dearest daughters & son

Hipster Party and Hipster Bingo FREEBIE

Dearest Daughters,

I have a competitive personality. For that reason alone, you're very unlikely to see your daddy and I engaged in any sport. We play the occasional Scrabble game, but that's only because my odds are good.

I'm also pretty independent. For a long time, I've seen dependence as a sign of weakness #totallynottrue. I'm currently reverse-brainwashing myself and learning how to ask for help not only when I desperately need it, but also when I begin to sense that a need will arise.

My point is: recently your daddy and I made a pretty good team. I asked for help with a "Hipster" themed baby shower I was working on. And, boy-oh-boy did your daddy deliver (no pun intended)!

It took more hours than I had, a computer with a faster processor than mine and more patience than was at my disposal... but your daddy saved the day when he made these Hipster Bingo Cards one by one, each of the 20 cards unique.

It seems such a waste of his four hours, laptop gHz (or whatever) and patience for these awesome cards to only experience one game of bingo in their whole lives, so I'm sharing them here for FREE!

Click to Download HipsterBingo_FINAL (20 bingo cards in PowerPoint)

Click to Download Hipster Bingo Master List (for calling the game in Word)

Also, a little sneaky peaky at some of the "Hipster" decor and favors:

donut "cake"

hipster picks

skinny jeans and onesies displayed in play suitcases

clip art freezer paper stencil shirts and onesies

applique tie onesies

tiger lovey wearing a knit slouchy cap and camera shirt

chucks, boom box shirt and bandanna bibs

bandanna bibs (tutorial here)

chocolate mustache pops (mold from here)

bow ties and barettes (tutorial here)

You're welcome!

Love,

 

Sometimes I Wonder

Dearest Daughters,

I embrace your creativity, perhaps more than the average parent. You've taken over the kitchen table with your scratch paper and markers, pipe cleaners and stamp pads, glue sticks and stickers.

Fifty percent of the freedom I give you is a conscious effort to not helicopter, to not step in when you can do for yourself, to let you gain confidence in your problem solving abilities, to not give you any preconceived notions or to shape your idea of what something should be.

I won't lie; the other 50% of the reason I don't intervene in your creative endeavors, whether at what we now call the "Art Table" or whether playing "dress up, pack your bags and fly to Hawaii"--is because I'm just not paying attention.

No one's losing an eye. And whatever you mess you make just doesn't bother me THAT much. What's more scraps of paper on the ground? And red hand prints on the white cabinets? Nothing a vacuum and Magic Eraser (tee emm) can't fix!

I don't think my parents let me "get away" with this kind of stuff. With making messes, however creative. I don't remember having any dress-up clothes. (But, Lola did sew some bomb-diggity Halloween costumes in her day. That, I will not deny.)

Your Auntie Ningang KT just told me that she uses you as a little anecdote to others about how you're not overly into Disney Princesses. That is to say, you like them, we watch them, I'm not anti-Disney Princess of anti-frill, but at the end of the day you were Buzz and Jessie for Halloween. You are equally excited about pretending you're a robot ballerina or a pirate princess.

I like your creativity and freedom of expression.

But, sometimes I wonder...

While working on a sewing project the other day, I handed over the scraps to you girls. And this is what you came up with, whilst my sewing machine was whirring away:

Bel made Buzz a pair of undies with a heart sticker on the crotch--a little Magic Mike-esque if I must say--Intergalactic Space Ranger by day and, well, you know, by night. I'm sure it was nothing like that; in your current potty-training reversion, I'm certain you just wanted to hook your buddy up with a little extra however-be-it-stickered, night time protection. You're quite considerate like that. And fancy too.

And in a fitting comparison of personalities, Danjo just horded the fabric I handed to her, threw in some torn paper scraps and made her mini-Buzz a little nest next to the wine rack. It's gonna be a long night.

Love,

Danjo's Honey Badger Party

Dearest Daughters,

Here are a few pictures from Danjo's Honey Badger Party.

Click here to see the Pinterest Board I kept to prepare for the low-key, but aptly-themed party. I didn't do most of the things on there, but it was fun to think about what a viral video, turned nickname, turned party could look like.

As usual, I forgot to take as many pictures as I would have liked, but this will suffice to illustrate how awesome of a time was had by all:

Testing out the jumper before the other honey badgers arrive.

