Enforcement

3 hours.

My 3 year old sat at the table an hour for every year the other night. Just because she wouldn't drink her milk. And because we told her she couldn't leave the table until she did just that.

She cried, she took a bathroom break, she fussed, she tried to play, she desperately worked us for conversation and entertainment. We continued on with our evening - working, cleaning up, putting The Monster to bed (even though she couldn't sleep because she is quite used to her sister in the room), and I even made caramel corn. For 3 hours she sat there. At that point I subbed out the milk with a cold glass. She spilled that one. I cleaned it up and gave her another one. With a nonchalance that belied the battle of wills she simply picked it up and drank it.

Right now you either think we are cruel parents or are filled with admiration for our stick-to-it-ness. Or you think we're dumb. I'm going with all three myself.

A rule is a rule. We don't care if they don't eat all their dinner. As long as they've tried everything on their plate, they can eat as much or as little as they like. But they have to drink their milk. (Very lovely goat milk, I might add.)

As for us parents, our rule is that if we start down a path we don't cave. If the other says something we don't contradict. So even though we had a pile of things to do and actually needed the dining room table, we worked around her. It was exhausting, I'll admit. I'm proud of all of us for sticking to it. And the caramel corn went really nicely with a scotch once it was all over.

(I used this recipe, but subbed the syrup for maple syrup, added pecans instead of peanuts, and crumbled in some cooked bacon with the popcorn.)

And don't tell the kid, but I'm impressed with her. That stubborness will do her well as an adult, if she makes it there.

What are some of your dinnertime rules? What's the longest you've had to go to enforce a rule?

Heartening

Heartening

72'' by 72''

A few weeks ago my sister turned 40! To mark the occasion my sister-in-law and I (she's also a quilter) decided to make her a quilt. Everyone deserves a quilt on such a momentous birthday. This is the result of some late nights filled with cider and crass humour. Oh, and some love too.

It was an easy quilt to put together. We used the Chopsticks method. I love taking a pretty modern design idea but using it with unexpected fabrics. The softer quality to these greens and neutrals would usually be seen on a more traditional quilt. With this design, though, they are totally different. We chose the colours to coordinate with my sister's house.

The quilting was done entirely with a walking foot. Yes, a walking foot made all those curves. They are such gradual curves that you can easily do it without dropping the feed dogs. I really wanted some curves to contrast the sharp lines of the quilt top. And even though I confident with my free motion work, I needed something that I knew wouldn't provide me with a single challenge considering the timing of when I was quilting this. One little tension issue and I would have lost it.

The back was pieced from fabrics I had in my stash. A few yard cuts and some fat quarters. Fabric I bought and loved but still hadn't used. The pops of blue work because a few of the greens on the front have some bluer tones. Besides, all those neutrals were getting to me, I wanted to more colour!

Here is my brother putting on the label. He hates this picture because he says his hands look old. I hate to point it out to him that he is.. ahem, older than my sister. I love it because here are the surgeon's hands sewing. Meticulous and caring, perfect for a surgeon and an older brother.

Just a simple striped binding. It has all the colours of the quilt. It was a lucky find as I was picking up the batting I saw it by the till. I didn't actually have the quilt with me, but I was pretty sure it would work. It was perfect - the right colours but soft enough not to overpower the quilt itself.

We gave it to my sister the weekend we were cutting down a pile of trees at my Mom's house. I couldn't help but snap a photo with some wood. Aside from the trees there is a lot of wood that my Dad gathered over the years. It comes with the territory when you work in construction.

And here is my sister celebrating with her quilt. I hope it is giving her plenty of comfort. I bet she and her son are already spending some good time snuggling.

Happy Birthday Jan!

This quilt is a part of the Bloggers' Quilt Festival.

Yee-Haw

My weekend was a country song. I'm no poet, nor a songwriter, but the events and emotions of the weekend would really make a good country song.

After a stop at a doughnut shop and a ride on the Prairie highway in a 1 ton dually I found out I need surgery. I know that, have known it since I wrecked my knees last year, but the surgeon is finally willing to schedule the first one.

We broke out the chainsaw to remove some trees at my Mom's place. Many have needed to go for years and my Dad was quite hung up on getting it done. So Hubby brought up his chainsaw and the family gathered for a heck of a lot of tree chopping.

My sister turned 40! We celebrated by chopping down trees with a chainsaw. And we gave her the quilt that we worked on in secret (more on that quilt another day).

There is a new baby in the family. A gorgeous, happy little baby boy to cuddle, tease, and laugh with. He is little brother to Hubby's little brother's first son. Cuddling him was about the most perfect thing in the world for me this weekend.

My dog died. Buster aka Bustamonte aka Damn Black Dog never woke up on Saturday morning. The big galoot was happy and playing with the kids on Friday, chillin' at my feet at the end of the night. He was healthy, as far as we knew, and not that old. And Saturday morning he was gone, having died in the night at the foot of the bed where my Dad used to sleep.

We toasted the Damn Black Dog/drowned our sorrows at a bar called The Beer Hunter. 'Nuff said.

Then there was that whole killing the big terrorist thing, but I had nothing to do with that.

Surgeons, chainsaws, births and birthdays, secret US military missions, and a dead dog. Yup, that's a country song for sure.

Routine

When my father-in-law died seven years ago and we used a lot of humor to cope with our grief we would joke that we could say, "My Dad just died," and get what we wanted in any negotiation or to get out of something we didn't want to do. My girls are already picking up on this and when they cry because I won't let them have another Mini Egg they scream, "I'm just sad because Dido died." I can't help but laugh, then still refuse to give them another chocolate. I need to accept their own process of grieving and settling back home, but that includes losing the bad diet of our time away. Besides, Mama needs those Mini Eggs.

My Dad died and we buried him last week. After nearly 2 months of not being at home, of daily trips to the hospital, of more candy that I thought possible, of captured meals, of the chaos of 6 little cousins getting together more than they ever have before, of the comfort of cookie it is time to get back to a routine.

There is a lot to be said for routine and kids.

To be honest, though, I used to scoff at the parenting advice that practically shouted out the value of ROUTINE! for kids. Most kids are resilient and adaptable. Not all, but most. And I certainly didn't want to become a slave to my kids routine. Wake. Eat. Play. Sleep. Repeat.

Right now, though, we're craving routine.

We watch PBS Kids while we eat our bread with butter and honey, as we do every single morning. (Okay, so they did this at my parents' place every morning too.) Now we can stay in our pajamas longer. We can soak in the sun streaming through the windows. We can pet our dogs. We can peek out the front window and spy on the neighbours. We are home.

So long as there is bread, butter, and honey we can eat. We can be boring and routine.