A homemade birthday

Her first sewing project: A felt cookie

It was about time for my annual "I will learn to sew!" delusion, so Catherine's seventh birthday was the perfect time to run to the fabric store, buy lots of cute fabric, haul out Mom's old 1969 Singer, then place a bunch of calls to Mom asking how to thread the needle.

Anyway, this summer's encounter with the Singer was slightly better than in year's past. I made some stuffed animal sleeping bags, a picnic blanket for Catherine's dolls, some felt cookies, and a Barbie bed sheet (and the Barbie bed, too -- granola bar boxes, pencils and duct tape!). I also made the most wretched doll dress ever (straight to the trash can).

Barbie bed made from granola boxes and duct tape

The good news (besides the fact that I'm done sewing for the year) is that Catherine has really found enjoyment in doing crafty things herself. Along with the homemade gifts we gave her a craft box full of thread and fabric and fun stuff, and her skill (and patience) already exceed mine.

I'm hoping that next year, when I am once again determined to conquer the sewing machine, she can thread the needle for me.

Blowing Rock

I have several enduring memories from our recent trip to Blowing Rock in the North Carolina mountains (I'm not sure which mountains, because I have a horrible sense of geography). The first is the death grip we kept on Dominic as we stared in awe at the waterfalls cascading into the gorge at Linville Falls. The second is being out in the middle of a lake with the kids on a pedalboat as clouds gathered directly overhead. After the first strike of lightning Vincent said to me, "Mommy? Remember how you said lightning likes to strike water? Well, are we going to die now?"

We didn't, thankfully. In fact, we survived well enough to rescue the train at Tweetsie Railroad from train robbers and Indians the following day. And Dominic was not at all scared, thank you very much (Dominic was rather wide-eyed when a fully-painted Indian boarded the train, but he swore up and down -- much later -- that he was not scared and that he actually tried to kill the Indian with his gun).

Ah yes, the guns. Because we could not possibly leave a Wild West town without adding to our arsenal, we came away from Tweetsie with a cap gun for each child (Catherine's is pink) and a lifetime supply of caps that will last, oh, probably another week at the rate we're going.

My pack mule

"The waterfall is THIS high!"

Linville Falls

Bob Timberlake's car

Chetola Resort

Off to rescue the train!

Contemplating the robbery

Is your mama a llama?

Superboys

Hey... why aren't we flying???

An "impulse buy" used to mean too-expensive shoes... now an impulse buy means Superman shirts and capes at Target (but in my defense, the capes are detachable -- how cool!). However, once the little superheroes discovered that capes do not give them the ability to leap over tall buildings in a single bound, they demanded another way to fly... thus, jetpacks. A little silver spraypaint, some "fire" out of tissue paper, and the boys were ready to save the world.

Prepare for takeoff.

Apparently, being a superhero gives you the power to eat EVERY SINGLE ONE of the cinnamon rolls.

What we did in Ohio

I should really title this post, "What we DIDN'T do in Ohio," because if there was something to be done, we did it. So, without further ado, here is a photographic compilation of our visit. 

Vincent's first hole-in-one

Daddy and baby relaxing

Dommie on a pony

Dommie pets his first boa

Dommie finds his family

Pioneer Camp

 ***Editor's Note*** This week we have a guest blogger, Miss Catherine Lorelle. She took time out of her busy schedule to write about her experiences at Pioneer Camp. I'm sure she would love to get feedback!  

This week I went to Pioneer Camp. Pioneers were people who went over the mountains and plains. They traveled for months and months. They were going to Oregon so they could have their own plot of land. They had to bring their mother's stove, the mother's trunk, food, quilts, water, guns and bows and arrows.

When they got to Oregon, before they built their house, they rested for a few days. On the third day they built their house and that night they had a party at their house to celebrate the end of the long journey and their new plot of land.

At Pioneer Camp we pretended to be pioneers. On the first day we talked about pioneers and how they would travel and what they had to bring. Then we made trunks out of paper. We cut out pieces of paper from magazines to fill our trunks. In my trunk I put diamonds, an ax, food, books, a teapot and water.

Then we went on a walk to go to our new homestead. We played lots of fun games. We made candles out of beeswax, we made bandanas, and we planted corn, squash and sunflowers for our gardens. Unfortunately, the squirrels ate our plants that night.

On the final day, we had an ice-cream social and we played pioneer games like bowling, stick-and-hoop and corn toss. Like the real pioneers, we were given deeds to land. My teacher said that I could pick my land and I picked the land where there is a beautiful garden.

A knight retires

After several weeks of Dominic proclaiming "Me knight!" whenever anyone asked his name and parading around in his armor and boots carrying his shield and sword at all times, one morning he woke up and stumbled out to the living room, where I greeted him with the customary, "How's my little knight?" To which he indignantly replied, "Me no knight! Me firefighter!" And that was that.

So what's a mother to do (besides work on his personal pronoun usage)? Well, bake cookies for the firefighters, of course, and hope that the bribe would result in letting us climb aboard the fire engine! Indeed, my plan worked, so we found ourselves at the fire station one sunny morning gaping at the huge firetrucks, where Dominic promptly turned to me and cried out, "Mommy, hold me." Him no more brave firefighter, I guess. Catherine and Vincent both got to sit in the driver's seat and wear their huge helmets. Catherine, who heretofore has shown interest in nothing with wheels (with the exception of a horse-drawn carriage carrying a princess) surprised me by asking the firefighters, "How does the firetruck go so fast if it's so big?" The answer is: A big engine.

A couple of firefighter-themed stories I found pretty amusing:

We were playing outside a couple nights ago, examining our less-than-bountiful garden (darn you, rabbits!!!) and Dominic was desperate that I should turn on the hose (ours is a firefighter hose, of course). But, been there, done that, cleaned up that mess, and I didn't feel like getting soaked. After about ten minutes of perpetual whining, he suddenly quieted, then screamed out, "Hey, Mommy, you on fire! Me need hose to put fire out!" I'm proud to say I did not fall for that.

The second story took place at Los Tres, a Mexican restaurant. Mid-dinner, Dommie knocked off the plastic covering for the thermostat. It clattered to the ground and I jokingly said, "Oooh, the firefighters are going to come get you can put you in jail!" Cue wailing and sobbing. I took him outside to calm him down, and his gulps had finally turned into whimpers when we went back inside. A stranger was standing at our table talking to Roger and the kids, and when we approached he smiled and said, "I couldn't help but overhearing your conversation. I'm a firefighter." I thought Dommie was going to have a coronary then and there.

You can't keep a good man down

Most people, after undergoing arm surgery that involves having a screw drilled into your bone, would take a few days off. One of those people would not be Roger. The day after surgery, we took a family field trip to the new Nature Research Center in downtown Raleigh. That weekend he did some serious batting practice with the boys. And, most importantly, he waxed the van. The kids and I tried telling him to lie down and rest (and to not worry about waxing the van!), but he wouldn't listen. Since then we've taken a lot of family outings. We've been to Harris Lake, the airport observation deck, lots of parks, and on Memorial Day we drove down to Scotland Neck to the Sylvan Heights Waterfowl Center (I love that place). As we were leaving I held Dommie's hand as we walked past the duck pond and told him to say "Bye-bye, birdies." He not-so-quietly corrected me, "No! Not birdies. Bye-bye duckies." I stand corrected. Anyway, below is a compilation of our family's activities during Roger's "recuperation" period: