"Mom, what's a whip woman?" Avery asked me as I sorted through fabrics.
"A whip woman?"
"Yeah. Is she a woman who whips people when they don't listen?" she wondered.
"I have no idea what a whip woman is."
"Oh. Will you ever become a whip woman?" she asked.
I had all sorts of sewing ideas as I went about the breakfast routine a few mornings ago. Milo needs bibs, blankets, burp rags and another pair of bigger shoes. No problem, I thought. I just spent oodles of cash on fabric.com on all sorts of cutesy-wutesy fabrics. I'll just start sewing and waa-lah, problem solved.
As I sorted through buckets of fabrics and answered questions about the whip woman, I realized something. In the four different shipments that were sent to my little house on 1st Ave, zero boy fabrics were included. Zero. As in zilch. None. I shook my head at my stupidity. What was I thinking? And what am I going to do with yards and yards of girl fabrics?
Another problem for another day I guess. Although, I'm sure Milo wouldn't care having to wear girl colors. He's such a happy kid, kicking and giggling and wiggling in his swing, almost convulsing from excitement as he stares at the giraffe and lion dangling down towards him.
Last summer, I found a sandbox at a garage sale for pure cheap. It kept the kids entertained for hours and hours on end. We put at least ten bags of sand into it, at $3.47 a bag. By September, the sandbox was empty. Where ten huge bags of sand went, I don't know. Before winter, I added the last two bags that were sitting in the garage.
A few days ago, I saw sand flying around the back yard and four giggling children playfully running back and forth between my garden and the sandbox. Apparently, it's much more fun to transport sand back and forth across the yard than to simply play with it in the sandbox. As they ran, sand flew up from their little scoops and scattered across the grass. What was left on their scoops was deposited onto my hostas.
The sandbox is empty again. I just sent the kids outside to start scooping the sand back into their sandbox. I'm not buying any more sand. Our yard will start looking like a sand dune one of these years if they don't keep their sand where it belongs.
Tucker just peeked his head inside the house.
"Mom. I don't wanna soup sand. It's we-dic-a-lous." he complained.
"A whip woman?"
"Yeah. Is she a woman who whips people when they don't listen?" she wondered.
"I have no idea what a whip woman is."
"Oh. Will you ever become a whip woman?" she asked.
I had all sorts of sewing ideas as I went about the breakfast routine a few mornings ago. Milo needs bibs, blankets, burp rags and another pair of bigger shoes. No problem, I thought. I just spent oodles of cash on fabric.com on all sorts of cutesy-wutesy fabrics. I'll just start sewing and waa-lah, problem solved.
As I sorted through buckets of fabrics and answered questions about the whip woman, I realized something. In the four different shipments that were sent to my little house on 1st Ave, zero boy fabrics were included. Zero. As in zilch. None. I shook my head at my stupidity. What was I thinking? And what am I going to do with yards and yards of girl fabrics?
Another problem for another day I guess. Although, I'm sure Milo wouldn't care having to wear girl colors. He's such a happy kid, kicking and giggling and wiggling in his swing, almost convulsing from excitement as he stares at the giraffe and lion dangling down towards him.
Last summer, I found a sandbox at a garage sale for pure cheap. It kept the kids entertained for hours and hours on end. We put at least ten bags of sand into it, at $3.47 a bag. By September, the sandbox was empty. Where ten huge bags of sand went, I don't know. Before winter, I added the last two bags that were sitting in the garage.
A few days ago, I saw sand flying around the back yard and four giggling children playfully running back and forth between my garden and the sandbox. Apparently, it's much more fun to transport sand back and forth across the yard than to simply play with it in the sandbox. As they ran, sand flew up from their little scoops and scattered across the grass. What was left on their scoops was deposited onto my hostas.
The sandbox is empty again. I just sent the kids outside to start scooping the sand back into their sandbox. I'm not buying any more sand. Our yard will start looking like a sand dune one of these years if they don't keep their sand where it belongs.
Tucker just peeked his head inside the house.
"Mom. I don't wanna soup sand. It's we-dic-a-lous." he complained.
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