Waiting for the party to start in your home-made honey badger hoodie.

Snake cake made from a slightly sculpted double layer vanilla cake, topped with a small bundt (from a half-filled bundt pan), some pieces cut from extra cake I made, frosted with green and black frosting, with M&M eyes and a red vine tongue.

Goody bags sealed with a home/zazzle-made "Danielle don't care" sticker. Inside the nonchalant paper bag: whoopie cushion, band-aids, hand sanitzer, honey peanut butter, honey nut cheerio cereal bar and a Schleich toy badger.

Honey badger got hops!

Snakey face-painting by Auntie Tammie. Blends in with cake face, too!

Telling your baby cousin, "come bouncy house; I hold her?!"

I love you no matter what, my little honey badger,

Party Planning, Reclaiming Me-Time and Two-Years-Worth of Danjo

Dearest Daughters,

It's been hard to find a minute to myself, let alone a few minutes to write to you this week.

Not only do I have this temp job, but also we're in full party-prep mode.

Not to worry, I'm not going all out and getting crazy like I've done with parties in the past. (See: Danjo's Halloween Open House, Danjo's Garden Party, and Bel's Train Your Dragon Party.)

Food is catered. Location is not my home. Entertainment is bouncy house-d. Decorations are nil. Party end-time is set (versus our usual, seemingly endless family parties.)

Only thing I'm doing is the cake.

Oh, and the honey badger hoodie I made already. And, um, favors, but nothing handmade. I promise.

Me thinks I doth protesteth too much.

Well, fine! I am putting forth some effort. But, let it be known, I'm not cleaning up. I'm leaving that to your Daddy.

Because Auntie Ninang Katherine and I are leaving town right after the party for a mini-seaside-vacation-retreat.

On this side of my life crisis, I truly know what "time for myself" means (not putzing around on the Internet or even writing this blog) and I fully acknowledge that I need that time. Or else I'll go crazy (again).

Day by day, I feel more like myself and that's great. On the other hand, I feel more like myself. Which means more doing and going. Less time for myself. And things are falling by the wayside--things like yoga, meditation and other coping mechanisms that I clung to in the depths of my despair.

Those things served a purpose and carried me through, minute by minute, breath by breath, to the end of the day. A few months ago, I was a meditation convert. I still truly believe that Jon Kabat Zinn's Full Catastrophe Living saved me from believing and succumbing to the very intense thoughts circling like hungry sharks around my mind. But, I can't tell you the last time I sat still or did yoga for thirty minutes.

(I've picked up running for short periods every day to burn excess internal energy and get my natural adrenaline pumping. And to spend time with and dedicated to myself. Now taking bets on how long that will last before I discover the next new thing to "pick up"! Ha!)

Now I can walk calmly through my day, so I don't have to rely on meditation or yoga or other tools as much, but I know that I could still benefit from some quiet time, some focused mindfulness, some time to observe my mind, to accept it, to clear it.

I miss that dedicated me-time. Time that my circumstances demanded. Time that Daddy and Lolopop and Lola demanded and supported. Time that I demanded.

And I'm determined to reclaim that time.

Starting... um, uh, well, now?

Off I go for a short run and a day of knitting while watching Downton Abbey--my most favorite thing to do lately.

While, I'm gone, we (and I mean that royally) can brace ourselves for my baby, Danjo, turning TWO by reminiscing over things I've written about Danjo the past two years. In Danjo-years, that's like, at least, four years' worth of material. Click here to scroll through all-posts Danjo related, even just to see the photos and how much my little booger head has grown!

Love,

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This is where I usually try to pimp out my blog and get you to like Dearest Daughters on Facebook, but I'm not going to do that today. ;)

Danjo's 2nd Birthday Invitation, minus the actual invitiation.

Dearest Daughters,

How awesome is this invite for a honey badger/snake themed party? Ha!

Perfect for Danjo!

Made at paperlesspost.com; they didn't pay me to say or do this. I just like their designs. Period.

Oh, wait. I made it, so there's that.

Also, sorry to say: no, the whole Internet and our DD People are not invited; just the close fam this year. It's nothing personal. It's just that there's not enough Xanax in the world for me to attend, let alone host a party that big!

