Winter's Not All Bad

The perfect sledding hill lies just beyond our backyard, overlooking the old farm. (We miss you, Johnny and Noah!)














The best part of the day occurred when Millie stripped off her snow gear only to remember the EGG SHE HAD IN HER POCKET THE ENTIRE TIME. She'd checked on the chickens before sledding, and through all the bumps, bruises, and spills, the egg stayed firm. That's some egg!

All A'Jumble

Here are oddball snapshots I need to place somewhere. Enjoy my I-just-had-a-baby plumpness, but enjoy the sweet baby even more.

The day before Luci was born, I finally took a picture of myself. I think the picture may have induced labor, and I now plan to schedule future births through the use of timely self-portraits.


One day after birth, John doted on his fifth daughter. He is a blessed man.



Two days after birth, I was bursting with manic energy (which, sadly, failed me the next day) and decided to make butter from excess cream (from free raw milk, which, sadly, our neighbor now uses to fatten sows instead of neighbors).

Luci did not like making butter.


I did like making a mess.



We all slept in the living room for her first week because it was so cold upstairs, and the girls turned the futon mattress into a pirate's cove. (Yes, pirates love to eat carrots.) (The sign is one of many that the girls taped around the house to welcome Lucinda home.)


While I'm talking about good daughters, here's a picture of my good daughter Mildred's handiwork. John allowed her to make me some chocolates before he came to fetch us from the hospital. (If you can believe it, they were even tastier than Sugar Delight.) She created them from coconut, chocolate chips, vanilla, powdered sugar, and other things I can't remember. I couldn't stop eating them, even though they were richer than Kubla Khan.


Back to the baby. A week or so after birth, she was my polka dot pixie.


A couple of months after birth, Millie's baby tries to teach mine the art of peaceful rest. The lesson, unfortunately, did not produce the hoped-for results.


At three months old, her eyes are still wide, her skin is still pale, her ears still stick out, and she still flails about uncontrollably, but people begin to stop seeing anyone but John in her. WHY IS THIS?!


















Now she's six months old. In the last two weeks, I've had at least half a dozen people comment on how much she looks like John. Not one person saw my likeness.

Sigh. I have to believe the masses.
John wins again.

***I even purposely riddled this post with pictures of her looking spastic, which favors me, right?

But Surely She's Mine!

Gift Wrap

The egg dyeing




The Celebration breakfast




The basket hunting and finding









Rejoice in the Gift.

Finery

You wanted to see Christmas dresses with girls inside them?

I live to oblige.


Because Millie's dress from Grandma O. came with a matching doll dress, I made the two doll dresses on the right, and, uh, they weren't finished until after Christmas. Killjoy.



It's okay. They didn't seem to mind.


Well, maybe just a smidge...


Millie looks much too old for comfort here.


And also here, but only because she's borrowing my glasses to match Gracie.



Ah, that's more like it, my sweet.

It's Nearly Here Again

Just to show the seasons that passed, here are two Christmas pictures.



To think He came as a baby.

One Day in May

...May Day, to be exact.





Annika delivered hers to my brother's family, none of whom were home at the time.



For the next victim, we stopped the car up the road from my parent's house, and I left the other girls in the van while Susannah and I crept past my mother working in the flowerbeds...


in order to leave some flowers on her steps.



Alas, there is no picture of Millie, the Sneakiest of all, because she delivered her basket to my great-aunt Mae, who lives on a hill, and for whose delivery Millie resorted to slipping through some pine trees.

Mother Bird

These pictures are nothing special, but she is.

Gone but Not Forgotten

I groan to think of all the recipes waiting in line at buildabelly's door. Dozens and dozens stand in a row, some of which I've now forgotten how I made, and some of which Mildred is responsible for.

I'm sorry. Perhaps someday, we'll return in force to build all of your bellies.

I Like Leftovers

They're bad-quality pictures of top-notch ingredients.



(Susannah's such a girl. She unconsciously stood like this, unaware of my camera...)












Because I was too busy to find the kites, a bad picture and a great time can result from garbage bags, yarn, and a gusty hilltop home.