Laughter

A little bit like me. A little bit like Daddy. A little bit like Miss Mouse. A lot like herself.

We have professional family photos taken of the grownups and Miss Mouse at the lake when she wore this dress. I thought it would be fun for Baby Mouse to have some pictures in it at the lake, as well. Baby Mouse was in those pictures, too, but she was concealed by my pink shirt at that point.

She really looks like she doesn't enjoy pink, frilly dresses, doesn't she? Surprisingly, she's my little pink, frilly girl!

Why the pantry door had to remain closed this weekend.

Can you guess where she's been?

Yep! In the dog kennel!

My sweet little Miss Mouse and her Grandma working magic on her flower girl dress....and of course Barkley and Auntie Steph in the background supervising Baby Mouse.

My Miss Mouse is so much calmer than my Baby Mouse. She loves her little sister, but sometimes I don't think she understands her very well!

There is a lot of laughter around us these days. Often it has to remained contained in my head, sneaking out with just a small grin, so that Miss Mouse isn't embarrassed or doesn't ask too many questions that I am not prepared to answer at the moment. But, we do have a lot of laughter. I thought I'd share some:

Miss Mouse: "Does God live at our house?"
Me: "Yes. God is at our house. And He is at the farm, and He is at the lake, all at the same time because He is so big."
Miss Mouse: "So, does God have a car?"

On Sunday we headed out to my in-laws in the mid-morning. There's roughly a half-way point where Mr. T wanted to buy some bait for fishing, and the girls were definitely needing a break. We unloaded ourselves and invaded the gas station. Both girls were tired and squirrely, but I thought I'd take them to the bathroom at the same time to (hopefully) avoid any Baby Mouse squeals (she's in the stage where, if I'm more than three feet away, she is positive that someone is going to pinch her...I guess). Baby Mouse was fine and actually stood very nicely doing a cute jig on the floor drain. Miss Mouse did her stuff and was happily washing her hands. I took my turn, and at that moment, Miss Mouse saw that a Gerber yogurt melt had fallen from Baby Mouse's pants. I reached my hand out for it, but, alas, it was too late. Miss Mouse had snatched it up with her clean and very quick hand and popped it in her mouth. She grinned at me and said, "My hands ber clean because I washed them." Yep. So that made it sanitary to eat off the bathroom floor. Ugh. *sidenote: I do teach my children not to eat off the floor. They just don't always listen.

On that same topic, we had an all-out meltdown by Miss Mouse last week when we would not let her eat any of the broccoli fuzz that Baby Mouse had thrown down on the floor. Thirty minutes prior. Yucko. Old broccoli? From the floor? Yum. Normally my floor is really clean, so I don't worry about the occasional popping in of a random stray Cheerio. But encouraging scrounging on the floor for old, mushed up pieces of food that may or may not have been in her little sis's mouth? Not going to happen.

Baby Mouse jigs on command. Her Great Grandpa Don N. would have been so proud. I think he would have said something like, "Would you look at that? Did you see her? She's doin' a jig! That's quite a girl. She's quite a little sweety, ain't she?"

