Fiddles!

My kids ought to be grateful I love them. Even though it was hot as bacon grease and I was feeling equally salty after dragging dirty clothes back and forth to the laundry, I dragged my behind down to the local library as promised and willingly sat among squealing small children for some story time brought to us by Fiddlin' Dan, the Mountain Man. As an aside,And for some reason, everytime I read the phrase Fiddlin' Dan my mind says, "Lieutenant Dan, I got yer ice creaaaaaam!"

I'm not going to lie and tell you it was the most entertaining experience of my life, particularly given that I saw Daniel Tosh perform live just a few months ago, but for the setting, it was actually pretty cool. Fiddlin' Dan is really great with kids. He even took note of what a handsome, strapping little man my favorite bowl of pudding is. Yes, I can be won over with flattery. Ain't no shame in that.

And my, wasn't he handsome and strapping in his little striped onesie? He was also rather enthralled with Fiddlin' Dan's talent for playing the spoons as evidenced by his rapt attention.

Of course pinky wanted in on the baby holding action and on the rapt attention action. It seems the girl behind pinky was less than thrilled with Fiddlin' Dan but the reality is poor girl was too busy giving a hearty dose of the side eye to the three hot mess little boys she hissed at for the majority of the time we were there.

And here's another shot of my youngest because my mama reads my blog and grandmas can never get enough pictures of their grandbabies.

This is his "did-someone-say-food" face.

And since I mentioned the successful, rain free laundry mission, now I can show you my latest completed sewing project, the Happy Animals t-shirt and the Bubble Stripe shorts both patterns from the Summer 2011 issue of Ottobre Design.

I really love how this turned out. I used interlock jersey from Joann's for both pieces. The top is a hunter green solid with lime green top stitching while the shorts are a split pea soup and green bean stripe. The embroidery is a design from this book which just might be my favorite embroidery book evah! ( And pick a chick, she's got another one! I'll just be adding that to my card now.)

And isn't this just the sweetest little lederhosen wearing kid in the world?

Next time, I'm gonna use a lighter brown color for the little dude's hair and eyelashes. Lord knows I don't want it looking like I dressed my kid in blackface. I think pudding might faint dead away from embarrassment.

How's that for pictures, grandma?

Other people's children

This is the price that comes with entertaining your children. Inevitably, you come in contact with other people's children. Or rather, other people's parenting. After all, what do kids know but their nature and how they've been taught to express their natures?

For instance, if no one told you that during VBS you should sit with your group or with your parents and not run around the fellowship hall like a crazy person, would you know?

But amid the tears, throwdowns, temper tantrums, and attitudes, so far, the third week of summer is progressing nicely. Pete wasn't thrilled with the delay of his $1 summer movie today due to camp counselors waiting until the last minute to escort their long, meandering lines of 10 year olds to the bathroom. But pinky, ever the perky one was simply delighted to be allowed out in public.

Pudding, ever the mellow trooper, took the interruption of his nap in stride. Just look at those tired eyes.

We went to see Legends of the Guardians. To be frank, it wasn't a great movie. In fact, I'm pretty sure Zack Snyder must have been high when he agreed to pretty much make Lord of the Rings with owls. And no, that's not at cool as it sounds. However, it wasn't as awful as it could have been either. The owls were pretty, the story wasn't cloying, and there was plenty of action to keep the kids engaged.

What there was, however, was one very douchey brother owl named Clyde (or something.) You see, Clyde even before the mean old owls came a kidnapping, had a touch of the green eyed monster. His brother Soren, you see, took to their father's storytelling and flying lessons with all the overeager excitement characteristic of these movies. Instead of taking tips from little Soren, Clyde's sullen ass gets, well, more sullen. Eventually, he shoves Soren off a branch and takes himself out of the process which leads to both being kidnapped and Helen Mirren waxing poetic about some kind of new world order.