Love,

 

 

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To continue feeling offended about all our other fabulous parties you're not invited to this year, go like Dearest Daughters on Facebook, where we'll rub how much fun we have on the DAILY in your face. Hearts and rainbows! - Dearest Daughters

(BTW, when you visit our page, hover over the "Like" button and make sure that "Show in Feed" is checked. That is, if you want our cute faces to show up in your feed!)

Sand Circle DIY

Dearest Daughters,

I've wanted a sandbox for a looong time. For you, of course.

Not because I have memories of Great Grandma Gibbs' (well Lolopop's childhood) sandbox. Or because it seems like an awesome way to simultaneously stay in my pajamas AND go to the "playground"/"beach"/"camping".

I've looked for one of those used plastic-turtley-thingy-or-others off and on for the past couple years. But, I couldn't bring myself to buy (even used) a big hunk of plastic that would surely break and end up in a landfill with my fingerprints on it. Also, they just aren't big enough for two growing girls.

I wanted something quality and durable and nice to look at. You know, made of wood or something?

I could build a sandbox, I thought.

Well, I could. With Lolopop's help...

So, then, I'd hop on-line and think, I'll just buy a nice wood one and be done with it. Except, then I'd go back to thinking, I could make that for waaaaaay cheaper. But, then I never would.

Oh and Pinterest was ever the tease.

Source: apartmenttherapy.com via Terry on Pinterest

Source: remodelista.com via Anna on Pinterest

Source: dana-made-it.com via Melissa on Pinterest

 

 

 

 

Source: younghouselove.com via Melissa on Pinterest

 

This weekend my dreams (for you) finally came to fruition. Because of three factors.

1) Having spent an entire week somewhat paralyzed by anxiety, I had a bit of I've-done-nothing-productive-cabin-fever. And, I decided it was fitting to play the part of a real crazy person, by taking on this task in one day.

2) Lolopop, who is a very handy guy and who holds the tools hostage, has had a lot of projects on his Honey-Do list and I got tired of waiting until he was ready to do a project that I could very well do My Own Self.

3) But, doing it My Own Self meant lacking those tools and his nuanced expertise. So, I hit up Pinterest and craigslist with a vengeance. And was inspired by some no-nail solutions, coupled with stumbling upon a nearby arbor company with a massive pile of free wood.

The inspiration:

Source: google.com via Lauren on Pinterest

 

Source: recycledcrafts.craftgossip.com via Lauren on Pinterest

 

Source: apartmenttherapy.com via Lauren on Pinterest

 

And thus, our sandbox, um, sandcircle, was born:

Pile o' free wood, mostly fir. Just took a car-load of smallish and shortish rounds and hoped for the best.

Big thanks to my ever-supportive husband who indulges and muscles my whims.

Honey? I turned the kids into tree rounds. Also: yay for our new big car. I feel so empowered by my ability to transport large objects!

Plotting the course. Didn't do much concrete planning before (other than killing about nine feet of our crabgrass and therefore, having a general idea of size). So, just had to make sure we had enough rounds to go a-round (har har).

Found the center of our dead lawn and made a make-shift measuring tape compass to spray paint a nine-foot diameter circle. Then, got to digging up the dead sod.

Still digging. Whew! If I had to again, I would use Lolopop's roto-tiller first. Or rent a sod cutter? By the end, we had a system down, though. Tanned and toned to boot!

Ta-da! We could have just put the rounds straight on the ground like one of the Pinterest examples. But, digging down gave us a few more inches for sand-digging later on and a way to stabilize the stumps--sinking them a few inches below the dirt on one side and, of course, the sand on the other.

Dun-zo. Daddy-o.

While beadle napped, Unkinan and I laid two perpendicular layers of Weed block and pinned them down around the edges and center with landscape staples. We wanted to make extra-sure sand or your fingers wouldn't get this stuff up so we were enthusiastic with the staples; Unkinan had to make more out of wire coat-hangers. Shoulda done that from jump and saved a few bucks.

Don't underestimate the importance of placement! I let Unkinan handle this one! He was determined to make these rounds fit together like a puzzle, which is a good idea if you want to keep the sand in and the dirt out.

Rounds set on landscape cloth, all snuggled up to each other and the inner edge of our circle. We tucked any sneaky-peeky landscape cloth down and filled over it and into the exterior crevices with dirt.

