We meet again. I’ve been met with nothing but encouraging words about this blog (so far). I have a remarkable ability to only imagine that the person reading this very page is clicking their tongue in disapproval, or shaking their head in disappointment at grammatical err or improper usage of a word. I imagine that I am writing for someone who just can’t relate. I can’t help myself.
So. As of this very moment, I am reminding myself of your kind words. I am being mindful that you are still reading because you are interested, or even entertained. I must imagine that you are my friend Jen, who is no doubt reading and hopefully feeling well today, cheering me on and gaining a laugh or just one feeling of wellness for a moment. I am crossing my fingers that I can be that for you.
Let us step away from the sentimentals and my personal writing process. I must tell you what has been going on. It is simply delicious. First up:
This Pie. Pie with a capital P.
It is a raspberry pie. After safely experimenting with a gooseberry pie earlier this week and determining it was edible, I baked this bad boy up in honor of the father-in-law’s birthday. He was pleased (“you sure know how to make a pie”). I had a proud moment.
The crust recipe, which I can not recommend enough, is from our go-to cook book America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook. I’m not trying to sell this bad boy, but it has every cooking tip imaginable from which kind of muffin pan is best to using a mixture of both butter and shortening for the perfect pie crust. This cookbook is flat out readable.
And on the ride to said pie delivery, I worked on a project I’ve been carrying around in a ratty tote bag for too long. One that I started my last month of pregnancy, in utter desperation for a distraction from the heat, the fullness of a very heavy baby (who at birth weighed 9.5lbs), and the lovely addition of acute hypertension. A distraction was indeed, very much necessary. Well, I recently picked it back up, in an effort to finish it for his first birthday. Sigh, one? Already? Here it is:
It is knitted from my yarn stash, with zero attention paid to gauge or pattern. Even a simple rib knit wouldn’t do for this preoccupied mind and body. It has been a blanket of willy-nilly proportions. Three rows of knit followed with one row purling and two knit and on and on. But it is warm. And soft. And so full of my love. I hope for winter afternoons of lazy book reading after coming in from playing in the snow. How I will wrap him up in this!
After a lovely morning stroll through the park this morning, Michael and I took a rather well- rested baby on a thrifting run. I did not acquire too much in the way of old textiles to be upcycled into new housewares and baby clothing. But I did find…..
These simply lovely and vintage poppy pillow cases.
Ah! They just blow me away. And a set of them! Two! My my. What ever will our bed think? Michael was under the impression I was hunting for items to cut up. Oh no. Not these pretties. Straight to the bed pillows with them. And just because I can hear your mind wondering: “Is there a reverse side?”, (and because the theme this week is all things reverse-able):
Yes! Of course these cases have a backside!
Which leaves me asking myself how I will display them both ways. Clearly, the side with the big full-bloom poppy is superior. But that touch of detail on the backside, the side that no one will see when the bed is made, oh it just makes it so lovely. Like a secret.
I’d like to wrap this up by taking a moment to talk about teething biscuits. The dingo has just finished cutting his first bicuspid tooth. A real doozy. A downright life-altering event. A real undo-er of all of the crib training we’ve been through this entire summer (entire). And now that this one is through, he has decided to just go ahead and work on the other side. Amber teething necklaces, Hyland’s everything, we’ve done it. The only thing helping is nursing around the clock (alllll the way around it).
So. Today we picked up some teething biscuits. It is not enough that they are called biscuits, but they look like dog bones. They are sweet dog bones for babies. After returning home from the grocery store, with an underwhelming “these are so messy” from the lovely cashier, we plopped him on the floor and gave him a teething biscuit. He loved it.
Great. Awesome. The magical thing bought me precious minutes to unpack our lives back into the house. But. The mess began to emerge. First, as smeary brown down his front. This was not enough mess. The grub began to crawl about the house, biscuit in hand, dragging across the carpet, collecting cat fur in mats. Then he rubbed the disintegrating biscuit against door jams. Then he crawled into his room with it and introduced it to a basket of blankets. Then he checked to see if Joopa the giraffe was interested in a nibble. By the time I pried it from his slimy hands it had a coat of fur, as if it had been felted in feline remnants. Such is life. Such is parenthood.
We have a bit of a motto ’round these parts regarding all that is messy: You can’t stay inside all summer because there are mosquitoes. I know this doesn’t sound like it relates to that which is mess-causing. But I promise, it does.
Happy evening to you,