Soren defends some little owl he just met and earns Helen Mirren's wrath. He calls out to Clyde for help and old Clyde behaves like Helen Mirren has beaten him into submission and fronts like he doesn't recognize Soren. I've never seen an animated character develop Stockholm syndrome so quickly. Later, after Soren has been sent to pick up bits of upchucked mouse bones (uhm eww), Clyde tries to ingratiate himself to Helen Mirren by offering up his and Soren's baby sister, tucked safe away back at their little hollow.

I wish I could tell you what happened next but pudding had enough of all this sitting business and demanded I walk him around in the theater hallway. (Or maybe he just wanted to see why so many kids were constantly leaving and returning. No one has to pee that often, I assure you.)

All you need to know is that for being a royal jerk to his brother and willingly handing over his sister to be moonblinked (don't ask) Clyde earned himself a fiery death . . . maybe. God bless children's movies and their unwillingness to let anyone die for certain. In the end, Soren's mother and father gather around to gush over their pride in little Soren and his can do attitude. And to pretty much forget about their dead, useless other son.

And so it goes, the old world is restored to order in a mere 112 minutes and I am liberated from captivity among a theater full of talking children.

I felt like William Wallace as his innards were being torn out by the executioner, in agony but grateful it was coming to an end. I wonder if the last thing William heard as he was leaving was the hot mess temper tantrum of an 8 year old screaming for his mommy like he'd just watched her throat being slit.

Something to think about.

Tuesday, we're going to see Hop. Russell Brand better bring it.

It's 12:22 pm

Bebe's Kids

Do you know where your children are?

I should probably reword that question, neighbor lady because with all that whoopin' and hollering outside, there is no way you don't know where your grubby little rugrats are. You just flat out don't care.

This really isn't news given that I've lived here for more than a year and can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen your children fully dressed. Usually, they are half naked, with dirty feet, ashy knees, and saggy diapers.

I really feel for your children, except for when they are hanging out in my driveway like they live here, being loud as hell right under my damned window.

Go back to your homes!!! Are you too good for your home?

Happy Gilmore

And all this was pretty funny to me until I realized that yes, yes, your kids are too good for what you call a home. We don't all have to be June Cleaver but a bath and a bedtime would be marvelous.

Busy as a bee

I want you to pretend you're looking at a hunter green baby tee shirt with a  little dude in lederhosen sweetly embroidered on the front along with a cute pair of green striped shorts to go with it. Why are you pretending when I could be posting pictures? Because my kid hates my face and a upchucked all over it before I can get a picture.

::le sigh::

Tomorrow is laundry day though so I suppose I'll try to catch him before he goes all Vesuvius on me again. But at least he didn't pee on my bed today. He saved that little treat for his sister.

But enough about baby grossness. Let's discuss Sunday dinner. Not to toot my own horn here (or totally to toot my own horn as what else is a blog?)

It.was. AMAZEBALLS!

It was originally supposed to be Saturday dinner but my hot mess ass had to wait until the last minute to go to the store and buy a grill. By the time I was done ordering children around, saying not to nice things at random screws, and cursing whomever had the good sense to misplace the stupid rachet, it was near dark and too late to grill up my delicious, on sale ribeyes. Instead, I fired up the grill after church on Sunday and laid it out.

Of course, Sunday wasn't free of mishaps either. I tried out this new dessert recipe I found in the latest issue of All You which instructed me to grill some poundcake. Yeah, uh no. I didn't grill it. I charred the living crap out of it. Genius move, I know. Lucky for two kidlets who live for Sunday dessert, I had a box of gingerbread mix that's been sitting around since Christmas. So we tried again.

And let me tell you, the gingerbread was per.fect. In fact, I cannot fathom why anyone would want to try this recipe with anything other than gingerbread. Lemon + blueberries + gingerbread = heaven.

Would you like the recipe? It was ridiculously simple.