We did some pi-r-squared math to determine the area of our circle. The hardware store had a handy chart to let you know how many bags you need based on your area and the depth of sand you want. We ended up with 30 bags, that's 1500 pounds of the good stuff: pre-washed (hopefully not too much silica) play sand. "You got a big sand box," the customer pick-up worker noted. Um, yes, sir, we do.

Various sand-pouring, dumping, stabbing and waterfalling strategies.

Yay! Done in a day! Now to figure out the rest of the landscaping!

And after a day away with Lola and Lolopop, the moment we were waiting for: the big reveal!

"Mommy, thanks for the sandbox, but will you build me a bunk bed now?"

Come on over! You know where to find us.

It was a long day, but worth the time and sweat. It was good to be out and about and not freaking out. And to do something productive, spending QT with your daddy too. But, most especially, it was worth it, knowing we've created a space for your childhood memory-making.

Also, there's this: GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY IN THE SANDBOX, uh, SANDCIRCLE!

Love,

P.S. Thank you, thank you, thank you to Lola and Lolopop who watched you girls all day, to Unkinan who lent his muscle, landscape staple-making sklls and stump-arrangin artistry. And to your daddy, who did a lot of the grunt work and is above and beyond supportive of me and my endeavors.

P.P.S. Forgot to break down the materials and costs, which were insignificant, compared to most scenarios of buying AND filling a sandbox.

1. Weed Block - 3 ft x 50 ft - $16

2. Landscape staples (pack of 10) - $3 plus another 10 homemade staples (free) - could've skipped buying these altogether!

3. Twenty Douglas Fir (because that what's they had) rounds, approx. 12-18" diameter each - FREE - holler!

4. Play Sand - I mentioned our calcuations above and we probably only used 26 of the 30 bags to obtain about 5-6" depth. We'll save the trouble of returning the extra bags and keep them for when we need refills in the coming years. I've read about play sand safety controversy and using alternatives like pebbles, but we just went with this stuff. It did have a small warning about containing material known to cause cancer, i.e. silicia, which from what I know is an element of all sand situations. This stuff was pre-washed and easy. And aren't we all going to die of cancer anyway? We might as well enjoy our lives as we live them in the BEST SANDBOX EVER? - $5/bag x 30 bags = $150 - 20% OSH discount = $120.

That is all. Grand total = $139 (plus tax, of course!)

P.P.P.S For now we're covering it with a tarp-bungee cord configuration, but am considering options for a more permanant solution. Any ideas?

If our weekend was sponsored...

Dearest Daughters,

This weekend is brought to us by:

Firstly, all the People, who have been so great. I want to thank the People for their support, thoughts, prayers and reassurances, their anxiety tips and tricks. And for being vulnerable with me.

Turns out 1-in-5 people I know deal with some form of anxiety. Okay, that's not like scienctifically collected data. And I certainly respect everyone's right to privacy (though I don't seem to respect my own), but holy moly! How did I not know that I was surrounded by you people? Us people!?

Seriously. Knowing I have you (anxious and not) People and Xanax in my back pocket has helped me to return to some semblance of normalcy. Or, at least, being able to leave the house for milk. There will be many more milk-runs, visits to doctors and yoga studios and artist retreats and day spas and the ocean. And many more conversations with you and therapists and God and my family.

Whether you've been reading for a year or a day, thanks for being a part of my journey!

This weekend is also brought to you by...

Doing puzzles on your own, at my tigermother insistence.

Some puzzling of my own.

City planning. And smashing, courtesty of Danjo.

Running some traffic scenarios.

Ridiculous roses from our yard. Huge and beautiful and smell so good! Tell them to stop, already.

Goop. Shout out to Borax!

Nervous energy and Pinterest and staying home.

One-day-DIY! Just a sneak-peek, come back tomorrow for more!

Oh and by Xanax and dark chocolate. But, I swallowed those, so I don't have a picture to show you.

Love,

Cardboard Parenting

Dearest Daughters,

I aspire to be a cardboard parent. That's a term I just made up.

By my definition a cardboard parent, literally, is one that gives their child a cardboard box and allows him or her to have his or her way with it.

But, what a cardboard parent really is at his or her essence is a parent who encourages their child, embraces his or her gifts and visions. Allows space for self-expression. For making messes and mistakes and figuring things out. A parent who is there to love and support no matter what, who will bring in the duct tape when asked and glow with pride every step along the way.

