thrifty sunday: hot fudge

Winter means extra expenses around here. Wood for the fire. Early sunset, early lamplight. Space heaters. Old houses have some great aspects (character, nice floors, weird nooks and crannies, history) and some truly terrible ones (drafty windows, knob and tube wiring, secret fuse boxes we have yet to find). We pile on the blankets and put on socks (though I am loathe to do so -- socks are the worst punishment for living in the cold North, by my estimation) but it still costs money to keep warm and illuminated through the 14+ hour long nights, these months. That means no or very little fun money, and whatever, really, because the holidays have just passed and we are generally unfit for public consumption, anyway. The visibly ill make others so uncomfortable despite all the well rehearsed wing-coughing-into, even when conventional wisdom and WedMD say we aren't contagious. 

Two things from the other day, when I got ambitious. 

Clothing brands, especially kids' clothes, from the 70s and 80s are so funny sometimes. Hot Fudge? Okay, sure. Mister Persnickety liked the aprés ski vibe and I did too, so we bought it for $2.99

There he is posing with the bottle of Elderberry syrup that has done us no good, because this cold is apparently karmic retribution for everything we've ever done wrong in our lives and homeopathic medicine is not the traditional cure for that, I guess.

Ikea doll bed, $4.99. Zelda, baby enthusiast that she is, immediately put her babies, Donna, Gob and Huzzah, to bed and then tried to get in with them. There is very little in this world funnier or cuter than a one year-old trying to cram herself between the head and footboards of a doll bed so that she may lie with her babies. For Valentine's Day I made her a blanket, but I also kind of like the glamping aspect of the bare wood/play silk situation. 

Value Village is having their yearly Presidents' Day sale tomorrow, so maybe there are some bargains in store (literally)! Have you scored recently?

hundred dollar hanukkah: DIY menorah

I really wanted the gift our family opened on the first night of Hanukkah to be one that at least one of the kids helped make (and, let's be honest, Zelda's talents don't exactly lie in crafts, so it was all on George). Being a DIYer, I have a tendency to take on all of the holiday handmaking and this leaves me burnt out and annoyed: NOT something I want to model for my children. In the DIT (do-it-together) spirit of this Hanukkah, I limited my own handmaking to one project and chose an easy craft that George and I could do for very little money, that would still be useful. 

We have a beautiful menorah that I dearly love, and I hope that someday the kids will fight over whose family inherits it. But I have a more candlelight the better policy, and what's more Hanukkah-appropriate than a menorah? 

I found the candle cups in the woodworking section at Michael's for $1.69 per 5-pack. I bought two packs and a piece of wood from the same section for $1.99. I used a coupon, so it was 40% off, bringing my total to $4.58. 

We hot glued the candle cups to the board and doubled up the middle two for the shamash. 

George went crazy with some royal blue and turquoise acryclic paint, and I filled in the spaces he missed, per his request. I'll probably seal it so the melted wax doesn't ruin the paintjob, but otherwise it was a very toddler-friendly project and turned out really well: a yearly reminder of George at almost-three.

Even though it won't be a surprise, I know seeing it lit up with candles will be exciting for us all.  

fine reads: when winter comes

When Winter Comes, by Nancy Van Laan, illustrated by Susan Gaber, is a short and sweet read that answers questions like, "Where oh where do the leaves all go when winter comes and the cold winds blow?"

With calm, rhythmic text, this book manages to be at once informative and soothing. Classified as a title for "the very young," my almost three year old loved the somewhat muted, earth-toned acrylic-painted illustrations and the rhymes, and enjoyed being able to answer some of the posed questions himself.

Before cozying up in bed, a child (whose only real gender signifier is a very cute bob, though interestingly I can only find them referenced as 'he') explores the outdoors with two big people (one of whom looks rather female; the other is just an adult in winter clothes). They check out the icebound pond, wonder about where the flowers went, and eventually make their way back to the house, where the little one gets ready for sleep.

A perfect bedtime story for sensitive kids, this has no tension, just wintery imagery heavy on the beauty and wonder of the cold weather. When Winter Comes is relatable for anyone who lives in a snowy clime, but is equally appealing for those in warmer places who like a little seasonal vicarious living.

There's nothing didactic about the adults; I got the impression that they were -- as we were --along for the ride, being led by the child's questions about the nature that surrounds us. They seem fairly ambiguously-aged as well as gendered (in the case of the blue-coated grownup), and, because there's no mention of them by name or title, they could easily be two mamas, a mama and a papa, grandparents or any other combination of a vaguely feminine person and someone else. The clothing and surroundings don't speak to a time period, and so this story feels enduring despite having been written in 2000. Racial identitiy is similarly ambiguous; the family's dark hair and the child's olive complexion mean this story could come across as a depiction of many different ethnicities and a few different races, with some room for multiracial or multiethnic families to feel represented.  I, of course, imagined a little Jewish girl, and started scheming about how to recreate that hat.

Ratings:

Kids' Gender Neutrality: ***** 

Five stars for an outdoors-exploring, nature-interested kid dressed in simple, non-gendered clothing, without a name, with no pronouns and only a bob-with-bangs to serve as a hint to their gender. 

Family Situations: ****

Four stars for two companion adults, one of whom is probably female, not mentioned by name or pronoun but obviously loving and engaged. 

Multiculturalism: **

Two stars for a family that is not necessarily white, but not obviously anything else.

Gentle Parenting: ***

Three stars for involved adults who take a backseat to the child, and for a story with no correction and no negativity but lots of clearly (if poetically) stated answers to questions my own toddler might ask.

Story and Illustration Quality: ****

Four stars for beautiful pictures and truly endearing, lilting text. For a picture book, maybe a little too spare, but if this were a board book it would get five stars, easily. 

Our family's Overall Rating: ****

Four stars. George found it a "nice and quiet" exercise in rhyming, which he's loving lately, and especially liked the page about caterpillars. I appreciated the simplicity and warmth despite the snowy subject matter, and the inherent inclusiveness of a book with characters like these. When Winter Comes was enjoyable enough that I'll be looking for it to add to our permanent library here at home! Buy it at Powell's, or Amazon, or check it out at your local library.

postcards from the couch

Boy oh boy are we watching a lot of TV. We are also: waiting for a nursing break to strap on the baby and play some indoor soccer/have a dance off; doing manicures; "playing bowling"; watching insane amounts of condor/panda/elephant cam. 'Tis better to watch entire seasons of Super Why and Little Bear from the comfort of one's snuggly couch than be mean mom, so watch entire seasons we shall. 

our endless numbered days

The holding pattern is different this time. It looks more chaotic in some ways, but homier. More wintery, with readings and re-readings of the Corduroy saga, grilled cheese sandwich eating and cookie baking, different shows on the television, and more often than I'd like. Baby stuff being set up, always with the repeated explanation that this new apparatus, those tiny diapers, the clothes waiting to be folded are for the baby.

We're snowed in, like the rest of everyone here, and making soup, doing the wash, taking naps and grading papers. Trying to get outside to play, but with bursts of enjoyment rather than the unabashed, day-long cold weather love I see in people's photos, on the faces of the neighbor kids pulling each other down the street on sleds. My boy is my boy, indeed. The snow is pretty, from the warm indoors, once the requisite snowman's been made.

I wonder if he knows what's about to happen. All the talking about, the making room and unpacking probably can't prepare you to meet the person who'll be your number two, the "other one" to your "soccer ball," the one with whom you'll share a bedroom and a back seat and, eventually, some phone conversations about your dumb old mom and how she screwed up.