Just take 1/2c heavy cream plus 1Tbsp of sugar and whip it until you get to the soft peak stage. Fold in 1/4 lemon curd. Drop a dollop on top of some gingerbread and sprinkle with a small handful of blueberries. Shovel in your mouth like no one feeds you and call it good.

The blueberries pop on your tongue in the middle of a fluffy, tangy cloud of lemon cream and it just feels like summer.

I might have eaten two pieces yesterday and two more today.

Summer lovin'

As with anything in my life, the anticipation is worse than the actual event. Summer is here and my kids aren't dead. I'll give you a moment to recover from your shock. While I have been asked too many times to count a barage of questions, I've yet to hear the dreaded, "Mommy, I'm boooooooooreeeeeeed!" Maybe because they know I would end them. I'm not sure. In any case, the weather has been beautiful, the kids have been cooperating and thanks to a friend from church, we made our first trek of the summer to a beautiful pool in my friend's subdivision.

Can we talk about swimsuit season for a moment? Because quite frankly, I'm annoyed with all the hubaloo about getting your perfect beach body and the obsession with the right swimsuit to flatter your figure. Let's be honest here. Unless you're Twiggy, there isn't much flattering about any swimsuit. In fact, it's much like voting for president. It's not a matter of what you love but what you hate the least. Or perhaps I'm the only one whose "troublespots" have nowhere to hide in a bathing suit.

You give me a pencil skirt and a pretty top and I feel fine as hell (because I am fine as hell, let's not lie.) But you wave a swimsuit in my face and suddenly, I'm feeling a bit like something Captain Ahab was chasing, albeit slightly less white.

There's nothing perfect about my figure. The sisters are difficult to support even when I'm not nursing, my postpartum belly resembles a bowl full of pudding, and there are faint lighting bolts streaking across my thighs. But it's my body. I'm not going to let a series of crappy commercials and magazine articles make me feel bad about wearing a garment that wouldn't flatter all my less than stellar spots even if lovingly crafted by Karl Lagerfeld himself (don't laugh).

I have two choices. I can hide or I can be proud. I'm choosing the latter, not just because I don't want thoughts about my jiggly ass to destract me from playing Loch Ness monster in the pool with the kidlets but because I hope my daughter notices.

THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!

On a slightly related note, do people not take young babies in the water? I couldn't find a single swim diaper to fit pudding's tiny heinie. They don't even make plastic pants that small. Anyone have some advice here? I see more pool visits in our future and I don't expect him to hit 18lbs any time soon. Sure, he could wear the monstro ones but I thought the point was to contain his power poots. If his swim diaper doesn't hold up, I may as well save myself the ten bucks and stick him in his shorts. YAY FOR FREE!

Why doesn't anyone tell me these things??

Have you ever heard of Style Arc??

Good so I'm not the only one.

Well here you are. I've not even ordered yet and already, I can sense this will be the beginning of a beaaaaaaaaaaautiful friendship.

So tell me, what should I spend my birthday money on? Yes, I said birthday money. My mommy in love (a typo I'm keeping) always sends me a little something something and a card every year. I know I don't need more patterns but isn't that the point of birthday money, buying something you don't need? Are there enough questions in this post? Why is the sky blue? How long will it take me to go insane with my kids home all day? Where do rainbows end? Where the hell is that little leprechan douche with my pot of gold?

I digress and so easily as always. So back to the point. Which one!

Olivia Dress

Anna Dress

Katharine Blouse

Amy

Ronnie

There are soooooooo many to choose from. Granted, the dresses are probably out as I won't be able to wear them until next year with a kid attached to the sisters fairly often. Ronnie would be the prefect fall top to address that latter issue but I was hoping to sew something up sooner. I'm really feeling the Katharine blouse I think.

Of course, I could just go for the two patterns that have my name written all over them, quite literally actually.

Samantha Top

Samantha Skirt

I get the feeling any pattern I order will end up sewn quite often, especially if I go for a top. I need more basics in my life, especially of the casual shirt variety.

