(Letter was begun on April 30 and finished on May 3)

Dear Lucas,

It’s only a day until your 8th birthday. You are over the moon with excitement. I think perhaps no child has ever anticipated any birthday as much as you have this one. You cannot wait to be 8! As the youngest child in your class, you have watched all of your friends turn 8 already. A couple of them have already turned 9. I’m sorry, dear one, but it may always be this way for you. It might be hard to be the youngest child sometimes, and might sometimes feel not fair, but I don’t worry about you much. Your charisma and joyful attitude make you beloved by all. And you would not have wanted to wait to start school another year! Your mind is racing ahead of your age in almost every way, there was no way we could have held you back.

So many exciting things are happening in your life now. I can see you are so eager to find out what’s next, what new opportunity is coming your way. I can see that you’re maturing, becoming more comfortable in your body and in your roles as student, brother, and as helping, cooperative son.

Sometimes I look at you and my love for you just pours out of me, and washes over you, I hope, wherever you are. I wonder if you can tell when I’m feeling this way. Sometimes I catch your eye and rather than make a big scene, I just wink. In that tiny moment, when you smile and wink back, I see that you know you are loved. The moments when you happily hold my hand in public, when you approach me and throw your arms around my middle and bury your face in my chest, when you snuggle up to me and tell me how much you love me—these are miracles every time, in part because they are coming a little less often than before. And I gobble these moments up like chocolates, try to fill myself with them, as if for a coming famine.

We had to strike a deal recently. You were angry with me, complaining that I was treating you too much like a baby. “You never let me do ___,” you accused. We were butting heads: you wanting more independence, me seeing you taking risks and acting wild and wanting to corral you. A friend of mine suggested a solution and so far it has worked. One day a week now you are picked up from school extra late, like at 5 or 5:30 in the evening. You want this extra time to play with your friends who are in aftercare. You want more freedom. In exchange, you must be better about coming with me at pickup time, without argument or hassle. I’m grateful my friend suggested this deal, this privilege. I was caught up in old patterns of thinking—feeling guilty for all the time we don’t spend together, wanting to gather you up at the end of your day, as if to apologize for all the time I’m working. But you are ready for more, for new experiences and new challenges. Your dad and I respect that.

You are doing well in school. Your reading is coming along nicely and you’ve been really into the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, which I have mixed feelings about. On the plus side, you’re excited about them and practicing reading. Once in a while we wake up and find you reading on the couch with the light on, having risen before the rest of us. That is nothing short of a miracle, in more ways than one. On the downside, I think the content of these books is a little old for you. In math, you are learning to add multiple-digit numbers and the new task is to figure out the process of carrying the one to the next place when adding columns of numbers. One paper that came home recently clearly indicated that you don’t understand this yet. I found myself in the astonishing position of 1) having you sit with me in an open, receptive mood, while we worked through the confusing problems together, and 2) teaching you MATH! Not my best subject, but second-grade math is OK. Next year? Not so sure how much help I’ll be. Your confidence in math is a little low right now. At one point, you told me that a buddy of yours is “Way smarter than me.” Au contraire, my son. I hope I reassured you.

Let’s see… I think your favorite school subjects are gardening, movement, German, and language arts. Gardening at school has inspired you to have your own vegetable patch here at home. In fact, you sacrificed half of your precious digging hill to plant tomatoes, a cucumber, a watermelon, rainbow chard, corn and pumpkins. It’s a lot packed into a small area, but for now it looks modest. We left a little space just for digging. And you carefully made rows in the rest, amending the soil a bit before planting your plants and seeds. I fervently hope this garden grows well for you. We have plans to make a little fence around it.

Part of you is fascinated by the idea of homeschooling, but I know in real life you would miss your friends terribly if we took you out of school. Plus, homeschooling is not always about playing Legos all day. We are not considering this at all. But, in deference to your interests, we may try to do a bit of “homeschooling” this summer. Perhaps some science projects, some story writing, some math and other cool games. One big project may be to build a chicken coop with Dad!