I believe all children are born creative. And gifted and naturally imaginative. But, not all children have adults that support and love them unconditionally. There are certainly many factors that determine the kind of adult a child will become, but having fiercely loyal adults in his or her life is probably the most determining.

Behind every awesome person you meet, there has got to be an adult reponsible for that. A cardboard parent maybe?

Last night your Daddy and I watched Being Elmo: A Pupeteer's Journey. Your dad loves loves loves him some Elmo. I liked Elmo as a child, but he started to annoy me as a parent, watching "Elmo's World" morning after morning. I have this self-righteous stance about Elmo "selling out," about the episodic, vee-jayed re-formatting of Sesame Street, about the (I kid you not) dozen or so various forms of Elmo living under our roof, mostly your Dad's collection.

The documentary gave me a new appreciation for Elmo. Not only for this amazingly talented black man's journey from the outskirts of Baltimore to becoming a master, world-renoun puppeteer, a unique story in it's own right, but also because I realized what Elmo represents to people; why kids and (grown adults) love Elmo.

Elmo is "pure love."

Kevin Clash, the pupeeteer, based Elmo on both of his parents, who loved him and supported his interest and many talents (sewing! acting! improv! making an object come to life with nuanced flicks of his wrist!) Kids at school made fun of him. His siblings too. Given that he was Jim Henson's first black puppeteer, I'd say that making puppets and creating characters and putting on shows was and still may not be an ordinary thing for a young black boy to do. But, his parents never batted an eyelash. Not even when Kevin acted on his childhood urge to cut out the fur lining of his father's coat.

That, is carboard parenting.

Then, just this morning, I stumbled across this story. Another example of yes, an amazing individual, but also a parent who supported and provided space for his child to pursue his interests and use his gifts to create a fully functioning arcade out of cardboard boxes. Are you starting to get it?  Cardboard parenting!

Caine's Arcade from Nirvan Mullick on Vimeo.

I doubt these types of parents think much about what they offer their children, when they give them a cardboard box or the lining to their coat. They believe that it's just what parents do. They, as I would, give all credit to their amazing children. And I'm not here to take any of that credit away.

But, I'm given pause to think about how I might have reacted if I found you had destroyed my coat. Or how I might have reacted to find a greatly reduced supply of packaging tape after all that arcade building! About the ways I helicoptor parent, because I want so badly for you girls to suceed. So I meddle sometimes. Or redirect your thoughts and actions into neat little, managable, adult-comprehendable packages.

Or about the times I quickly, but unecessarily tell you "no"; my knee-jerk reactions, my negativity and critical nature.

As a parent, you have to set boundaries and provide limits. It's not always possible to say "yes."

But, too often, in intentional and unintentional ways, we confine our children, we say "no." And for not very good reasons. Like our schdules or our notions of scarcity. Our insecurities. Our fear. Or because we put ourselves, our ideas, our need to control first.

We tend to build boxes, neatly packing our children into them, instead of doing the obvious: handing them the tape and carboard, the fur and feathers, baseballs and bass clefs, dirt and dancing, numbers and letters and love.

Girls, you were created awesome.

Now, go. Git. Build your dreams.

Just don't stab yourself. Or each other. Please.

(Click video above to see my attempts at cardboard parenting over the past few years.)

Love,

Easter Eggsplanations

Dearest Daughters,

We're coming up on probably the most essential Christian holiday. The one where Jesus dies and then is dead for three days, but then comes back again. Yes, that one.

Suffice it to say, I haven't really mentioned much about that part of Easter to you. Not intentionally, but not un-intentionally, either. Huh?

I just haven't really figured out how to talk to a three year old about the specifics of Easter. Mostly, we talk thematically, you know, spring and bunnies and eggs and new life and chocolate and jelly beans and all that joy.

I'll just stick with that until you start asking your own questions. Maybe you will over the next few days.

Tonight we're going to a Maunday Thursday service; this is a celebration of Jesus' and the disciples last supper. Tomorrow, we'll go to a Good Friday service, which for me is the "best" part of Easter. I'm kind of dark like that. I mean, YAY HURRAH and WHATNOT! for Easter Sunday and the Resurrection. But, you can't to the partying unless Jesus dies first.

