Knitted Cupcakes: I could probably manage one or two of these, and I think she’d like them.

Farafel Pasta: I read in a blog recently about crafty moms sniffing at expensive stuff and saying that they could make it for 30 cents. I think i can make this for 17 cents, which is what a sheet of felt costs at my craft store.

2. Babies can climb stairs very quickly.

3. Our green comfy chair completely blocks the bottom of our stairs and makes a nice reading spot.

4. Tulip’s doll house blocks off the top of the stairs nicely now that she has literally ripped the baby gate from the wall by swinging on it.

5. Smiley will find a way around any obstacle to play on the stairs at every opportunity.

6. Nearly four year olds can essentially teach themselves to read (a few simple words, at least).

7. Stop discussing the P-A-R-K. She knows that one.

8. When Smiley says, “Bobby,” he’s trying to say “Bite, please.” Yes, it sounds like the way Jimm-eh Carter would say Bobb-eh, but that doesn’t mean anything.

9. No, there is no way to keep a play room organized.

10. Nope, the rest of the house won’t be clean either.

No, I’m not going to catalog every flower that blooms in my yard (eight!); I have a craft idea.

You need:

• one sheet bright yellow tissue paper
• one sheet pale yellow tissue paper
• one yellow marker
• one pair of safety scissors
• one green pipe cleaner
• white glue
• one pair of pinking shears (optional)

Step 1:

Trace a child’s hand on the pale yellow paper and cut out.

Step2:

Cut out a rectangle of the bright yellow paper and use the pinking shears to cut one long side of the rectangle.

Step 3:

Wrap the rectangle around your finger and pinch one end closed.

Step 4:

Gently open the pinched end, add a few drops of glue, and insert the pipe cleaner. Pinch paper closed.

Step 5:

Wrap the hand print around the yellow tube, arranging it to look as much like a daffodil as possible before adding glue and pinching closed. For larger hands, you might need to fold the base of the palm up before attempting this. I did so with Tulip’s hand print, but we didn’t need to with Smiley’s.

I wish I could take better pictures of it, but this is the best I can manage. I’ve thought that leaves looked like subdivision maps way up close since I was a kid, and with Horton Hears a Who coming out, I’ve been thinking about it again. Tulip doesn’t know what in the world I was talking about when I tried to explain it to her, but I’m still glad we found this leaf.

Daffodils have been my favorite flower since elementary school when my mother let me skip school one day to take me to The Dogwood Arts Festival. She bought me a bunch of bright, cheery daffodils wrapped in green tissue paper, and I’ve never looked back. What could be better than a flower that heralds spring, especially if it catches every ray of sunshine in its center trumpet on that first spring day when you finally find it poking out of the still-cold ground? (Good grief. I’m embarrassed by that sentence. I’m far too cynical to write such steaming heaps of crap. I swear, I only get this way about daffodils and sleeping babies. Honest.)

The daffodil provided an excellent opportunity to discuss our family topic of the week–favorite colors. Thanks I can only assume to the princessed-out girls at ballet class, Tulip has decided that there are “girl colors” and “boy colors.” According to her, her best liitle guy friend couldn’t even have any of her chocolate-covered sunflower seeds because they were pastel colors, which are clearly intended only for girls. So sorry. Maybe they’ll have boy candy next time.

Since my husband and I are decidedly not in favor of such sexist ideas, it was a shock to hear it coming out of our child’s mouth. We’ve taken every opportunity lately to identify different people’s favorite colors and make cross-gender pairs so she can absorb the lesson all by herself. Daddy’s is green, and so is Isabel’s! Ella’s is purple, and so is Pops’! Tulip’s is pink, and so is Zac’s! She’s smart; she knows where her mommy is going with that topic.

We do attend plenty of activities, don’t get me wrong. Tulip, Smiley, and I attend Tulip’s dance/gymnastics class on Mondays, a creative movement class on Tuesdays, either a playgroup or library story hour on Wednesdays, and a kindermusic-like class on Fridays. To hear some people discuss it, you’d think this was some new form of child abuse. When do those poor children have time to just play, they ask.

Let’s do the math. Dance class: 1 hour. Creative movement: 45 minutes. Library story time plus library puttering time: 1 hour or playgroup: 2 hours. Music class plus free play time: 1 1/2 hours. Grand total: 5 hours, 15 minutes per week on playgroup weeks, 4 hours 15 minutes on story time weeks.

Now let’s think about the hours we have during the week while their dad is working since that is the bulk of their waking time during the week. Yes, Tulip gets up at 7 and eats breakfast and plays with Daddy for a bit, but Smiley and I sleep until 8, so I won’t count that as play time. Here’s what I’ll count: 8-5 with a half hour lunch break spent together. 42.5 hours. Subtract 5.25 or 4.25 and there’s still plenty of play time in our over-scheduled week. I don’t think they’ll grow up not knowing how to climb a tree or make mud pies.

