Random German Citizen

Over 1,000 views on my blog. Thank you all. Seriously. Thanks. Thank you to all of my United States readers (according to Google, you are the majority--and you should be as you are mainly my family, and you keep tabs on me. I'm sure most of you are reading just to make sure that I'm not talking about you, but don't worry. I'm just talking about my kids because they're not computer savvy enough to object yet.)

And thank you to all my my Canadian readers--also a significant number. I love you guys, and yes, I am teaching my children that you are a foreign country and should be respected as such. Really. That's why I'm homeschooling. It's all because of you.

And thanks to my German reader...whoever you are. I didn't think I knew anyone in Germany, but that's the country that Google has flagged as having an occasional reader. I love you too, random German citizen. I love you too.

Daffodils in Winter

Caleb in the daffodils.

Two tone with small trumpet

I love all of you crazy people who like to read my stuff. You make me happy to write. I guess I just crave the immediate feedback and attention. It's one of my weaknesses. I have a very hard time with delayed gratification. I'd rather do something immediately. Read something immediately. Buy something immediately. Eat something immediately...have I mentioned that I've put on ten pounds in the past five months? Urk. Yeah, I'm jogging again.

Magnolia Tree

It was the first day of spring when we went out to the Arboretum again. I have to say, my lessons have been very uninspired this week. I hate to say so, but the weather has gotten under my skin and I've been having trouble motivating myself to do anything. When in doubt, arrange for a field trip or two. So the kids and I went out to Lisle to see what was up at the Arboretum. We've gone there at this time of year a few years running because the Arboretum is beautiful in the spring. They have groves and groves planted with daffodils, and when they bloom, they are simply gorgeous. With the early spring, the Magnolias are blooming too, so I went out to see the blooms before they are gone--either blown or nipped by a late frost.

more magnolias--a bit blown

We cataloged at least six varieties of daffodils. I say "we," but the kids did much of the finding. Looking for differences amongst the blooms kept them busy and interested while we were drizzled on. I hate taking the kids on trips and then hearing: "It was fine until we got bored." No boredom. Not today.  The (very) early spring showers and early spring blooms gave me respite from my early spring gloom and we finally got back to the task of reasonably effortless learning.

Bright yellow-large trumpet

"The hills flat-lands are alive with the sound of music!"

Trillium-not quite there yet

We spotted Trillium (not blooming yet) and Shooting Star (blooming) as we walked through the woods.


We saw wild strawberries (no fruit) and the aforementioned daffodils in great abundance. As we walked through the woods spotting hawks, ground squirrels, squirrels and robins, the kids and I relaxed together. "Hey Mom," Hannah laughed when we encountered a dozen or more robins on the path in front of us. "It's a robin 'hood. Get it?"
After showing Caleb several varieties of Trillium, he shook his head. "I think that I know why biology was invented," he informed me. "This is too much to remember."

Double petal variety

Angry Bird

Just as it began raining, this hawk landed in the tree right in front of us. I wish I had a better photo, but if you can spot him, please know that he's in a tree about 15 feet up. He was huge! He just stared at us, annoyed, as we insisted on taking his photo.

Cream with a large yellow trumpet

cute, tiny daffodils

Young magnolia tree--protected from deer with fencing

We came home to our own daffodils which are already dying as the early spring turns to late-early spring.

Hannah and Kate

This is Hannah. Isn't she wearing a lovely dress?










Admire the detailing. This is all hand-sewn. We were very careful with the hooks and eyes and tiny buttons. I let her wear a pair of my shoes(!) and the dress just barely touched the ground.

This was Hannah's great-great Grandmother Kate (Hauschild?)Rost's dress. We think it might have been from a school graduation. Hannah is the only person in in this house who is small (thin) enough to wear it right now.  I'm going through all of the things I've taken from Mom's house. It amazes me what is passed on from generation to generation. Hannah asked with wonder as she smoothed the lace on the dress. "This was made before World War II? Near World War I?" She was awestruck. Caleb looked at her and laughed. "You look all dressy and stuff. You look like a rag-bag." (Full disclosure-the dress needs some ironing, but I'm afraid to get anywhere near it with anything hot.)