Two weeks ago you started piano lessons for the first time. You like your teacher and are excited to be learning how to play. We’re not calling it “practice time,” according to your teacher. We are calling it “playing” so that piano stays fun for you. I hope this is something that you’ll fall in love with.

You have been doing a lot more cooking lately, usually with Dad and often to make scrambled eggs in the morning. You two get along so well—most of the time. I’m hoping you might get a kids’ cookbook for your birthday so we can all explore this together. You’ve already made mozzarella cheese, after all! We did this all together a couple of months ago and it was totally fun! Today you made spinach sandwiches for Asher and yourself, and used the stove to make celery soup. You’re considering creating your own recipe book, using only recipes you invent yourself.

Let’s talk about sticks for a moment. My word! Where do you find them all? It seems like I’m constantly wondering where they come from and how come I never noticed them before. They are the world’s most perfect toy, apparently for any age between 1 and … well, 8 at least. Trouble is, sticks are devious little things, for they tempt you (and Asher) into highly rambunctious sword fighting, and all other martial arts. Occasionally I get fed up with the wacking-with-sticks play and confiscate them, removing them to the green waste bin. And then, twenty minutes later, your hands are full of more sticks!

Asher is now a proper playmate for you much of the time. He mimics your every word and move. It’s quite adorable when you’re both behaving well. You play pretend “battles” with “powers,” which involves a lot of running, jumping, dramatic magical gesturing and many, many sound effects with spitting. It’s better than actual hitting most of the time. You both get carried away, though, and you both take great pleasure in winding each other up into states of ire and violence, especially if sticks are involved. “He hit me!” “Asher, NO!” The bickering is perfectly normal.

What I love, however, is when I find you and Asher sitting together on the couch, arms around each other, or cuddled up in bed together at night. Sometimes I catch you reading to Asher and my heart just melts. I see you guide him in parking lots, offering your hand as protection from passing cars. You greet him with a giant, feet-off-the-ground-swing-around hug at the end of the school day. You brag to your friends about how cool your little brother is. You tell Asher that he is your buddy, that he’s adorable, and that you’re best friends. These are moments we, as your parents, cherish.

***

And now, it’s two days after your birthday, May 3, 2010. You seem perfectly satisfied with the fuss we made over your turning 8, and frankly, so am I. What a wonderful weekend it was! We had a great time roller-skating at Sunrise Rollerland with your friends. You are a determined roller-skater, and although you fell down often, you kept getting up, your resolve never flagging. I admire your stubborn perseverance; I think it’s a quality that will serve you well in life. You seem delighted with all of your gifts: new craft projects, science kits, books, Legos, modeling clay, BIKE, game, model, and much more! I’m thrilled to see you riding your new bike—it is probably the coolest bike I’ve ever seen (complete with skull art) and it’s your favorite color (which is back to blue these days after having cycled through red and green).

You shared your birthday with two special events at school: the 50th anniversary of Sacramento Waldorf School and the May Day Festival, which was on the 2nd. This just carried you along on a wave of celebration and delight, allowing you tons of extra time to range and roam with your school buddies and to have lots of fun. I like how much you now seem to own the school campus. It’s your turf and you’re comfortable there. It was such a great weekend; I hope it was everything you wished for.

Lucas, we love you. We are so proud of you. Happy 8th birthday, my love!

Mama

Oh, the wheels are turning!

Of course, my best ideas strike me at 11 p.m. and/or right at the last minute, when it’s way too late to get started or when I must rush like crazy to carry them out. I was having such an easy run up to this birthday, given that the roller-skating party was paid for a couple of weeks ago and they won’t let me bring food to the rink. The presents have arrived. Invitations sent out.

But then—BOOM! Oh! I should do/make/wrap/paint/buy/arrange/decorate/create/bake …

You get the picture. Yeah. I’m that kind of crazy.