As a bonus, if I get my heinie in gear and order before the end of the month, I get a bonus pattern.

It's like they knew it was my birthday! Speaking of random acknowledgement of my awesome, I went to a pool party in honor of the lovely miss Peyton, an adorable wee bit of nearly seven cuteness whom I teach in my night class at church and there was a banner outside of the community center that said, Happy Birthday, Samantha!

I choose to believe they were talking to me.

Let's talk about what I did right today

See, what you do is ya hold dis
thing in your hand like so . . .

So the pudding is hitting the glorious stage of discovered movement. He can not only grasp things but he can wave them around with abject glee. What he can't do is move his face even though he knows that thing is coming for his little cheeks like a freight train. So basically, he just waves his little retinue of plastic rabbit links and winces when they get too close for comfort.

And shake it like a polaroid picture

This is much cuter than it sounds, I swear.

What is also cute is the way he frantically kicks his legs in a way that makes you think he's about to fall out of the damned thing and then when you look over to see if this if he's going to go all Humpty Dumpty on your ass, he pauses, mid pudgy leg waving and smiles like he's just seen the sun.

I'm savoring these moments for when it's time to do second grade homework and he informs me he doesn't feel like I love him because I make him do things he doesn't want to.

Wut? I would never!

We'll see whose the sun then.

I humbly submit myself for my flogging

momgrind

So pete and pinky are headed towards the home stretch on this whole school business as I've previously mentioned. This means it's awards time.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I hate awards ceremonies. Actually, I hate school ceremonies of all sorts. They remind me of those nightmarish assemblies from childhood where you were dragged kicking and screaming to sit under the watchful eye of your stern faced teacher for two hours just to wait for your 15 seconds of fame. It doesn't help that all school gyms smell like sweat, french fries, and humiliation.

So my kids kiss me good bye with their chirpy little voices and barely brushed hair and remind me, MOOOOOMMMMYYYYY, you're coming to the award ceremony, right?? Yes, yes, 11:15, I know, I'm muttering without much assurance given I just hit the good sleep phase after feeding pudding less than an hour prior.

Okay, mom, pete tells me. He wants to show me the award and trophy he won almost six months ago that his art teachers been sitting on for an eternity. I've never even seen this damned thing. That alone might be worth enduring the ridiculously annoying sound of rubber scritching across whatever the hell they make gym floors with. Plus, he needs me to bring it home. Apparently, both the art and the trophy are too big to take home on the bus with them. I tell pete that thing better look like some Picasso or he owes me money and then I go back to sleep knowing I have plenty of time to catch up on my beauty rest.

At the proper time and not a moment before given my glorious excitement over this event, I start preparing to venture out into society. I dress the kid, dress myself, I even do my hair even though it's been pouring all day and I'm guaranteed to look like a cross between a drowned rat and a bishon frise whose just been introduced to a light socket. I chase down the camera, shove an extra pacifer in my back pocket, spend an eternity looking for the last place I left the Moby wrap and other assorted tasks. I pick up the kid, slap a hat on his head and I'm ready to go when I spy the little flyer letting me know exactly where in this maze of brick and dry erase boards I'm headed.

I pick it up and give it the quick glance over when I see the times assigned to my clamoring little children.

10:15-11:15 am in the gymnasium

MOTHER HEIFER!!!!

Side note: why must they spell out gymnasium, can someone tell me? Is it to sound smarter? Help kids with their vocabulary?

But that's neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is that I have promised my children I would show up at their smelly, obnoxious little ceremony and I have bungled it all by getting the stupid times wrong. No one is every going to believe it was an accident after I just shared my universal loathing of such events. But it was, I swear. I may hate assemblies and award ceremonies and sitting through all the other chatterbox, loud mouth, sniffly little foot squicking children but I have to admit, I get all sorts of verklempt when they call my babies' names and they flop across the stage, chests puffed out with pride to get their little Mathematics master certificate and free McDonalds hamburger coupon that we never manage to cash in.

