Four Days of Fun

Our 9 year old granddaughter came to visit last Thursday. I had grandiose plans of letting her take over my blog for a couple days: change the colors, post photos, go a little crazy, but we never touched the computer....which is probably a good thing. Instead, we just had an old fashioned good time.

Scrapbooks. They seem like a good idea at the time.

I sent my husband to the crafts store yesterday. The image of him walking into this estrogen soaked space filled with notions and charms; a place where the word "cute" is uttered dozens of times daily, made me crack up. It was probably worse for him than buying tampons!

This all started with my Christmas idea for our granddaughters: a mini photo album of their summer visit. Nothing elaborate--I've been down the scrapbook road before and I'm savvy to the expensive detours---brads, stickers, corners, charms, pockets. You get sucked in, all in the name of cute. So this time I knew better, I bought a scrapbook kit that contained everything I needed.

This would be a quick project: order the photos, glue'em on the pages, slap on some stickers and "viola!" a cute (there's that word again) souvenir album. I was congratulating myself for being so crafty about it's simplicity, that in my excitement I wrote each girl's name in glitter on her book.

Inevitably, I had more pictures than pages, and since scrapbook makers are evil, to expand your book, you must purchase additional pages from the same manfacturer. Are any of them the same? Of course not! I couldn't even return the kit albums since I'd already decorated the covers. Dammit. My dilemma: drive forty minutes for extra pages, or see what I could scrap (pun intended) together locally. Hence, my husband going to the crafts store, there was no way I could go with two 1 year olds in tow.

So at this late hour I'm hunched over our kitchen table peeling apart teeny tiny corners that I must hold at arm's length to see (when did my vision get so bad?). I stick these teeny tiny sticky squares to teeny tiny photo corners that stick to my fingers, then stick to the photo. I curse, try to carefully peel it off and tear off part of the photo with it. Now I'll have to cover that spot with another photo corner! You get the idea...

One down, one to go. But I must say, it really is cute.

Does Santa Outsource?

Sweet E. with her sister, Teeny G.

Thanksgiving is over, I'm done being thankful and can get back to my harried list-making, bank account checking, & list-revising self for the holidays. As a season kick off, I'd like to share this story from my stepdaughter D. about our 8 year old granddaughter E.

E. is changing before our eyes. It freaks me out sometimes because I don't want her hormones to kick in anytime soon. It makes me appreciate the little time left where she still thinks I know what I'm talking about.

She came to me the other day and asked "Why does my bike from Santa say 'Made In China'?"

"Santa doesn't want everyone to know where he lives," I answered.

She immediately shot back with "but everyone knows Santa lives in the North Pole, that doesn't make sense Mom."

I was at a loss for words. Her brain works so fast all of a sudden!

I ended up telling her that if she didn't believe in Santa, he would stop bringing her presents.

"I believe Mom! I'll always believe!"

...to which my response was "Good, then he'll always bring you presents. "

I told her sometimes things that are magical can't be explained, that's why they are "magical". I also told her with so many kids in the world, sometimes Santa has to outsource.

She seemed satisfied with that, for now...

Family Photo

Last August, I thought it would be fun to get a picture of the grandkids with the kids. Our lovely granddaughters...Teeny G & Sweet E with
& their aunt & uncle (hee, hee) Little Missy & Dr. J