The Crown

When I made a birthday crown for Asher (also at the last minute back in January), Lucas was quite enchanted with it. I asked him if he would like to have a birthday crown of his own and he was all for it.

So, I vowed to make one for him.

Of course, the likelihood that he will wear it at 8 years old is fairly slim. Nevertheless … here is my design. Shh! He hasn’t seen it and I want it to be a surprise.

The Goodie Bags

I don’t know when this children’s birthday party tradition began, but I don’t like it much. I think it kind of reeks of 1980s überparents fearing for their wee ones’ self-esteem and worrying that attending a birthday party and watching a birthday child open gifts when there are none for the wee guests would somehow scar them for life. But, I must live in my times. And so, we make goodie bags. We try to have a bit of fun with them and try not to spend a ton of dough. And lest you think I’m a complete curmudgeon, I am well aware of how thrilled Lucas is to come home from a friend’s party with a goodie bag of his own!

This year, we are giving out brown paper lunch bags, hand-painted by Lucas. He is painting whatever he pleases and I think that’s just fine. I think they are fighting dragons. We are putting  little envelopes of pumpkin seeds that we saved from our orange and white Halloween pumpkins in the bags. I bought lovely (and masculine-looking) blank books from the $1 bins at the craft store, so each guest will receive a book and a matching pencil. If the boys attending the birthday party are anything at all like Lucas, they will be pleased to have their own book to write whatever in. Let’s see … we also have a small tablet of origami paper for each guest, which comes with instructions to make animals, also from the $1 bins.

The Birthday Cake

Well, the roller rink is handling this. But I will make a cake for us to share with grandparents this weekend. I have a cool idea for this! We’ll see if I can pull it off.

A Gift

While Lucas was painting some goodie bags this afternoon, and Asher was painting a picture, I sat down and painted a gift for Lucas.

Work

Things are fine; not too busy at the moment. My two big, long-term projects that I’ve already committed to are on hold, temporarily. The reason sucks: the baby of the editor in charge is very, very ill and undergoing some seriously heavy treatment. Naturally, the editor doesn’t have much time or energy to spare for work. It’s completely understandable. I’m just hoping her baby will be all right.

In the meantime, I’m working on some odd jobs—helping out another DE with some tasks to take some of the burden off her. I’ve been spending time researching photos and reformatting tables. Yes, kind of boring, but also no stress.

I’m also working on a novel development job and it’s turning out to be both educational and rewarding. I think I’m making useful suggestions and my client is happy so far. A little job that disappeared last fall has resurfaced. And I hear that my uncle was pleased with my recent monograph edit. I think I have a strategy guide starting up soon, too.

Lucas

My dear Lucas’s eighth birthday is in less than three weeks! We went kind of all out last year throwing him a super-cool Aliens & Robots birthday party here at our home. We built robots, did crafts, played games, ate alien foods and had an alien birthday cake. The boys all dressed in costumes and it rocked.

This year, the theme Lucas came up with was just too challenging. I tried and tried to figure out a way to do a Secret Agent birthday party for 8-year-olds, but just couldn’t get around the fact that they have NO CONTEXT for spies or secret agents at all—no James Bond, no Cold War, no “Mission Impossible.” No explosions or weapons or special high-tech gadgets (kids are already living in The Future) or grappling hooks or lasers. In a moment of desperation I asked Lucas if he might like to have his party elsewhere, like at a fun place that does birthday parties. He instantly jumped at the idea of Sunrise Rollerland and roller-skating. No hesitation. Really? I used to skate there as a kid in the late ’70s and early ’80s. “Yes, mom! That would be SO COOL!” You don’t have to tell me twice. I booked the party there for May 1st, his birthday.