As pete says, who goes to McDonalds and orders a hamburger? Eww, mom. Eww.

I think I can, I think I can

I'm not sure why the left side looks like a sock but look, LACE!!!!

I only have 842 pattern repeats or something, yanno, time consuming left before I'm done.

Tasty, tasty food

Crappy, crappy picture

The important word here is tasty. OH SO TASTY, PUT IT IN MAH MOUF!!!!

I first made this dish years ago. All of the sudden, while standing in the middle of Kroger resisting the urge to shank the screaming toddler who seemed to be stalking me in the aisles, I could taste this stuff.

Am I the only dork this happens to? I'm just hanging out minding my business when all the sudden some little voice conspires with my taste buds and I will not rest until I have sampled such awesomeness again. Not something like it, not something close, not a near approximation but just exactly that combination of perfect flavors. Nothing else will satisfy me.

And this is how my poor family ended up eating sausage and zucchini 87 ways for the last two weeks until finally, I hit upon magic mix. So now I'm sharing it with you, not because I'm a giving, kind hearted person who just wants to share with the world something that has made me smile but because, by God when this urge hits me again, I wanna know exactly how to turn it out and shut my brain up with some sausage and rice.

So here we go.

1 package of Polish Kielbasa, diced into coins

1 medium sweet onion, diced

3 gloves of minced garlic

1 large zucchini cut into cubes

2 medium crookneck squash cut into cubes

1 3/4 c basmati rice

1 14.5 oz can of chicken broth

3 tbsp grated parmesan cheese

1. Heat 2 tbsp of butter in a deep sided frying pan. (Petey calls this the "hamburger helper pan" because we are high brow, yo.)

2. Add kielbasa, onion, and garlic. Cook on high until kielbasa is browned and onion is golden.

3. Add zucchini and squash, season with salt and pepper, and cook until somewhat tender but no where near done.

4. Dump in the rice. Stir until shiny.

5. Pour in the chicken broth. Bring to a boil. Then cover with a lid and drop the heat to medium low.

6. Cook for about 15-20 minutes or until rice doesn't crunch in your teeth.

7. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese.

Now you can never leave me sausage and rice, never, no never, no never.

As promised

I am a brave, brave soul so be prepared to hold my hand.

I am attempting . . . lace knitting.

It's amazing the things people can do.

Like this gorgeous Estonian shawl.

Lyrical Lace Shawl by Fiddlesticks

I know what you're thinking and hell no, I ain't that brave. My eyes are crossing just thinking about it. I'm going to attempt something much more attainable, like this pretty little Forest Beauty Lace Shawl.

I've had my eye on it for quite a while but I was terrified of the prospect of turning a hank of yarn into a nice little ball of yarn and further terrified of turning a ball of yarn into a never ending hot mess of tangles roaming around my house like a kitty on crack.

weheartit

However, I'm a hobag for a good sale so when my dream yarn came up for cheap, I snatched up a hank of this pretty alpaca/silk blend in a color called Shallows. I loooooove the name as the colors remind me of the beach on Guam where I was baptized.

And here's a picture of it all knitted up.

Sargasso Shawl by Knitpicks

::le sigh::

If I'm lucky, I'll have it all knitted up by Christmas. It will look glorious with the black taffeta and brocade Christmas dress I'm planning. Expect lots of skirt, yards of crinoline underskirt, and perhaps a peek of decolletage.

To my surprise, my husband did not end up having to call the fire department to come cut me out of this stuff using the jars of life. And it didn't take long to ball it up either, only one viewing of one crappy ass kung fu movie set in the Wild Wild West and featuring Geoffrey Rush. Yes, I said Geoffrey Rush. Ugh, this is the crap you end up watching when you have boys.

On the good news front, pete was more than willing to hold my yarn while I balled it up.

He's so useful, that kid. Remind me of that when I'm threatening to sell him.

