Three Things That Have Absolutely Nothing to do With One Another

Here's a little-known fact for all you non-chicken farmers: Did you know that one of the best things you can feed chickens is their own eggs?



I find it just as disturbing as you do.

But my chickens practically trip over themselves whenever I bring them a pie-plate filled with chopped boiled egg.

Have you ever seen chickens fighting over the last piece of egg yolk? It's funny.



Those little cannibals...



Just in case you didn't see the birthmark dirt pen bruise ashes on people's foreheads yesterday, let me be the one to break the news to you.

It's Lent.

Now I may be just about the worst Catholic on this side of the Orange Curtain, but I never miss Ash Wednesday.

Every year, 46 days before Easter, I shake Noah awake at 6 a.m., and drag him to the nearest Catholic church.

I whisper in his ear throughout the short service, promising that if he stands up straight and doesn't make faces at the priest, I will take him for pancakes after it's over.



Let me be clear: we are not good Catholics. We rarely, if ever, attend church.

But I was raised by devout Catholics, and I went to Catholic school for most of my life (I'm still recovering BTW)



I had always assumed that I wouldn't raise my kids Catholic, that I would let them explore religion on their own whenever they were ready.

But when I was about 11 months pregnant with Noah, I put in a rare appearance at church with my parents one Sunday, and halfway through mass the doors opened and a line of little boys and girls marched up the aisle to receive their First Holy Communion.

As I watched the kids, beaming in their suits and white dresses -- pride written all over their cute little faces -- a funny thing happened: I desperately craved that for the baby growing inside of me.

I feel very lucky to be married to a man who, despite his reservations, allows me to expose our kids to this part of my history.

This does NOT mean, however, that my kids won't have a choice. I value and respect ALL religion (or lack of religion) and my kids will be free to choose their path as they grow up.

For now, though, we have these traditions -- my boy and I -- and I would be lying if I said it didn't feel good to see him doing the same things I grew up doing.

I gave up cussing for Lent. Noah gave up cookies.

It's going to be a long 46 days....



I took Noah to get a haircut this past weekend.



I have a love/hate relationship with Noah's hair.

Because, for starters, it's beautiful. It's this perfect golden color that almost matches his golden skin. It has a slight curl that at just the right length, gives him a shaggy, I-don't-even-have-to-try 'do.



But combing that mop every morning was starting to give me ulcers. Because it goes a little something like this:

Noah: "OWWWWW!!!! You're HURTING ME!!"
Me: "Well, you have knots and tangles Noah ... I'm trying my best!"
Noah: "No, you're not. You're doing it on PURPOSE. You WANT to hurt me."

And then my head explodes.

So I took him to a barber who, despite a serious language barrier, understood the words "faux-hawk"

Unexpected result of getting rid of all of Noah's hair? He grew, like, ten feet in a matter of minutes.


He's shooting a bubble gun like it's an M16 rifle ... we don't even have cable television. Cue helpless resignation

It's just a reminder that time is passing as quickly as ever, despite my efforts to freeze it and enjoy the best moments just a little bit longer...

Life is inordinately good right now, and even though it's still February we are starting to catch glimpses of what's to come, in the way of longer days, warmer nights, and more time with the people we love most.

There is much to look forward to right now.

Happy Thursday to all!

Conversation of the Day:

Noah: "Why is that man closing his eyes and kneeling?"
Me: "He's praying. He's thanking God for all the good things in his life"
Noah: "When I pray, I thank God for my family, my cool stuff, and me."
Me: "When I pray, I thank God for you too..."

French Moms Fart Too

Have you heard the news?



French moms are perfect.
American moms are overprotective, overprocessed, hysterical sacks of worthless.

French kids play quietly by themselves.
American kids are screeching, drooling, hyperstimulated lists of demands.

Let me be clear: I don't plan to waste my hard-earned American dollars on this book, which is sure to send my fragile American mother ego plummeting to the negative thousandth degree.

But I did thumb through it last night at Barnes and Noble, whilst on my imaginary date night with my husband (I say imaginary because American parents don't take time for themselves, ever. Obviously)

And I did pick up a couple of golden nuggets of wisdom that I'd just like to address here, thank you very much.

First was the fact that French moms don't join their kids in playtime and other general kid activities. French moms let their kids "figure it out" on their own, and then they retreat to their own interests, which are mostly drinking, smoking, and looking bored.

