tradition

Once upon a time a mother passed along her holiday cooking traditions to her daughter, and she to her daughter, and so on, and so on ...

I'm sure it still works that way in many, if not most families. Not in mine. Yesterday, Ian learned the fine art of matzoh-ball making from his father. Here they are, in our itty-bitty-city kitchen; Charles is tutoring Ian in the fine art of creating a just-right ball (not too hard, not too fluffy).

When I was Ian's age, I asked my mother to teach me how to make matzoh balls.

"You follow the recipe on the box," she told me. "Just put in enough matzoh meal so they feel right."

"But how will I know when they feel right?" I asked her.

Her answer? "You'll just know."

I have to say, not only did Ian's and Charles' feel right, they tasted pretty right, too. And so, while I may not have been the one to pass on this tradition, at least it's being passed along. 

On the other hand, I lead the seder when it's at my house. So I do pass along traditions, even if they're not of the cooking kind.

just a hat

It's just a hat. A $3.00 hat from the 99 Cent store. And yet, it's become the most coveted object in my home.

In theory, it's Ian's hat. When he wears it, he's Mr. Cool Dude, or "MisterI," as he's named himself (said out loud, it's "Mystery"). 

Clearly, my kid knows how to rock a hat. But everything is fluid in this household, including clothes and accessories. I've been known to borrow Charles' longjohns for winter hiking; Charles takes my scarves and backpacks; Ian steals my moccasins, and Seth ... well, Seth wants whatever belongs to his brother.

When Seth puts on the hat, he's a cowboy. He gallops around the house, yelling "Yee-haw!" (as any good cowboy does), and "Look, Mommy! I'm a cowboy! See my cowboy hat?"

When I ask him "Isn't that Ian's hat?" he replies, "No, Mommy. It's a cowboy hat. I'm a cowboy. It's my hat." (I like the logic there.)

So ... just a hat? No way. In this house, it's a gateway to a world of cowboys and cool dudes. We really should fork over the three bucks and buy a second one, don'tcha think?

whose scarf is it anyway?

I've posted my first pattern ... woo-hoo! It's called the Simplest Seed Stitch Scarf Ever, because it's ... well ... just about the simplest seed stitch scarf ever. It's truly a beginner level scarf, and a beginner level pattern. If you're just learning how to knit, this is the scarf for you.

I designed and knit this scarf for DH last winter, after he managed to lose three different store-bought scarves. I thought if he had a handmade scarf, he'd be more careful with it.

What I didn't count on was my older son's acquisitive nature, and his wile. As we got ready for school one wintry day last year, I noticed him wrapping the scarf around his neck.

"Isn't that Dad's?" I asked him.

"Well, he just left it laying around, so I took it," Ian replied.

"Where was it 'just laying around'?" I asked.

"On top of Dad's jacket," was the answer.

It seems Charles had switched to a warmer jacket and a balaclava that morning, so Ian figured the scarf was up for grabs. But Charles didn't seem to mind, and Ian wore the scarf all winter, so everybody won. Plus, having borrowed it myself, I can be totally honest when I say in my pattern that it looks good on men, women, and children!

ian cooks

Anyone who knows me knows I hate to cook. So maybe it's Ian's survival instinct, or Charles' good influence, but in spite of me, the kid is turning into a chef. The last few days he's been microwaving chicken nuggets (hey, you've got to start somewhere), and cutting up celery for snacks. Ian swears slicing and dicing is easy. And fun.

Okay, I can buy "easy." It's the "fun" part I don't get. I find all that slicing and dicing so unrewarding. I hear that some people find it meditative. And that some get a warm, fuzzy feeling from nourishing their loved ones. I don't. I cook (occasionally), but I don't enjoy it. It just feels like a whole lot of work for something that's gone in a few minutes.

I do like baking, though. I like the smell of baking, the feel of baking, the taste of baked goods. I have baked with Ian since he was small, so maybe I have had a tiny influence on him. But the idea that cutting up celery is "fun"? He sure didn't get that from me.

meet ian

He's artistic. He's creative. He's obviously too young to grow facial hair. So he improvised. The cool blue soul patch? It's a foam letter "U" from one of Seth's puzzles. A few minutes later, it became a pirate earring.

This is classic Ian. The in-your-face pose. The inside-out t-shirt, because details like putting your clothes on correctly are just too mundane for this kid. That's my boy. That's my Ian.

funny kid stories, part III

When I was looking for the picture of Andrea that I took back in college, I came across photo albums from the summer I spent in London and Paris when I was 21 years old. Ian and I spent a fun half-hour looking through them.

One of the last photos in the album is a picture of me sitting in the Parc du Champs de Mars beneath the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. There I am, looking '80s chic in my oversized leather blazer, Ray Bans, and mini-mullet. I know in that picture I've been awake for 48 straight hours, but even make-up free I'm glowing because I'm in Paris, because I'm in love, because I'm 21 years old, for Pete's sake.

Ian wouldn't let me close the book. He stared at that picture for close to five minutes, then finally looked at me and said:

"Wow, Mom, I never would have believed you could be so beautiful."

Thanks, kid. And God will get you for that, Ian.

models like to steal clothes, you know

I finished my first neck warmer, and was thinking about trying to sell it on Etsy, but then I made the mistake of asking Ian to model it for me. "This is really warm, Mom," he declared. "Can I have it?"

The perpetual dilemma. You craft something for a friend, or for yourself, and then your kids see it, and bam! all of a sudden, you find yourself having to make a second one.

So even though I told Ian 'no' last night, I think I'll cave on this one. He does wear it well. Of course, that's a model's job; free clothes are just a side benefit.