Things I will do this week

1) Finish reading Doctor Zhivago.

I watched the updated miniseries a few weeks ago starring Keira Knightley. I love everything she does and I had an extended Russian obsession when I was in high school, including attempting to learn Russian. Then there are the Edwardian era costuming and all the eastern style embroidery.

And yes, I know this isn't Keira but look at the embroidery on that peasant top.
::sigh::

So clearly this book and I were meant to be. Just you wait until the new Anna Karinina update comes out. You will all hate me. You're welcome in advance.


2) Not shank pinky's dance teacher.

I could bore you with the long story of how I nearly hurt that woman hard but suffice to say, she is not my favorite person and we are heading into the home stretch towards recital. If she cuts her eyes at me one more time, I might do something to permanently alter her ability to do so in the future. Apparently, asking her what I need to do with this kid's hair isn't worthy of her time unless I'm also paying for expensive private lessons and/or am willing to shell out ridiculous amounts of money to put an ad in the recital program. I guess I just don't like my kid enough. And what I dislike even more is being ignored and then yelled at when someone fails to provide the information I've spent weeks asking for.

Pray for this woman's eyeballs.

3) Weed the garden and plant the limas and more bush beans.

This one should be easy peasy and I bought a nifty new gardening hat for a whole three dollars at walmart. It looks delightfully stupid.

4) Finish the smocking on pudding's Easter outfit.

I'm not sure why I'm calling it the Easter outfit anymore. We all know what month it is. I don't know what it is about Easter but this is the second year in a row I've failed to produce awesome outfits for this particular holiday even after all that planning, ordering and even cutting. If I don't get this damned thing done soon, it won't fit the kid at all.

5) Start my pretty lace shawl.

Someone think good thought for my doofy behind because I really think I must have accidentally got into the good stuff if I'm actually laboring under the delusion that I'll be able to finish this thing. Hell, at least the yarn is pretty. I'll share all the details tomorrow, for swears.

So that's my list. Feel free to yell at me if you think I won't meet my goals. Just make sure the dance studio lady hasn't pissed me off or you might not get the results you're looking for.

Unless you're willing to provide an alibi, of course.

How does my garden grow?

Well, this was three weeks ago:

And this is today:

Not too shabby, right?

The lettuce that was along the back edge has since been pulled up. My dumb ass didn't know that lettuce is a cold weather crop and doesn't perform in the heat. It grows alright but then it tastes like rubber. Decidedly not appetizing. So rather than waste time and energy growing something I wouldn't even feed to the smelly monster children, I'm going to grow more beans. Lima beans to be precise.

I hate lima beans. Maybe I'll like them better fresh.

My container garden of vines is screwed. The stems on the squash and zucchini split and nasty looking yellow stuff was coming out of it so I yanked it all except the cucumber and hoped that would make it okay.

It didn't.

I don't know what that is and I don't care. I'm just gonna cross that off the list and move on. If I feel like it, I might toss out all the dirt and plant something else but it's getting a little late in the season I think. Established plants are getting scarce and the selection is thin.

The flowers look good though as do p&p's little container gardens.

Aside from the unfortunate loss of the tarragon, the herbs are looking spiffy too.

Something is having a nibble nibble at my strawberry leaves.

But fruit production isn't affected. If you know anything about gardening, can you tell me if I'm supposed to care?

TOMATOES!!!!

And peppers too!

When I was a girl, I always imagined I could be a farmer. As I grew up, I realized that the pages of Little House on the Prairie must have been sprinkled with crack for me to dream so grandly. Now I'm not so sure. I just might have a green thumb after all.

Weehooo!!!

Butter is a beautiful thing

Don't ask me why there is deodorant on my countertop.
Actually, don't ask me why any of that crap is on my counter.
Ask pinky, aka miss yes, I cleaned the counters, mommy, aka
not really, I'm just hoping you'll let me watch tv anyway.