I am not at all thrilled about the roller-rink pizza that will be served, but they won’t let me bring food. I admit there is a part of me that feels like it’s a cop-out to buy the party (GOOD mommies make birthday cakes , right? Oh. That’s MY script?), but I am also somewhat relieved not to have all that busyness to worry about in the next two weeks.  We made our invitations and sent them out yesterday. The only other thing I have to do is make goodie bags for the party guests.

Asher

Oh Asher! He is so very, very 3 right now. Asher is determined, bold, assertive, demanding, outrageous, talkative, charming, precocious, HUNGRY, and picky. This child knows what he wants at every moment. He is happy and playful, and he uses language beautifully to tell you exactly what he thinks (watch out).

This is not to say that his pronunciation is perfect. In fact, it’s still quite babyish, which I admit I adore. I was so sad when he learned to say “please” with the l sound in there. Some of my favorites are:

binkit (blanket)

stabdabdies (strawberries—this one is on the way out)

beenana (bananna)

Bye, my fends (friends)!

kick-kick, (which is becoming click-click, his name for his pushing Red Flyer wagon)

I need some Mama time. You need some Baby time.

Asher went potty in the toilet four times yesterday; that’s a monumental accomplishment for him (us). He’s finally starting to get the hang of it.

I sewed a thing! I made this pillowcase for Asher’s birthday at the end of January, but of course, a pillowcase doesn’t get top billing when it comes time to celebrate turning 3, either for him or for me, so I’m only getting around to gloating about it now. I used an online tutorial that I found here, to help me with the french seams, which were entirely new to me. The tutorial is great! Much thanks to its creator!

I can’t quite explain it, but I’m really digging this pale, spring green with the dark red. This color combination is all over the boys’ bedroom now. I hope they like it as much as I do. (The green rug is new from Ikea and we all love it, especially the price.)

I have supplies for a pillowcase for Lucas, too. Which I hope to make sometime soon.

Later this month we’ll be attending Love Auction #9 at the Sacramento Waldorf School, the annual fundraiser auction. I’m finishing my handcrafted items to donate by Friday. Here’s a peek:

A birthday bunting (or playroom/bedroom decoration) made from three recycled, thrifted, 100% cotton shirts that my friend, Anne, found and gave to me. I love the variegated fabric; it lends a definite Waldorf, watercolory feel to the bunting. The bunting is three yards long. (I’ve never cut up a garment before to salvage the fabric for another purpose. It felt very strange, but oddly satisfying.)

A birthday crown (or dress-up crown) for a boy or a girl (or a king or queen or wizard or astronomer) made from 70% wool felt and sewed by hand. I started this on the plane to New Jersey a week ago. The nifty thread-cutting pendant my mom let me borrow was very useful! Sewing on the plane was a soothing way to pass some time. I still have to put the elastic on the back of the crown to finish it off.

Last year, my donation was needle-felted gnomes and a fairy and a book of Tiptoes Lightly stories. No idea how to assign a value to these items for the school to use as a starting bid. Suggestions?

I made another thing—one that you can hold in your hand. Before, it wasn’t there. Then I made it and now it is! This making stuff is quite miraculous to me still.

Ever since I read Amanda Soule’s book The Creative Family, I had it stuck in my head that I wanted to make Asher a birthday crown. I tried talking myself out of doing it a dozen times—after all, Asher’s really picky about what he’ll wear on his body and we have had more than enough fights tantrums disagreements over clothing during the past six months. Honestly, I thought he would never wear a birthday crown, and I try hard not to set myself up for disappointments of the kind that might come with hand-sewing a special gift for the birthday boy to wear and then finding that he won’t wear it.

But, two days before Asher’s birthday, I still couldn’t stop thinking about making him a crown. And so I started. I had the felt at home already.

I drew several designs before settling on flying birds. Then I noodled around with the birds till I liked their arrangement. I dragged the kids to the fabric store to find the right kind of stars and some pretty thread.

And I worked diligently with my rainbow stitches. And Lucas helped with some, but not many because Mama is a control freak.