This post has been building for a bit, but the last straw was Tulip’s creative movement teacher, who knows that she also takes the ballet/tap/gymnastics class along with one other girl in the creative movement class and who is on the email list for our rather large playgroup. He responded to a comment about Tulip and her friend having played together the day before with the standard, “Oh, I’m so glad they get a chance to just play. So many kids are (wait for it) over scheduled.” I wanted to ask him how exactly he thought the class he had just taught figured in to that problem, but instead I just pointed out that we have an activity most days and still find the time to play both as a family and with friends. He was embarrassed, and I’m sorry for that, but shame on him. I guess I’m just dreading tomorrow’s class, so I’m writing about how much he irritated me so I won’t be hateful to him in person.

We’ve been taking his class for six months or so, and he ought to know I’m not there to make my kids’ lives harder. Tulip is giddy at the prospect of Mr. M’s class where she gets to hang like a cat, crawl like a lizard, and run like a wild child. Smiley’s too young to participate much, but he enjoys playing on the mats before and after class and watching the big kids during class.

I’m the first to admit that one of the reasons we have so many activities is because I need the break. It’s nice to plop down during story time at the library and know that Tulip is engaged and absorbing new things while I get to just sit on my behind and cuddle Smiley. Yes, I’m there for their (mostly her at this point) benefit, but I’m also there so that my little sponge girl will be soaking up what some other adult has to offer for a half hour or so. She can be a bit draining no matter how much I love her.

I firmly believe that there’s nothing wrong or unnatural in my feeling the need for this break. I live in a nuclear family, which is a very unnatural way for a family with small children to live. I see my siblings several times a month, and they do help out with my kids, and we see the grandparents monthly as well, but for most of human history, living in extended family groups every day was the norm. I find being alone with my kids day-in and day-out exhausting, so I get out and create the modern day approximation of an extended family. Miss D at the library? Another grandmotherly figure, and to be honest, one we see a good bit more of than my own mother. The kids in our playgroup? The cousins Tulip and Smiley don’t see because they all live an 8 or more hour drive away. Their moms and dads? Like aunts and uncles.

Not enough sour cream? No problem. Replace half of the missing amount with whipping cream and half with juice squeezed from the orange used for zest. Not enough dried cranberries? No problem. Replace half of the missing cranberries with dried cherries. Not enough flour? No problem. Replace half with the hubby’s bread flour. Feeling adventurous? Chop up those four kumquats you bought to expose your kid to something new and toss them into the mix. What’s one more alteration in an already mixed up recipe?
What’s the worst thing that could happen? No one will eat them? So what? You gave it your best, last minute try, right?

I’m here to tell you that that is actually not the worst thing that can happen. The very worst thing that can happen when you mix and match a recipe without really measuring much because you’re a super-star recipe maverick is that everyone will love it. It will be the best ever. Multiple grandmothers will pull you aside and ask for the recipe. Your favorite brother-in-law, the one who is a good cook, will love it. Your sister will talk about it days later with longing.

Why is this so bad? Because you’ll never make it exactly that way again. You didn’t really measure much of anything. Shame on you.

Here is my best approximation of my best ever scones:

New-and-improved Orange Cranberry Scone Recipe:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour (half all purpose, half bread flour)
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 8 tablespoons unsalted butter, frozen
• 1/4 cup dried cranberries
• 1/4 cup dried cherries, chopped
• 4 chopped kumquats
• 1/4 cup sour cream
• 1/8 cup whipping cream
• 1/8 cup fresh squeezed oj
• 1 tbsp orange zest
• 1 large egg

Directions:

1. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position and preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. In a medium bowl, mix flour, 1/3 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Grate butter into flour mixture on the large holes of a box grater; use your fingers to work in butter and zest (mixture should resemble coarse meal), then stir in raisins.
3. In a small bowl, whisk sour cream, cream, oj and egg until smooth.
4. Using a fork, stir sour cream mixture into flour mixture until large dough clumps form. Use your hands to press the dough against the bowl into a ball. (The dough will be sticky in places, and there may not seem to be enough liquid at first, but as you press, the dough will come together.)
5. Place on a lightly floured surface and pat into a 7- to 8-inch circle about 3/4-inch thick. Sprinkle with remaining 1 tsp. of sugar. Use a sharp knife to cut into 8 triangles; place on a cookie sheet (preferably lined with parchment paper), about 1 inch apart. Bake until golden, about 15 to 17 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes and serve warm or at room temperature.