And French kids do indeed figure it out. They are born knowing how to play quietly by themselves, creating their own stimulation and fun with such supplies as grass, the sky, and, if they're lucky, a ball or two (because French parents don't waste their euros on toys for their kids. That would be le stupid)

And to this I say: Bravo French mères -- BRA to the freakin' VO. You have successfully made your selfish parenting the norm in your country. With any luck, your children will grow up to be just as unhappy and unfulfilled as you are.

Wait, what? French people are living in a world of sad??? Au sérieux?

Yes, brace yourselves for this shocking revelation: according to a study by the World Health Organization last year, France has the highest rate of depression of any country in the world, at a whopping 21%.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, the U.S. is not far behind, with a 19.2% rate of depression. I'm not here to argue that WE are better than our Français counterparts -- I'm just simply pointing out that we are all drinking from the same depressing well.

I mean, you say that your parents never had time for you ... I say my parents never left me the EFF alone.
You say une tomate ... I say TOE-MAY-TOE.
Whatever.

Moving on...

The second golden nugget of wisdom that I was able to pick up on my nonexistent American time alone was that French parents are better because they are less inclined to be overprotective of their kids. Less stifling, if you will.

The example this genius American author gave was kids birthday parties. In America, we take our kids to their friend's birthday parties, and then we hang around making sure our offspring don't, for example, have too much fun.

In France, parents drop their kids off on the curb out front and then take the eff off, tires squealing, Jason-Bourne-style. Because French parents have things to do people -- things like sitting in a cafe and moping -- and those extra couple hours is the perfect opportunity to do them.

This is a GREAT idea France! From now on I will remember that in order to be a good mom I must leave my kids with people I barely know and hope that they don't fall into a pool before they can swim/come across a sexually-curious 15-year-old son that the host conveniently forgot to mention/eat nuts that will kill them/decide to ditch the party and walk into oncoming traffic.

I will go shopping and maybe even get a pedicure, giving nary a second thought to the competency of the strangers I've entrusted with my children's lives. American prisons are filled, after all, with child molesters and murderers who are mostly misunderstood.

Oh, c'mon, I'm totally joking of course. I'm not this paranoid. I just really like birthday cake.

Okay, in all seriousness, I'm not offended by this book. I'm not! Because I, unlike the author, have a shred of common sense. I don't need to visit another continent to figure out the best way to parent my kids.

Sometimes I'm a great mom. Sometime's I make mistakes that I'm sure are going to land my kids on Dr. Phil one day.



But one thing I try to never do is be too hard on myself. Which is really what this book is all about, right? That French moms, with their laid back attitudes, are less insecure parents.

The irony of writing such a book is that in pointing out the superiority of one group of moms over another -- based on something as arbitrary as nationality no less -- the author is perpetuating a cycle of condemnation of mothers.

Pamela Druckerman is, in essence, doing the very thing that she's congratulating our French counterparts for not doing -- that is, she's being a judgmental, insecure asshole.

And this American mom is not buying it, Pam.
Thanks, but no thanks P-Druck.

Last night, as my husband motioned to me that it was time to leave the bookstore and go back to our prison cell home, I put down Bringing Up Bébé, unsure of how to feel.

I mean, is it true? The French already claim victory over us Americans in fashion, cuisine, history, and geography -- are they really better mothers too?

I teetered on the edges of despair momentarily, but then I remembered something that made my world right again. The great equalizer of us all, because no matter how cool or smart or pretty or wise you might be, you can't escape this reality:

French moms fart too. Just like me and you.

Take that world. Take that.

Au revoir!

Valentine's Crush

I have grand visions of the Valentine's Days that lie in my future. The ones where Noah comes to me and confesses that he likes a girl, a beautiful and sweet and smart girl who plays soccer, and wears her hair in a braid, and kicks ass and takes names when she plays video games.


She will think party-hats-as-unicorn-horns is funny. Of course.

And he will want her to be his Valentine, and he'll ask me to take him to the store to buy her a cheesy card, probably one with Snoopy on it with a nose shaped like a heart, and I will say "You can't do that! You have to go BIG! Go BIG, or go HOME."

I like to go big.

Now I will confess, things don't look too promising on the whole Noah-liking-girls-someday front.

In fact, this post is coming to you fresh from a 1st grade Valentine's Day party in which Noah quietly -- subtly -- went through his loot and separated the cards from the boys and the cards from the girls, and then pushed the cards from the girls onto the floor.


Boy card approved


I was the only one who saw this and it wasn't until I assured him that he could give the Disney Princess and Justin Bieber cards to his little sister that Noah grudgingly stuffed the girl cards back into his bag.