I used silver thread to make the stars sparkle. And the Gingher embroidery scissors my boys bought me for Christmas sure came in handy!

I made the inside lining green like the leaves, hand-sewed the two pieces together, and attached the elastic to the back. And I finished in time.

And Asher wore it! I’m so proud of this! This photo is one I took the day after his birthday party because I wasn’t satisfied with my shots from the party—he just wouldn’t sit still that day! Doesn’t he look regal?

(Lucas wants a crown for his birthday, too.)

I guess now I pack the crown away to use again on his next birthday, but I kind of hate to do that. I think I have to for it to be a special, though. What would you do?

Such a big day we had last Sunday. Our littlest boy turned 3 years old!

There was a birthday crown, which — surprise! surprise! — he actually wore!

And there were grandpas and grandmas all over the place! Even RoRo and Nana. And special friends and Auntie Kellie came too.

And balloons arrived, which sent the Birthday Boy over the MOON with excitement and inspired many crazy antics!

We had decorated with the birthday bunting and this repurposed Christmas wreath and purple and yellow primroses in pots, and everything looked so festive.

We ate croissant sandwiches and salad and potatoes and strawberries for lunch.

Asher got many lovely presents, including toys like this helicopter and a special doctor’s kit, and big-boy underpants with Thomas the Train on them …

and delightful new books (and we read every one of them three times that day)!

Asher got his wish for a purple hippo chocolate birthday cake. (And mommy got to reuse a specialty cake pan bought last year for Lucas’s birthday. Win win!)

Our guests fussed over the Birthday Boy, who was happy and acting out and a trifle overwhelmed when everyone left—but not so worn out that he couldn’t horse around with his brother for a while, read all his new books, run with the balloons, play doctor, and go for a walk through the neighborhood before he collapsed in a sleepy pile on my bed with me. We both napped that day and it was the best birthday present I could have asked for.

It was a happy birthday!

Oh, Asher!

Three? Three years old? Already?

I suppose all of my birthday letters start out this way: How can you be this age already? (And isn’t Mommy predictable?)

Let me try to explain:

Mommy lives in two times, simultaneously.

In one timeline, the days are 30 hours each and they lumber by in no hurry because, really, where is there to go? There are runny noses to wipe and spills to mop. Toys spread out and toys are gradually raked back into their proper places, ebbing in and out, much like waves on a beach. Our rhythm and routines are routine; they simply push us through the hours slowly. There’s no real urgency because tomorrow will be very much like today or yesterday. Life is punctuated by visits to and from grandparents and trips to the grocery store. I only know it’s Tuesday because we’re out of Strauss vanilla yogurt. We creep silently toward each weekend with some anticipation because then Daddy will be home during the day and we’ll all enjoy his company.

The other timeline is faster and, frankly, I think you’re completely unaware of it. You don’t realize how quickly you are changing because you have plenty of other things to think about, like whether Lucas is touching your stuff or Daddy remembered to buy more yogurt. You don’t notice that you’re acquiring new information so fast it makes my head spin. Shiny new words pop out of your mouth every hour and sometimes I have to stop and wonder, where on earth did you hear that? I can practically watch your hair growing.

This is the timeline that people with older or grown children always refer to when they say, “Oh! It goes by so fast! Treasure the time when your baby is little!” And sleepily I think to myself, Bull! It doesn’t go fast. In fact, the minutes between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. numbered about 40,000 this morning. Because when we’re in it, in the trenches of every hour of every day, it’s slow going. But even as I restrain my temper and hold my tongue, I know those other parents are right, in a way. They’re talking about how one minute you need help to reach something on the countertop and the next minute you’re pushing me away with a forceful demand, “I do it by mySELF!” One minute you’re all about cuddling in the rocking chair, and the next you cannot be bothered because, as you explain so clearly, “Mom, I’m too busy.” And one day you won’t want to cuddle at all anymore and you’ll be borrowing my car keys and scrounging in my purse for cash. And then I’ll think just like all those other parents. I’ll know that my stint of living in two times is over, and they’ve merged into one, luge-like race.

