for and against the urge to collapse on the bed.

The conversation goes something like this: “Do NOT lie down on the bed. You have WAY too much to do.” “But I have to. I’m SOOO tired. Who cares anyway? This is ridiculous. Nobody in their right mind would be working these kind of hours.” “You have to get to work. You’ve already outlined tonight’s work for Client X. If you don’t do it tonight, you’ll start out tomorrow behind.” “Client X doesn’t care anyway. What’s one more day?” “Fine, lie down then. Just do it. Then see how you feel.”

And I almost always feel worse. Then I lie there and continue the conversation with myself about which housekeeping chores can wait ‘til tomorrow and which ones I will hate myself for leaving undone. If I am really on top of things, I will have already picked up the living room disaster, cleaned the kitchen, and folded the laundry. But unfortunately, that day would be an exception to the rule.

At just 7:30pm, or sometimes as late as 8:30, I already feel as though I’ve been hit by a train. By the time I get the kids in the bed to stay, I’m too tired to think about anything, much less do anything. So when I see the big white bed calling, I just cannot resist the urge to lie down. It doesn’t help that it is two feet away from the computer desk. I almost always intend to sit down in the desk chair, but I seldom actually make it that far. Two feet is a lot to ask after all that I go through in a day’s time.

But on the average night, I talk myself into getting up, fixing a cup of hot chocolate or tea, and settling down to a nice evening of computer radiation. And I’m always glad I did. The late night work really keeps me going. And indeed the very occasion to choose whether or not I work is a blessing in and of itself. I mean, really. I don’t have to do any of this. My clients don’t mind waiting for me. (If they did, they wouldn’t hire me in the first place.) I could just sit and watch TV if I really wanted to. Or not.