These smallish folk over at Kiddley not only make fetching ornaments, they are perfecto for place setting cards as well.
Of course, it does help if you remember to actually place them on the table before the grand holiday meal, and not gasp at the omission when you are in the shower and the guests have departed. Next year, maybe?
Rob's post reminded me of one of my favorite bits of Narnia:
"Is--is he a man?" asked Lucy.
"Aslan a man!" said Mr. Beaver sternly. "Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. Don't you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion--the Lion, the great Lion."
"Ooh," said Susan, "I thought he was a man. Is he--quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."
"That you will, dearie, and make no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver; "if there's anyone who can appear before Alsan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the king, I tell you."
So Friday night my buddy Karen and I spent three and a half fun-filled hours taping off church walls to be painted, while our children impersonated banshees in the gym.
Saturday morning I hosted a mom/tots group in our home, where we crafted faux gingerbread houses.
Somewhere along the way, Elle developed a fondness for frosting:
Then Saturday night Karen and I headed back to church. We painted wall lettering and coffee cup decals, and glazed a crimson wall with cheesecloth from 7pm till about 3am. Our fuel was Clay Aiken and an 80's remix, home-cooked Indian curry, butter cookies, and a ton of girl talk and laughter.
It was, to be honest, a smashingly good time.
And as we cleaned up at a quarter till three, we agreed we should do this more often. We'll just show up, paint random rooms in the church, giggle through the night.
The brilliant thing about volunteer labor is that it's awfully hard to get fired.
...except without the hat. And the horse. And the whole British thing.
Okay, are you ready? Here goes:
The parents are coming! The parents are coming!
I now officially have less than a week before my folks (and little brother, who has long been taller than I am but is stuck with the name little brother) arrive into the blessed frigidness of the midwest.
I'm in a bit of a flurry, which is a nice way of saying panic. Actually, the flurry began two weeks ago, because it turns out that when you only have three weeks' notice that the parents are coming, panic ensues.
So I'm pretty much at the point where I just have to let some projects go till next year, and be okay with the house being not all the way organized.
And yes, the whole point of this post is to prepare my mother for a not-so-spotless house. It's working pretty well so far, I'd say.
Addendum: Okay, so my dad pointed out in an email that I'm the one who wanted them to come in the first place. Which is one-hundred-percent true, but this does nothing for my headless-chickenness as I prepare for their arrival.
I think a trial period should come as a standard feature with...well, just about everything. Houses. Slippers. Bathing suits. And names, especially.
Although slippers are generally inexpensive enough that you can just pick up another pair when you're out buying milk. And bathing suits can be exchanged, except that if you're anything like me, you'll bring the new one on home and find that, hey, it's just as hideous as its predecessor. If not more so.
Houses, well, houses are a little bit sticky. You can't get in or out of them without a bunch of paperwork and even more money. Still, it can be done.
And then there are names.
Names are pretty much permanent. You have to die to get out of them. Don't like baby Bartholomew's name six months later? Too bad. (Okay, so technically you could get a name change, but quit ruining my argument. This is my blog.) Dislike the name of your blog/url? Tough.
And this is why we're here.
When you first start to blog, you're so overwhelmed with shaping thoughts into keystrokes and pushing it all out there, into the big bad scary public for all to read. The name is a best-thing-I-could-conjure-up-on-the-spot sort of thing, an afterthought, if you will.
Sometimes it fits.
Most times it doesn't. I just wasn't feeling the last one. But I've had time to mull things over, and hopefully this one'll stick.