Good Friday is somber. And reflective. And intense. Like me.

It's when you're overwhelmed with the notion that someone loves you enough to die for you, to sacrifice. Or you get to thinking about how Jesus had a mom who had to let him go. You think about how human Jesus was. And it all becomes especially poignant for me now that I'm your Mommy.

I'm not comparing myself to Jesus, but I will say that for you girls, I feel a love that is so strong, that I am willing to sacrifice for you. Not just mascara and massages to buy your food. Or my favorite blouse to your snot and vomit. Not just my time and energy.  But, I would literally die for you. I would choose your life over mine. Further, you're not allowed to be Jesus. That is a sacrifice I am NOT willing to make.

So. Uh. Morbid. And theologically, I'm a hot mess. So, I guess, for now, we'll stick with the whole bunny that hides eggs thing.

(Eggs decorated with edible color markers. Credit where credit is due.)

Love,

Clean Mush: the five days plus infinity activity

Dearest Daughters,

It's not a brilliantly original idea that I let you play with "clean mush" (toilet paper, soap, borax and water). That's been done a million times over. In other people's homes. And classrooms. On the Internet. Via The Pinterest. Or our favorite art book.

It's not original, but it's certainly polemic.

"I can't believe you let your kids do that!" visitors declare.

"What a mess!"

Etcetera.

I'm not trying to be Susie Homemaker. Apologies, to Susie, if I'm offending her. And I'm not some early art experience guru.

I've said before and I'll say it again: these kind of things keep ME sane. Because the keep my kids BUSY.

This activity in particular, kept one or the other or both of you occupied for twenty to thirty minutes. SEVERAL DAYS IN A ROW!

DAY ONE. We made the stuff. And it was fun to see each of your personalities come out, in the manner you approached the clean mush.

Bel, you were very methodical and hands off. Danjo, you jumped right in. And I ended up moving you to the floor, because I'm being literal when I say that you jumped right in.

DAY TWO: We had sealed the mush back up in a large plastic container. So, on day two, we just potato mashered and wooden spooned and whisked away. Bel was less hesitant by this point and got her hands a little dirty. I was going to just throw the stuff away, but Great Grandma Gibbs was visiting and in her infinite wisdom thought I should keep it a little longer.

DAY THREE: GGG was right and you were both happy to play with the clean mush for another round. This time we squeezed out the mush and made sculptures. Triple G suggested making eggs. We squished and squeezed and then put our treasures in the unheated oven (with the light on) for a couple of days.

DAYS FOUR AND FIVE: were spent checking to see if our sculptures were dry and flipping them over.

Life happened and although Babybel did NOT forget about them for ONE second of ONE day EVER, our sculptures sat for a few days on the counter. We waited somewhat patiently to find a time to decorate them.

TODAY: While Danjo napped, we got to painting.

So, okay. It's not the tidiest thing. Or the most effortless thing. And I let you girls watch copious amounts of television, so compared to that, it is HARD.

But, I read this article recently about how in the United States we have this co=dependency dilemma. That we're not actually raising our children to be independent, even though it's such a dearly held American value. According to the study, American parents, don't make their kids DO things, because it's "just easier" not to make them; to just do it oneself. Kids aren't given respect for their abilities or the opportunity to contribute to the family unit.

And that's not totally related.

But, as I'm sweeping up dried bits of toilet paper mush and cleaning out the dryer lint trap full of toilet paper fuzz balls; when I'm wiping up paint or anxiously waiting for you to put your shoes on EVEN THOUGH WE NEED TO BE THERE IN FIVE MINUTES AND WE'RE SO LATE AND HURRY UP, MARIBEL! When I can't honestly tell you the percentage of waffle that actually made it into Danjo's mouth, because I've let her feed herself (despite the mess on her and the floor) since she was old enough to self-feed. When I can tell you how much sand Danjo ingested because I sat there and watched her do it.

For every moment of frustration and impatience and exasperation at how DIFFICULT it is, there are an exponentially rewarding amount of moments wherein I see (or foresee) not only your independence, but also your ability to contribute to this family, to help others around you and to, ultimately, be a functioning member of general society.

Thanks to clean mush, you girls will not be co-dependent, narcissitic, ego-maniac brats.

Or something like that.

Love,