It was Paula Deen day up in the Snarktastical household. I felt like I slathered the whole world with copious amounts of butter for Sunday dinner but thinking about it now, I really didn't use that much.

It's quite possible, however, that I really am a fat ass and that's a crapton of butter. But whatever, haters. My potatoes were the bombdiggty. Want to know how I made them?

1) Cut up a bunch of potatoes. Any kind will do but I'm quite partial to reds. Since they were pretty small, I quartered most of them. You'll want to cut them into 1-2 inch pieces, depending on how big your mouth is. If I were making them for pinky, I would have left them whole. That's one way to keep a child's mouth from running at the table.

2) Boil up a bunch of potatoes. Drop them in a pot of salted water, bring to a rolling bowl and keep cooking until they poke easily with a fork. This usually takes about 20 minutes.

3) Drain up a bunch of potatoes. I think that part's pretty self explainatory, yes? Then onward we go.

4) Butter up a bunch of potatoes. I flopped them all into a nice bowl and then dropped at many pats of butter on there as made my heart happy. I used skinny pats lest I get too excited and end up with a ham in my face.

5) Stir up a bunch of potatoes. Just chop up a bit of thyme, sprinkle it in there and stir it up along with the rapidly melting butter. Salt and pepper to taste.

At this point, you could be done. However, I had leftover stuffed mushroom filling that was too good for the garbage can so I toasted that in a small skillet on the stove and sprinkled it on top for extra yummy goodness. If that sounds tasty to you, here's what's in it: about 2tbsp of both breadcrumbs and shredded parm, one clove of minced garlic, and a 1/2tsp each of sage and thyme plus salt and pepper to taste.

The stuffed mushrooms and Chicken red-wine-posing-as-Marsala recipes came from the Giada De Laurentiis' Everyday Italian cookbook I've had in my trunk for more than a year and have only just now got around to trying. So far, I like it. But I'll need to try a few more recipes before I can give the old Starktastical only Italian via marriage and numerous viewings of Goodfellas seal of approval.

It's been a long time since I left you

because I was off being a lazy ass.

I'd like to blame being sick but the reality is, I just felt like being a bum.

Let's update, shall we?

Me Made May was a semi success. Aside from the five days or so I laid about in my jammies with a fever, I did wear something handmade each day. However, I didn't take many pictures since I pretty much rocked a rotation of things I've already shown you. I also burned myself out making so many things back to back that I just sort of quit sewing anything about halfway through. I hope to have knocked out a few more things in the next few months so that when Self Stitched September rolls around, I'll have more variety.

Pinky helped participate by wearing her Christmas dress about two Sundays ago. Lucy helped by eating pinky's face.

And here's one of my new favorite skirts. The material is a poly charmeuse from Fabric.com. I think it might even still be available. (And it is here.) It was a ridiculously easy pattern to put together and now I want to find some plaid flannel to make a winter skirt. Can't you see it with a pair of cute slouch boots? Or is that too ridiculously 80's? Would I look like Elyse Keaton I wonder?

As for the Spring-Summer palette Challenge, I really need to step up my game. I've made nothing for it since the button down skirt from a few weeks ago. I'm going to force myself to finish one dress this week before I get so far behind I can't catch up.

Wanna see a better picture of the skirt?

On the homefront, the garden is flourishing so expect an update soon. I harvested some green beans today and fed them to my minions and wonders of wonders, we're all still alive. But that was a mere two hours ago so if I don't post anything in the next few days, be on the look out for a post about food poisoning once we've all come through on the other side.

Also, you all need to pray for me. School is out in one whole week and sweet Lord in heaven, I beseech you on behalf of my hot mess children and my tested patience . . . delivery my children from foolishness. Amen. We have a summer bowling pass and some resources for finding cool things to do in Savannah over the summer so let's just hope I don't end up choking out some small children. I'm too pretty for jail and I doubt they let you bring your sewing machine.