erica's

I've never seen more beautiful light, or more beautiful kids. Their faces just glowed. Erica's house is amazing and welcoming. She puts fruit in a bowl and creates the most incredible, unintentional still life I've ever seen. I love gorgeous her, and her gorgeous kids, and her heated floors. But she can keep her snake.

inspiration

pause

My goal: to get through this move with a full head of hair, ten un-bitten fingernails and near-normal cortisol levels. Unfortunately I'll have to have a spell of quiet in this space. I'll be back soon, though.

the problem with packing

One packing problem specific to LP owners: I keep getting distracted by all the eye candy. I'm a sucker for album art. Check out the LPCover Lover blog for more awesome album covers.

handmade homeschool notebook covers

"We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."
Ray Bradbury, on writing

Writing is one of the most important components of our homeschool. I want my children to enjoy their journaling, narrations and compositions, and in my experience the feel of one's notebooks contributes to the overall appeal, or lack thereof, of the work at hand. The standard, black and white marbled covers of their history, science and language arts notebooks not only threatened to make dull work out of a task that should be meaningful and pleasant, but also threatened to trigger one of my migraines. I covered them up with bits from my fabric stash: hers are covered in a petite Japanese print, his are covered with a bold graphic Ikea print. Their notebooks are now personalized, soft, comforting, ready to receive.

procrastination can be delicious, you know

I use a sharp paring knife to remove a cone from the center of each cooled cake, the last step before filling each one with creamy, delicious, Fluff-based guts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see half-filled moving boxes in the living room, waiting their turn. Then the oven timer rings: the pizza dough is ready to divide and shape. At this rate, by the time this house is packed and ready to go, I may no longer be able to fit into any of my jeans.

three weeks

I have three weeks left. Three weeks to put this old house into sellable condition. Three weeks to pack up my entire life and move it eight hours south to another town in another state that has Chick-fil-A and Whole Foods, a church on every corner, hot, muggy summers, a long growing season, and snow-free (ish) winters, a place that has traffic and noise, lots of people, and possibly more business for John but maybe not. This move represents our last shot at living as a homeschooling, single-income family. Emotions are running high. I am in full flight from reality, so instead of bagging garbage and painting and tearing up linoleum at home, I sit at the bistro table and watch the Wegmans employee make sushi while my kids eat cinnamon buns. I let familiar faces pass by without greeting them. I'm unrecognizable anyway, with Noah's hat on my head, John's striped thermal partly covering my ripped and faded jeans, and dark circles under my eyes. They finish their breakfast and discard their trash. We wander through the store. We take our time.

his grandfather was a gorgeous man

new year's eve 2009

This night I watched a man at the bar stroke his wife's hair over and over again. I watched women and men stumble around the makeshift dance floor in front of the band. I watched my husband strain to hit some high notes while nailing most of them. I crouched in corners behind my camera. If life was a spectator sport, I'd be world champion.

toolbox