Staying now on the jigging topic.....A few weeks ago, Grammy was visiting over a Sunday. She and I took the girls to church; Miss Mouse picked the third pew from the front. No one was in front of us. This is normal for us, and it doesn't really worry me anymore at all. I'm desensitized or something, I guess. So, there we were in, basically, the front pew. I had brought Baby Mouse's milk in a cup with a straw. I also brought water for Miss Mouse, but in my hurry to make it out of the house in time for the service, I put it in a cup that happens to spill easily. No problem, I figured. It's for Miss Mouse. She'll just sip it a bit, and that'll encourage Baby Mouse to drink hers. So, Baby Mouse drinking her milk was the whole goal in the first place. Anyway, there we were in the pew, and somewhere around the middle of the first song, the "spilly cup" went rolling forward. Grammy started cussing out, er, belaboring the tilted floors. The man next to us tried to get it with his foot to no avail. I told them to leave it. The girls were coloring after that, and things were going along well. Halfway through the lessons, Miss Mouse decided to go up and rescue her cup. Fine, now the spilly cup was back with us. Fine, until the pastor started his sermon. Somewhere right after the first joke, which was actually really great timing, the spilly cup tips and spills its contents all over. The floor was soaking. Thankfully for the Mice's safety, the floor is carpeted. Baby Mouse had an instant gleam in her eye and began doing the aforementioned jig immediately. Miss Mouse was horrified and whispered in the loud whisper of a child, "Get out of my way! Get out of my way! I am trying to wipe it up!" to her sister. Baby Mouse thought that was even more fun, while poor Miss Mouse tried desperately to use an 8.5X11 inch bulletin to soak up the puddle of water. By this time, Grammy is laughing so hard that she snorted. I poked her, so she snorted again. I'm surprised the pew wasn't shaking. Oh well. At least we were in the front. :)

Excited!

I met with someone this morning who is coordinating the opening of a new boutique at a retirement community here in town. She wants to feature my products there! In the midst of helping my sister with wedding plans, I'm now going to be filling quite an order for products! Yay! She'll be selling it on consignment, so I won't get any profit up front. Hopefully, though, things will move quickly once the store opens!

A Word

What's in a word? What's in a name? Both can pack a punch.

For several weeks now, I've been looking forward to an article about Fargonecrafting in our local newspaper. It made the front page of the insert today, very exciting! But.....

it took me several hours to make it past the first sentence: "Toomey learned to crochet when pregnant with her first child". Punch in the gut, knife in the heart, use whatever metaphor you choose, I didn't read the article until my aunt called and asked if I liked it. Even then I just skimmed it. I think it's nice, complimentary and possibly good for business. I'm keeping my fingers crossed in that respect.

Unfortunately, I'm also beating myself up a fair bit. Apparently, my brain (heart?) doesn't believe the sucker punch to the gut with the first sentence was enough. I need to be berated for awhile for allowing my story to have come across that way.

When the very nice reporter visited last month, I explained that I had learned to crochet from a friend at my husband's last parish about four years ago. My first big project, beyond potholders that never really did turn out even, was a blanket for Miss Mouse. I guess she took that to mean, understandably, that I had learned the art while pregnant with her. Looking back, I wish, wish, wish I would have explained that I learned to crochet from my friend in large part because I needed something to do with my hands. Hands that weren't needed to change diapers or spoon in baby food.

Mr. T had long work nights, and I had to fill that time with something. Crocheting did the trick to keep me sane as I went through a D&C in March 2006 for a miscarriage that we had experienced in October 2005 and then as spring came and we waited for what should have been a first birthday celebration. Somehow crocheting with its repetitive counting and connection to women through the ages, many of whom shared my experiences, was comforting. Being a new student of the art, I was forced to call my friend/teacher for advice; if not for that functional need to make a call that always turned out to be a pleasant, cheering, supporting conversation, perhaps I would have crawled deep into a shell of pain and hardness.

Once we passed the first June 2 and found out about the impending arrival of Miss Mouse, crocheting continued to contribute to my sanity by giving me something on which to focus on those long, dark winter nights waiting for Mr. T to come home. My sweet kitty, Dietrich, and I would sit on the couch while I worked on Miss Mouse's white blanket. After Dietrich died in December 2006, I sat alone, remembering and working and hoping, all the while counting stitches and leaning on my friend's advice on how to "cheat" when making a blanket!

But, did I remember any of this when I was interviewed? Was I able to communicate the depth of the beginnings of this business? Sadly, no. And so, by my own fault, my own omission, I appear on the front page with Miss Mouse in the picture with Baby Mouse mentioned in the article, seeming like they are the only two who have ever existed in our lives....sometimes the absence of a name or word packs as big a punch as its presence.

Yesterday

I thought maybe some people who never have a chance to be at the cemetery would be interested in seeing how it looked yesterday.