 Hannah snapped at him. "THIS IS LIKE A HUNDRED YEARS OLD! DON'T TOUCH IT!"

But I have to touch it. It's a part of me. And it's beautiful. And my daughter is beautiful. And a hundred years ago, someone else made something beautiful that is now in my hands. Wow.

Crazy Hat Day

The kids were talking to the girl who lives across the street. She's currently attending Portage Park School (our school) and let my little chickens know that it's spirit week. So in honor of Spirit Week in our school, we have a different theme every day. Today the theme was "Crazy Hat Day!"

Caleb made his hat the Tower of Gogurt
Hannah made her hat the Rainbow Cat.


I told them to use whatever art supplies they wanted, and just go to town. They went into the recycle bin and the art drawer and then followed my instructions and just went to town. When I woke up this morning, they were both walking around with their wonderful hats on their heads, deservedly proud of their creations. Their creativity always catches me by surprise, and I don't know why. "Mom, you know us. Why are you always surprised?" Hannah asked, rolling her eyes at my delight.

Good question. I don't know why their creativity tickles me so much. Maybe I'm so used to being let down,  that I'm always grateful to be pleasantly, happily surprised. Maybe it just proves that I'm not as cynical and jaded as I think that I am sometimes. I hope these kids never stop surprising me--in a good way-- no matter how much it frustrates my daughter to have her mother giggle over the wonderfully silly and thought-provoking things they create.

One more view of the Rainbow Cat. Notice the ears?

Building up and Tearing Down

The smokehouse and stable

I inherited Lincoln Logs from Mom. Mom inherited Lincoln Logs from Grammy. I know that some Lincoln Logs were received as gifts for Christmas at least one year. The upside to this is that I have a LOT of Lincoln Logs. Enough Lincoln Logs to make a village.

I don't know if Lincoln would recognize these logs. They are all very regular in appearance and size. The wonderful thing about Lincoln Logs is that they are very easy to build with. As we were putting the town together I thought of real logs. Real logs are not even in appearance or size. Anyone attempting to build with real logs has to deal with one end tapering, the other end being fat. You have to muscle and hew and shape real logs. Lincoln Logs are 'logs lite.' They are nothing like real logs, but you get a great rustic looking building out of them. At least they would be great buildings if you were about six inches tall and into drafty windowless houses.
Caleb really likes building with the Lincoln Logs. I don't fool myself that he's a budding Frank Lloyd Wright, (he's not into form or function right now, focusing on making as many buildings as possible with limited resources) but he's getting the hang of it. He built most of this town. There's even a bridge across the "river" indicated by the floor between the rugs. So that we aren't confused by some of the houses that are built on the wood floor ("water" in Calebtown), he also built moats and dams. These are not to be confused with the pastures and crop areas that he has also designated. "What crops?" I wanted to know, idly helping build what later became known as the stable. "Corn." He thought for a minute. "And soybeans," he added. "Oh, and strawberries." Because if you're going to farm, you'd better grow stuff that you want to eat.

There's also a lumberyard, but he included that because he didn't want to clean up the logs he didn't use. I know this because when I told him to clean up the mess, he told me so.

Bridge and dams in Calebtown

He also included jail, because in any town, tiny or not, you are going to have bad guys. Caleb found this to be the most fun to make and spent a lot of time on it blocking up the windows and doors, and there's nothing like walling up prisoners to make you feel like you're accomplishing something. Then again, maybe he liked it because we had a wanted poster to put up outside, and a sheriff's sign to put on the top.

During the night, the kittens destroyed Calebtown. They were looking for things hidden in the buildings. That's the cat way of thinking: why have a box if you don't hide things in it? I can kind of understand.  Maybe one day soon we'll build Hannahtown, or Momandadtown one of these days.