But never mind. Let’s not borrow trouble, shall we?

And how can my meager words capture a picture of you now, on your third birthday, about to start your fourth year in our family? I guess I’ll start small.

You now have a wealth of likes and dislikes and you’re not afraid to tell us all about them. Your favorite colors are yellow and purple—your birthday cake was purple. Your favorite animal seems to be a hippo, although you also like cows, and mice, and aliens. I’m pretty sure you think aliens are just another everyday barnyard animal. You also think hippos and monkeys and zebras belong on farms, too. You enjoy the Bennetts’ cats a lot, but grandma’s dog Tolly is just a bit too tall and bouncy for you to feel entirely comfortable around her. She always licks your face and her tail accidentally bops you in the side of your head. Bacon (NoNo and Mars’s dog) is another story! You cannot get enough of Bacon and you think it’s hilarious that his name is Bacon!

Pretend play and role-playing are coming into the forefront of your play routines. You like to play firefighter, alien hunter, superhero, builder, guardian of Princess Mommy, store, and office—these last two games mostly involve your dumping everything you own (and much of your brother’s stuff) in a giant pile and then sitting in the middle of it—not unlike a 3-year-old dragon lazing atop your mountain of stolen gold.

Until just recently, you did all of your playing in the family room (where you could make the pile of stuff really big). You seem now to have discovered your bedroom, and have turned it into a factory. You are playing in there now more than ever before and you really like to have a witness. “Do you want to come in my factory?” you invite sweetly. You don’t like hearing no for an answer, though. At the moment, the train table is piled high with your toys all in a jumble. If I move anything, if I put any little thing away and you catch me doing it, you get really mad at me. Nothing will send you into a rage faster than when we touch your stuff. “DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF!”

About one week ago, we touched your stuff in a big way. We moved your brother’s bed into your room with the idea that the two of you will share a bedroom for a while. We had been discussing it for about a month and you and Lucas are very excited about it. You even became convinced it was your idea. “How ‘bout this idea? Lucas’s bed up high and Baby Asher’s bed down here!” So far this is working out pretty well. You don’t want to go to sleep at the same time as Lucas, but I think that’s just a matter of time and our sticking to it. We have let you stay up too late for too long for you to easily accept an abrupt change of routine and an earlier bedtime. We’re making the bedroom move in stages. It is our sincere hope that this will be a very positive thing for you and Lucas both. We’re hoping it might bring you closer together and encourage you to get along well. We’ll see…

Just this morning, the morning of your third birthday, you ran into our room and made a pronouncement. I was asleep at the time, so I don’t remember exactly what you said, but I remember thinking, My goodness! He really has learned to talk! Every day you perfect the art of communicating with us. You also are developing a juvenile sense of humor: Your favorite words now are “booty butt” and “poop,” which are both understandable and somewhat embarrassing. I mean, it’s not good manners to tell all the adult women you know “You have a big booty butt.” I’ve caught myself trying to soften the blow by warning my female friends before you can spring that little gem on them. You seem to say it just to see what will happen, given that you make the same size comment on a great variety booty butts.

You ask me pretty often these days whether I have a penis. When I answer in the negative, you’re not pleased and frequently claim you don’t have one either. Worse, you sometimes say something like “I don’t want a penis. I cut it off.” I assure you that penises are good and nice and you should have one. Boys have them and it’s great!

Asher, I’m delighted to report that you are learning to eat vegetables. You still would rather not do it, but you have a more pragmatic approach to mealtimes now. If you want dessert (often strawberries or oranges or apple slices), you have to muscle your way through some spinach leaves or a couple of carrots. I bless your preschool teachers every time you accept your fate and start munching on plant foods. You’re acquiring a taste for potatoes and the other day you even dove into a pile of asparagus. I said a silent hallelujah while hushing your brother’s groans and moans about having to eat it. You still ask for “chocolate dinner,” though, as if you’ve ever gotten a chocolate dinner! When you cook for me in your kitchen, you often serve chocolate dinners.