I still have hope though. Someday there will be a crush -- a monumental, head-explodingly sweet crush -- and we will sneak onto a football field in the middle of the night to spell some girl's name in balloons.


We will be unstoppably awesome

Someday.

Until then, I will show my boy how to go BIG and hope he picks up a few pointers along the way.

This year we paid homage to the sweetness of a Valentine's Day crush. The kind you drink, of course.



I was very excited to put together this Valentine's Day treat for Noah's classmates -- very excited, that is, until my work buddy Carmen reminded me that giving six year olds glass bottles is a surefire way to get sued.

Oh.

So, the glass bottles went back to the store and were replaced with 1st-grade-friendly cans. Less sexy, I know, but they got the job done.



I cut the hearts myself, and stamped them (with the help of my very sweet husband of course). I folded each heart in half, cut two slits 1/2 inch long on the top and bottom, and stuck a heart patterned paper straw through. I bought the straws from one of my favorite Etsy shops, which you can find here.

I then tied each heart/straw combo to the cans with Divine Twine, which I bought at my work. I have a serious crush on Divine Twine -- it comes in every color and it lasts forever. You can find that here.

Needless to say, the Valentine's Crushes were a big hit, and Noah even hugged me in front of his best friend (which means I'm cool, in case you don't speak 6-year-old boy).

I am feeling good.

Last night I came home to these.



And I have to tell you, they put my big, crazy, time-sucking Valentine's projects to shame. Because these cards -- made with markers and love -- made my heart ache with happiness. So maybe my kid has a thing or two to teach me about what it really means to go big or go home.

I hope that all of you are enjoying this day of love

Andrea

Picture of the Day:


She's my funny Valentine

Crayola Love Bomb

I am kicking off the crafty goodness this week with a Valentine's Day (of course) project for my daughter's 2-year-old classmates.

I use Valentine's Day (and pretty much every holiday LOL) as an occasion to really explore where my kids happen to be at in their respective lives -- what do they like? What would get them excited?

When I saw these crayon hearts on Pinterest (from Whipperberry, which is a fantastic blog BTW) I knew they were perfect for Eva.

Eva is, in a word, colorful. And by that I mean that not only does she like to draw, paint, and eat play with Play-Doh, she also has an incredibly bright presence. She tells jokes (seriously). She dances to Madonna in a room filled with people. She tackles her brother to the floor every night and kisses him goodnight.



She's a charmer.

I love the idea of making new crayons from old and broken pieces, but I didn't have the foresight to save those pieces so these were all made using the inexpensive, off-brand boxes of crayons sold at Michaels (64 count for $1 -- I used three boxes).

And while there is definitely a beautiful and simple elegance to the crayon hearts on Whipperberry, I wanted to add my own flair, so I tweaked our crayon hearts a little.

Enjoy!

***

First, of course, is supplies. I used a 50% off coupon to buy Wilton's heart-shaped cupcake mold at Michaels for $5. It's a 6-cupcake tray, and I had to make 24 Valentines (note: the next day I saw a slightly flimsier version of the mold at Target in the dollar bins).



I bought 4 boxes of the aforementioned crayons but only ended up using three.

The most difficult and time-consuming part of this project was getting the paper off the crayons. I used a razor, to cut a line down one side of each crayon, and peeled the paper off. Doing this for nearly two hundred crayons took at least a couple of hours, and was crazy messy (hint: lay down some newspaper!)

For the first 50 crayons or so, I used a knife to carefully cut the crayons into three pieces each. Then I said to hell with it and used my hands to break them up. Much easier.



I separated them into color groups, and avoided using the brown, black, and white crayons (because, really? Who wants to be the kid who gets a brown crayon for Valentine's day?)

I dropped a small handful of crayons into each cupcake holder and baked them for 15 minutes at 300 degrees.

When they were done I put them directly into the freezer, to speed up the time it takes for them to harden (that's what she said ... er ... nevermind. Back to craft time). I tried not to move them around too much in the transfer, because I didn't want the colors to blend.



Once they were cool, I wrapped each with some baker's twine.



I found a cute quote about Crayola crayons that made me feel all warm and mushy inside, printed it on brown kraft paper, and stuck the crayons to the back.

Obviously 2-year-olds can't read but their parents can, and I challenge any parent of a toddler to not appreciate Robert Fulghum's words.



ANYway, I put everything into small glassine envelopes (that I picked up at work, along with the baker's twine) and taped them shut with some fabric tape I had lying around.