But I can't help but feel sorry for the residents of this tiny town who got attacked in the middle of the night by large, wild animals. Kind of like a Japanese horror movie, except instead of Godzilla, you have large domestic cats slinking about and poking their heads through your roof. All we need is a hero to save us, but we'll do superheroes another day. Right now, we're cleaning up three generations of Lincoln Logs.

Hi. My name is Sue...

baby sweater and hat

Hi. My name is Sue and I'm a fiber addict. Well, knitting and crocheting addict...I've dabbled in needle felting. I'd really like to get into spinning or weaving, but my marriage is at stake here, and I have to keep things under control. I guess you could say that I'm a "functional" addict.

mittens

I've tried to break myself of this habit, but I'm not strong enough. I am lured by the call of the yarn.

I shop with my hands. If I like the way a yarn feels, I will buy it. (Within reason. My hands really liked the 100% cashmere yarn that they found, but at the bargain rate of $100 for about 25oz., I passed. It was tough, but I did it.

crochet sweaters

When I started, I used simple cotton yarn. It wasn't tough to pick some up nearly anywhere. The corner store, a 5 and dime, any craft store. Then I got deeper and deeper into it. Cotton just wouldn't do--bamboo, merino wool, alpaca, baby alpaca for crying out loud--exotic yarns that held their own seductive allure. Oh, sure, I still used cotton. Pima cotton. Fine long stranded cotton that may or may not be mercerized. Oh yeah. I even became a snob with the cotton. Cotton! The stuff that jeans are made of; the stuff that my baby diapers and dust cloths were made of became status symbol.

scarves

I began crocheting dishcloths. Something as common and easy as a dishcloth was my gateway to bigger things. Blankets came next...then baby clothes. Scarves, hats, adult sweaters easily followed--not even a bump in the road. When common everyday items weren't holding my interest, I began to flirt with edgier fare. The everyday could no longer satisfy me. I needed more.


Not content to simply crochet, I learned to crochet doilies. And when that wasn't enough, I had to crochet doilies using extremely thin, gossamer thread. Then I made lace. I made a christening set. Yeah, I was hooked.

socks

Then came the knitting. I made a swatch, then I jumped right into making socks. I was crazy, man. I couldn't just make a scarf, I had to flirt with the hard stuff. Not just socks--I had to try it all. Fair Isle, Intarsia, lace. And always more yarn. The endless skeins of yarn. Soft, touchable, beautifully spun yarn in colors and textures that my hands adored.

(sideways) hats

When I flirted with the idea of buying my own spinning wheel, I realized that I was out of control. I had to face my addiction. It began with a trip into the attic where I keep stash. My beautiful, beautiful yarn. Yarn that was bought on sale. Yarn that was bought on impulse. Yarn that was bought with a particular project in mind that had since been forgotten. Yarn that was never intended for any project, but that my hands had simply had to get. I could have wept at what I saw. There was more than I could probably get through in a lifetime. My stash was taking over my life. I needed to own this addiction. I needed to take steps.

So I took steps. I made hats and mittens and scarves for all of the nieces and nephews for Christmas. Problem solved. My addiction was directed towards positive end. There was no guilt over this kind of crafting. There was no worry over housework left undone, or dinners left unmade. Did it matter if I didn't finish the laundry? I had a higher calling. 

Best of all, I didn't have to buy yarn. My stash was enough. I dove in with gusto, taking control of the thing which had controlled me for so long. I directed my energy towards a positive goal. My addiction didn't feel like it was controlling me. I was in control. I  was in charge. I won! 

My first knit sweater!
 (ignore the messy dresser. I'll get around to it when I'm done knitting.)

For Christmas, George gave me a gift certificate for my favorite yarn store. This is what I made. He's getting me another gift certificate for my birthday. I'm pushing for another for our anniversary. Maybe I'll make him something this time too.

What can I say? I'm an addict.