I noticed that you were developing an aversion to the doctor’s office. We have had to visit Dr. Felix three or four times this fall/winter; the first time was for a flu shot. You began protesting, saying “I don’t need a doctor. Doctor is creepy. I don’t go to the doctor.” We have started playing doctor in the hopes that you would build up more positive associations, and for your birthday, we bought you a groovy doctor’s kit and stethoscope. I think you’re more comfortable now with the idea that doctors fix people and make them feel better. Today at your birthday party you blew through all the band-aids that came in the kit. You say, “Be really, really brave” as you come at me with your wooden hypodermic needle. All the party guests left with their owies well treated by Doctor Baby Asher.

And speaking of your name, you still refer to yourself as Baby Asher. Sometimes you announce “I a big boy.” I think that your teachers are working on that idea at school. After all, big boys get to do more cool stuff. You have proven me wrong about the potty training—you still have no interest in using the potty. Silly mommy, making false predictions about when you’d learn those potty skills! Still, I’m hoping that your buddy at school will inspire you to start doing it. And I know boys tend to train later than girls do.

Occasionally, you are a furious wildcat when it’s time for a nap. The other day I held you in my arms and swayed on my feet while you howled and spit, clawed and hissed, groaned and growled, thrashed and scratched and wailed for 35 minutes. Then, you collapsed in a heap and slept for two solid hours. You just don’t want to rest. You are far to busy doing your own thing. But I persist and I fervently hope that you will continue napping through the next year at least.

Dear Asher, you are both my fascination and my tiny little nemesis. You offer us such joy, such pleasure, and such tribulation! You are my perfect, exquisite little torturer and I love you through it all. Thank you for being my darling, my Angel Boy. Thank you for falling asleep in my arms and by my side. Thank you for gracing my life will all the laughter, snuggles, and goofy grins. My heart is full to bursting. My life is richer for you.

I love you, Baby. My Little Big Boy Asher. Happy Birthday!

Mama

We’ve been working today, getting ready for Asher’s birthday tomorrow. The bunting I made is hung, the pillowcase I sewed for him is done, the birthday crown I decided just yesterday to make for him is done but for the final fitting and seam. The cake is baked and cooling, and it will be ready for decorating tomorrow morning.

I took a ton of photos today, but here are a few of my favorites.

I’ve been working on a project that I learned about through Amanda Soule’s SouleMama blog and her book The Creative Family. It was the perfect project to allow me to practice with all the awesome new tools I got for Christmas.

What is it, you ask?

It’s a bunting for decorating. Some might call it a banner. It’s reusable, unlike crepe paper. I thought it would be nice to use this to decorate for Asher’s upcoming birthday party. I’ve never done anything like this before and I’m pretty stoked about how it turned out!

First, I bought fat quarters and spent entirely too much money. (If I were already a sewer with lots of useful fabric scraps lying about, this wouldn’t have been necessary.) To cut out the triangles I used the Fiskars rotary cutter and self-healing cutting mat my mother gave to me for Christmas. I also used the little Gingher embroidery shears that Lucas and Asher gave me and the Singer “Prélude” sewing machine from Mom and Dad.

That rotary cutter is an amazing and beautiful tool. Cutting took only a fraction of the time I thought it would take.

Isn’t my Singer pretty?

Over several short sessions, I sewed the triangles closed. Today I sewed the bunting all together using wide bias tape. It went very smoothly. I am still debating about whether to pink all the triangle edges.

I think it’s very festive!  The bunting is six yards long and I have enough triangles to make another of probably the same size. I think I will, since I’m not sure what I’d do with all these leftover triangles. I suppose I could try to make a quilt, but I think I’m not really ready for that yet.