Hitched!

Auntie Laura and the now-official-Uncle Jon are now officially "hitched"! Welcome to the family, Uncle Jon! The decidedly Western-style wedding was beautiful, as traditional as my sister could possibly finagle it to be, and was the beginning of a wonderful, adventurous marriage. Congratulations, Auntie Laura & Uncle Jon!

The happy couple pre-wedding ceremony.


Laura and Jon with the hardanger banner my mother-in-law made for our wedding eight years ago. Since then it has been used at all of Mr. T's cousin's weddings (except his cousin who was married before we were, of course!). Grandma Kathy puts a special backing on it to match the wedding colors of each couple, and in recent years, she's even added the ribbon. I had so much fun helping pick out ribbon and backing colors earlier this spring, and the banner turned out even more beautiful than I could have pictured. How special to have it used at Little Sister's wedding, too!



In these parts, princes and princesses wear boots!


Up until the moment I walked down the aisle with the best man, we weren't sure whether Miss Mouse was walking with the rest of the flower girls or with Grandpa Bob. It had been arranged with Grandpa Bob to take her down the aisle to meet Mommy and Daddy up at the altar, but at the last minute, after having some fun taking pictures with the other girls, Miss Mouse got really brave and walked proudly down the aisle herself. It was pretty funny that she used only the fake flower petals that we had practiced with on Friday night, picking carefully around the real flowers that had been added on Saturday morning.

The bridal party plus flower girls left the church and traveled to the reception in the park (down the street) via covered wagon. Very cool. Baby Mouse wasn't really sure about the whole deal, being held by the best man, bouncing up and down, rattling around in a wagon, but she seemed to approve!

I'll try to post some close up pictures of the Mice in the coming days, but I thought there might be some interest in seeing the bride and groom who I have the most pictures of at the current moment!

Pork Chop Philosophy

Our Independence Day dinner consisted of pork chops grilled over wood smoke, hot German potato salad, homemade baked beans, and steamed broccoli. Baby Mouse had had quite enough supper, in her opinion, so she headed off to be bathed by Daddy before Miss Mouse and I were done with our food. Hence the following dinner conversation:

MM: "Pork chops are my favorite."
Me: "Pork chops were my favorite, too, when I was your age. They still are."
MM: "Mmm...I love pork chops. They come from pigs. Do pigs give us pork chops?"
Me: "Um, yes."
MM: "Ooohhh. Isn't that nice of them?! Do they see us and think 'I want to give them a pork chop'?"
Me: "Sort of."
MM: "Do they come from pigs like the ones we saw at the college (our field trip with the children's museum one week was to a kiddie day hosted by the ag program at the college)?"
Me: "Yes. Those pigs are probably being raised for their meat."
MM: "Oh. Isn't that just so nice of them?! They see us hungry and give us pork chops! Do they carry the pork chops for us in bags?"
Me: "Yes, it is nice that we have meat to eat. We carry the pork chops in bags from the store."
MM: "Oh. The pigs do not carry them for us. We carry them to coolers in the car. Otherwise they would melt."
Me: "No, pork doesn't melt, but if it gets too hot, it would get bad to eat."
MM: "Hmm...I hope the college pigs don't get too hot and get feeling bad. Do you think Piglet (her dear imaginary friend) would like to give us pork chops?"
Me: "No, I don't think he probably would. He isn't that sort of pig. And I think the college pigs are fine and not too hot."
MM: "Oh, I'm glad."
---Though I do savor my quiet moments with Miss Mouse, I was quite glad for Baby Mouse's timely, though naked, arrival in the kitchen as a distraction from this fairly odd pork conversation!

As a sidenote, I was also struck tonight watching the news showing, as they do every year, new citizens being sworn in, hearing people say how happy and excited they are to become Americans; it always amazes me at how very much United States citizenship means to those who were not born with it and how very little those of us who were born with it ever even contemplate it. Happy Independence Day!

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.

Thirteen Years Wiser

Thirteen years ago I was seventeen. Thirteen years ago, at seventeen, I thought that the ultimate feeling of love from another person was dancing close to them, swaying back and forth with heads huddled close together. Mmm....the ultimate in romantic, no?

No, not really.

Thirteen years later, I look forward to a dance each evening with one of the four loves of my life. It struck me tonight that the "love" I had hoped to feel at seventeen being held by a dance partner could never compare to the love embodied in dancing to lullaby music with my "bigger baby" as we have dubbed Baby Mouse. Depending on the night, it can take anywhere from two to 30 minutes for her to fall asleep dancing with me. Tonight was a two minute night. Her little body, still exhausted from the trials of yesterday and tuckered out from playing outside today, relaxed almost immediately. Her soft hands relaxed on my arms, and she melted into me with her head tucked under my chin, her wispy-soft hair feeling like satin on my cheek. There is nothing like the complete trust and love of one's children. If I had only known thirteen years ago the love that I would feel now....well, it would have saved many a teenage teardrop.