Since Mikey and I still have some time before we have to decide what kind of “precedent” we’ll set in regards to an “Easter basket” for our children, and since Hazel’s first two Easters have come at a time of great discovery in her short little life, we’ve used it as an excuse to buy and make her things both years (i.e., totally spoil her with stuff, which we normally don’t do). Last year she had really just started playing with toys hardcore so she got a basket full of board books and little toys and her beloved silks. This year she is all of a sudden pretending and doing lots of outdoor things, so we filled her spring basket with outdoor toys and books and things for pretend. (Don’t worry, she’s not deprived of candy – she has lots of grandparents.)

I have had my eye on these eggs by Imagination Kids for awhile. I had a feeling she’d really like them. Whoa mama, did she like them. I didn’t think she’d ever get around to looking at the rest of what was in her basket. Can you tell she’s oozing excitement?

I made this little trio of bunnies from this free pattern on wee wonderfuls. They are made from fat quarters I received as part of a fabric exchange with friends, a remnant of fleece, and they are stuffed with bits of chopped up old tshirts (thus making them my new year’s resolution for the week, which I realize I’m WAY behind on). I’ll tell you, using a rotary cutter to, um, savagely destory several old tshirts was a very good release after WVU’s loss to Duke on Saturday night. My hands did not stop shaking the whole game so her bunnies are overall a little lumpy and imperfect, but the tshirt chopping – THAT I did very, very well. I love the weight the filling gives to them, too.

So, since I was getting caught up on resolutions, the other day it occurred to me to photograph this thing we do as I assembled one after putting away dry things from the kitchen drain basket. We got the idea from friends in Canada: we chop the tops off of soymilk / juice cartons as shown, scrub them out really well and then slide two together. They make perfect giant blocks like these, but not pretty. Hazel totally does not care that they aren’t pretty. I suppose someday she’ll make them pretty. You would not believe how sturdy these things are.

I get excited when I have a good repurposing resolution. I need to keep those going. I think that gets me caught up to the week before last. This whole week I’m playing catch-up with all kinds of stuff, so I’ll try to bring myself current. I do have a goodwill bag going but I haven’t dropped it off yet so it doesn’t count.

Listening: dog-scratching; husband-typing; CCR in my head; THUNDER!!! in my sky
(I am) Reading: The Poisonwood Bible
(Hazel is) Reading: Pond Circle
(Thinking about) working on: Hazel’s summer clothes – I should do this soon, right? All I’ve made are pajamas. She is living in skirts and capris from last year.

I hesitate to post this for fear of bringing on more snow, but I think… I think… it’s over. Now, I’m not forgetting the year that we got hit with a massive, incapacitating blizzard in March, but that melted off (and flooded everything) quickly because… it was March. These blizzards we’ve had over the past two months are still hanging around to the tune of a little bit less than two feet of snow and a driveway that we still can’t use for anything other than walking, but I am hopeful. Ice is sliding off of the roof in avalanche-like quantities. Our friend Big Damn Snow Bank On The Ramp has died an ugly death. Water is pouring through the gutters. The road is totally clear. There are 54-degree days in the forecast.

That big one is the size of my leg.

Darla and Trevor were home for a few days this week and said they’ve never seen this much snow up here in 20 years, which was a huge comfort and made us feel less INSANE. They asked how we weathered the cabin fever, and all I could think to reply was “well, we’re still married.” I really have felt like that… that if we were still friends by the time winter ended I would be satisfied.

While they were here we spent a few days with Mikey’s mom so they could have the run of their own house, so Mikey could still get some school work done (Kelly and the kids were here too – full, noisy house), and so Jan could spend some time with Hazel, who has barely seen her grandmas and grandpas any more than when we lived in Canada since we’ve been stuck up on this hill so much since we moved here. It felt strange to be in civilization again. Hazel needs new sneakers for running around outside (!)… so I just went out shopping (didn’t find anything). I went to the craft store and forgot something so I just… went back the next day. Amazing.

I feel like I can breathe again. I have motivation again. I finally started five Christmas presents that I had given IOUs for… I just didn’t have the time with the move and holidays immediately after so I let myself off the hook instead of spontaneously combusting from the stress, and then when I did have the time after Christmas I was stuck in the house all the time and there was no sunshine and the thought of making five of the same, very time consuming thing made me panic a little. So… they will be March presents.

I also finally finished those pajama pants before we left for the ‘burg. Some bib-to-be-fabric that never made it, a goodwill-ed pillowcase, and an old brown tshirt of Mikey’s:

Hazel is napping. The sun is out. The house is clean. Mikey is gone. I don’t even know what to do with myself. Edit all those Etsy photos I took last week, I suppose.

Oh yeah, I ripped out this scarf. I got about a third of the way in and realized I can make the cables look way better now that I know how to do it. Plus… it has served its purpose – knitting scarves makes snow go away. Now that I see the yarn made into something I rather think it would make a very nice tiny sweater. Anyone have faith that I could actually learn how to knit a sweater? I’m not so sure.

Listening: drip, drip, drip
(I am) Reading: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (yep, I’ve now swaptree-ed almost everything she’s written)
(Hazel is) Reading: Welcome Spring (thanks Grandma & Gabe’s!)
Working on: Christmas presents for 2009 AND 2010 – only in my crafting universe does this happen; not giving up on the blue & gold blanket being done this winter; some custom necklaces

When Mikey and Andy were kids recording in the basement, the in-between-song banter was stuff like Andy’s tiny, high-pitched voice saying “I can’t do it!!” and Mikey’s pubescent impatience saying “yes you CAN, come ON.”… and then they would start the song.