That's it! I'm super excited to hand them out next week.

Here's a cost breakdown:

Cupcake Mold -- $5 (look at Target for cheaper option)
Crayons -- $3
Kraft paper -- already had some
Envelopes -- $4 (with my employee discount. Envelopes aren't necessary, I just didn't feel like hot-glueing each crayon onto the paper.

Total cost: $12

Noah's Valentines are up next so keep an eye out.

Happy Hump Day to everyone!

Conversation of the Day:
Noah: "Mom, how do you play this game called Spin the Bottle?"
Me: silence
Noah: "Mom?"
Me (clearing throat): "Well, ummm, that's a good question. It's a game, actually, where you sit in a circle with your friends, some boys and some girls. And you spin a bottle in the middle, like maybe a soda bottle, and whoever it lands on you kiss them."
Noah: "That's Dis.Gus.Ting. I would never play that game! If the bottle landed on me I would scream and run away. Actually, if it was you or dad spinning it, I would let you kiss me. But if it was a girl, I would be gone."

A Dose of Resolve with a Pinch of Shameless Self-Promotion

I am feeling restless.

I spent the first half of this week at the Craft and Hobby Association convention and let me just say this: it is virtually impossible to walk away from scenes like this and not feel like you have to go home immediately and create something.







It's true, my job can be pretty fun sometimes. It can also be incredibly exhausting. Writing step-by-step instructions for more than 400 cards (for each my three cardmaking magazines)? Sometimes my eyelids hurt as I'm driving home from work.


I actually don't know the name of the designer for this card, but whoever it is works for Silhouette

Also, even though I spend most of the day handling, writing about, and admiring other people's art, I find myself with very little time to create my own.

Cue restlessness.

I want to make time to stretch my creative muscle. Because let's face it, I am -- as my friend Shanda likes to call me -- a crafty mother f'er.

I sew. I knit. I make cards. I have a serious chalkboard paint habit. I make furniture. I worship at the Church of Martha Stewart.

I really am a crafty mother f'er, and it's high time I start making use of that.

So keep an eye out because the craft show is coming to this blog. Soon. Very soon.

***

In other news, I did something last night that I have been wanting to do for such a long time.

I cleaned out our fridge and pantry. And when I say cleaned out, I mean I threw away anything full of sugar, preservatives, artificial flavor or color, and high amounts of sodium. Which left my fridge looking a little something like this.



I filled three trash bags and it felt so freakin' good. I'm relatively new to this, so I know there's still stuff in there that could stand to be thrown out, but it's a start.

Why the sudden dietary overhaul?

The short answer is that Noah is having some trouble at school. I know, I know -- what does my son's tendencies to make fart noises during math lessons have to do with eating healthy?

Well here's a little confession for you: there have been more days than I care to admit where we have sent Noah to school on an empty stomach. Or sent him to school hopped up on sugar from one of the many sugary cereals we let HIM pick out. Or paid for a hot lunch that came straight out of a microwave because we were too lazy to pack a healthier lunch. And I do believe that trying to count in tens while you're full of sugar and empty calories makes the process a lot tougher.



I've made a million excuses for dropping the nutrition ball: we both work full time. We can barely get out of the house by 8 o'clock as it is, without the added pressure of cooking something healthy for breakfast. I ate Cinnamon Toast Crunch nearly every day of my childhood, and I turned out fine (except for that weird urge to hug little, old, bespectacled men wearing white chef's caps...) -- there's no end to the rationalization.

But the truth is that I haven't done enough to make sure Noah's tank is full when I lovingly send him off into the world (and by lovingly, I mean that I yell "Get outta the car!" in my best impersonation of a veteran truck driver. Then I roll down the window and shout "I love you Lovebug!" My kid thinks that's the BEST).

So we've gone healthy over at Casa de Rangno. No more chocolate mustaches (Sad face. Chocolate mustaches are cute)



Stay posted on whether or not it helps.

Also, again, one more time, because it's going to be awesome, keep an eye out for the craftastic stuff that will soon debut here.

I got big plans people. BIG plans.

Have a fabulous weekend.

Photo of the Day:

My first magazine, The Stampers' Sampler, will hit stores on April 1st.

Check one out at Barnes and Noble, Michaels, or Jo-Ann's Fabrics, and when you see this photo turn around to whoever is standing behind you and shout "I know her!"



Most likely it'll be me standing there, shouting back "I KNOW! It's ME!"

Much love,

Andrea