Now it’s mostly belching and profanity, but the songs are exponentially better. They recorded six songs last night with just a microphone between them, each just one track. One of them can be found here, and the rest should be online for the taking in the next week or so.

While they were doing that, I was severing toy dinosaurs and hanging eating utensils from earrings hooks. And watching “Bring It On”. I LOVE THAT MOVIE. I was never a cheerleader, never wanted to be, and I LOVE BRING IT ON. Katie Kosydar, I know you are with me.

Creepy magnets.

Fun earrings.

Some more @ Etsy.

Lots of new stuff. I’m actually SEWING now! Two bags from dishtowels. I also have a stack of sixties looking fruit print dishtowels to make the same kind of bags, and a bunch of other new fabric to make different things. Jeah, unemployment! There are a few things in this photo that aren’t up yet, but this is all from the past couple of days:

Two bags, some bracelets, and more than 30 pairs of earrings.

Listening: Billy Bragg & Wilco : Mermaid Avenue
Reading: worm composting stuff

Some new stuff.

I wish I knew where to find Mrs. Keller, because she was totally the awesome kindergarten teacher who would have worn these. I would send her a pair in each color and tell her that she was the only reason kindergarten didn’t make me want to dive head-first from the top of the tube slide.

Speaking of school, on the 45 minute drive home from work today, I passed a school bus. I decided in about four and a half seconds that a truly comprehensive sociology text should contain a chapter devoted to the relationship implied when a rural schoolkid says, “yeah, I know him/her, he/she rides my bus.”

Driving out my road, every kid out farther the little blue bridge (which is now the little gray, flat, ugly bridge) were the Kids Who Rode My Bus. For thirteen years I spent forty minutes in the morning and forty minutes in the evening with people with whom I had only one thing in common: location. We learned about sex, shared music, made jewelry, copied homework, learned to respect our elders, we all knew every one of Mitchell’s allergies and avoided setting them off, we knew what amount of shit each one of us had – sports equipment, instruments, lots of books, or maybe you were one of those myserious kids who never took a single thing to or from school… we were the beginning and end of every school day. There was a self-contained hierarchy that was never broken, and I’m sure it has not changed. And each little bus-world was different: Danny’s bus was the best, Blanche’s was the worst  (how could it NOT be – “Blanche” is a notch below “Large Marge”), you could get away with food on Gary’s bus, ours was one of the few with a video camera, thanks to the Henderson boys. Only a handful of drivers actually PLAYED the radio, and some would even turn on the station chosen by majority vote. 

The town kids were the outsiders who just hitched a ride for a few minutes each day. They would never have had the power to start a foodfight, overtaking a substitute driver, or stop a foodfight when a kindergartener got hit in the eye with a skittle and cried. They would have never had the right to claim an empty seat when someone got dropped off, or had the balls to ask the driver to turn up the heater in the dead of winter when you could see your breath in the back. They just climbed the steps, perched nervously on the edge of whatever seat contained one glowering occupant who had just had his or her luxurious empty seat invaded, and skittered away as soon as we arrived at school without ever saying a word. Who cares if they were your friend in Real Life.

Being allowed to move to the back of the bus to sit with your friend or cousin or sibling was a huge deal. Being ordered to sit in the front seat with all of the kindergarteners was the ultimate punishment. You literally ran to the bus as soon as the final bell rang so you could get the one person seat in the back, or the larger one on the left-hand side and then refuse to share. You sighed collectively when the elementary school kids were picked up and prayed that no one would vomit on the ride home. If someone behind you asked you to put your window up or down and you refused, you were the ultimate asshole and no one liked you for a few days.

One very strange thing that I realize, looking back, is that social class disappeared on the bus. We all knew what each other’s homes looked like. We knew who had coats and backpacks and brought lunches and who didn’t. We knew if there was a parent that cared to drive to the end of a road to save their kid a long walk on bad days, or if they would have to walk in the snow and rain. Cheerleaders and jocks and band nerds and misfits and rednecks and dirty kids living well below the poverty level spent over an hour together every day in close quarters. Once when I was in elementary school, creeping very close to the junior high/highschool cutoff (approximately seat six) I overheard an older kid making fun of another kid’s body odor behind his back… “hasn’t he heard of deodorant?”. One of the mean boys got really, really pissed off and said “shut your f***ing mouth, his family can’t afford it.” When I was in junior high, a family with 3 or 4 kids moved from Cleveland to our town, and several weeks into them being suddenly mingled in with all of us – us, who had been together for 7 or 8 years – one of them looked at my brother and I just before we were dropped off and said “you’re rich, aren’t you? I’ve seen your house.” I’d seen their house, too. Yes, we were rich compared to them, compared to half of the people on our bus. But nothing like that had ever been said….. after that question, no one spoke. We all just looked at each other in confusion, as if we were all of a sudden aware of some huge, uncompromisable difference that had never before occured to us, and now we didn’t know how to return to ignorance. Conversation was over and we all stared out our respective windows, and then it was time to be dropped off. The next morning we were once again all the same smart and as popular as everyone else, all with the same amount of money.