Yuletide Arts & Crafts

My father, a man of mathematics, science and logic, who spent the better part of 47 years working in a laboratory testing soil samples and rocks, is not what one would call artistic. In fact, when asked about the aesthetic quality of an item, he's more likely to respond with, "Well, does it make sense and is it useful?" Therefore, it doesn't stand to reason that he would be the parent I would turn to for help with arts and crafts projects. My mother, after all, taught me to sew, knit, embroider, and artfully dollop meringue onto a perfectly baked lemon pie.

However, there are times when a man of precision is just the right person for a craft project. No, I wouldn't dream of asking him to offer advice on whether or not two plaids complement each other or if I should select cream in lieu of ecru. But he comes in awfully handy whenever power tools are in order, or if I need someone to sit down with a paper cutter and meticulously measure and trim cardstock to exact dimensions.

And so when, earlier this year, my dad and brothers cut down my mother's beloved aging birch tree in the front yard – the one she transplanted from her parents' woods – I scrambled to grab manageable-sized branches and small limbs, knowing I'd be putting my dad to work closer to Christmastime.

My plan? I would create my very own Yule log for the Christmas table.

"I need you to drill large holes in a birch branch," I informed him. "And you'll need a saw, too," I added. I explained my vision and he tested me on such things as, "Okay, how are you going to make sure this log sits level and doesn't roll? Have you considered the dripping wax? Are all taper candles of uniform circumference?" Very important questions to consider, indeed!

Before commencing, he carefully measured the spacing of the three holes, announcing they were equidistant from each other and straight as an arrow. (I wasn't worried.) Then he engaged me in a lengthy conversation about the depth of the holes, and how much of the log we should shave off each end.

I stood by him in the garage as he bored candle holes in my soon-to-be Yule log and then tidied up the ends of the log. As sawdust flew, the smell of the wooden shavings reminded me of my childhood and all the home projects he completed, his table saw whirring away as his spot-on measurements were cut and trimmed.

The log prepped and ready, the next stage was decorating. I don't know that my mom has ever used a glue gun. I got those mad skills from my dad, too. Some winter berries and greenery pieces found themselves artfully arranged on the top of the log amid white and red candles. Next, I implemented his advice about using small tacks on the bottom of the log to keep the temperamental log from rolling, flaming candles and all.

Violà! A centerpiece fit for the prettiest of Christmas tables. Happy Yuletide!

Shoe Shopping and Latte Sipping with the Lil' Sis: A Scrumptious Pairing!

Although there are thirteen and one-third years between us, as well as six siblings including another sister, my littlest sister (aka "The Baby") and I gravitate toward one another from time to time. This is probably due to the fact that, when she was little, I was always on hand to take her roller skating, shopping and to movies. Truth be told, she was in kindergarten when my future husband and I met in college, and therefore many of our first dates involved taking her to G-rated movies and other age-appropriate activities. We eventually stopped correcting people when they told us we made a beautiful family. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

But, having traded all of her baby teeth now for perfectly white and orthodontically straightened adult ones, she is in college and is no longer looking for a big sister to deposit her at a play date or supervise her at the swimming pool. Gone is the necessity to "look out for her," however, the instinct is pretty firmly imbedded in my subconscious (thanks to my mother). It's an interesting dichotomy -- she's not my daughter, however she's a half generation too young to really feel like my sister.

I lost track of when, exactly, her feet reached my size 11 in length. It was somewhere around her high school years, I imagine, because I remember slipping into a pair of her chunky, stacked Mary Janes and wondering if you had to be a teenager to pull them off, or if people at the office might find them as cute and creative-looking as I did.

For the first time in my life, I had a sister with whom I could share clothing, even if it only meant shoes. This was going to be nice! It was also around this time that I learned that she too had subverted my mom's abhorrence of all things tasting of coffee, and did indeed enjoy a good latte herself.

And so, we find ourselves standing on common ground (in our size 11s). My free hand stays toasty, wrapped around a large almond latte, as I stroll next to her amid the tables of shoes in the department store. She is enjoying a medium vanilla latte. We pick up shoes, inspecting and price checking, visualizing outfits that would be completed by a quiet yet classic pair of black strappy heels or spruced up with a coquettish pair of dark red patent pumps. We try on boots. We swap boxes. She holds my coffee as I slip on a pair of darling peacock-colored satin heels. I grumble that, although the color is sublime, alas, I have nothing they would go with. “Who cares!” she enthuses. “Sometimes you just have to buy the clothes so you can wear the shoes.”

We spend the afternoon slipping on boots, pumps, flats and fancy heels, finishing our lattes and pausing to wonder if the day is worthy of another java stop. I walk out of the final store with two sensible pairs that I know will wear well with my work wardrobe, and she walks out with a few pair that I’m secretly excited to borrow.

Life marches on and relationships change, grow, and expand. And with each passing year, I am amazed to find shared interests with some of my brothers and sisters I never could have predicted. It’s important to take advantage of these moments with siblings. These are the people with whom we share not only genes, but our history, our memories, our family traditions, and our looks. And in my case, shoe size!

Gingerbread Houses!

 
One Christmas tradition my kids eagerly await each year is the day my husband and I sit down at the kitchen table with them to build gingerbread houses. They each, of course, have to build their very own. So we set aside a weekend afternoon to put our baked good architectural skills to work. These whimsical little houses are utterly cheerful and remind me of a winter CandyLand. What’s not to love about creating a gumdrop path or licorice windows? Plus, this activity allows the kids’ imaginations to run wild. One year, they put a blue rolled fruit snack to use to create a “pond” outside their gingerbread homes.

In many things, I feel taking the easy way out is cheating. However, I’ve agreed to purchase gingerbread house kits in lieu of actually baking the gingerbread myself and then cutting it into cottage-friendly pieces. Perhaps if one of my engineer brothers were to assist with this endeavor, it might be worth the hassle, but I’m perfectly happy to leave the mathematics and measurements of gingerbread walls up to the experts.

The tricky part of this project is that it demands a small amount of patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and as we found out last year, neither are gingerbread houses. My kids are always ecstatic when I mix up the icing and their dad lays out the gingerbread pieces, but once we start erecting these little houses, my kids believe the icing should dry immediately, locking the walls, roofs and chimneys firmly in place. It can take a few hours for the icing to harden, and to decorate the houses before the walls are held fast would be to sentence the poor gingerbread house to a condemned state. (Some years, an overnight wait is necessary when roof pieces slip or walls teeter. But well worth the wait, I assure you!

So, with the iced walls of the houses held firmly in place by soup cans, we set them aside and wait. And wait. And drink some hot chocolate. And wait some more.

Long about the time the kids have given up all hope of placing peppermint swirls on roof peaks and positioning Dum-Dum sucker trees around the house, I announce the houses are ready for decorating. Let the madness begin! My daughter hits Play on the Christmas classics CD and Bing Crosby starts crooning about a white Christmas. Family holiday fun time doesn’t get much better than this.

My husband, although an enthusiastic participant, is not what you would call artistic or crafty. However, he can follow a diagram with the best of them. So, with the kit box planted in front of him, he instructs our son on the placement of hard candies as he spreads white icing over the “snow-covered” roof. I take charge of squeezing the icing out of the pastry bag to create snow peaks and drifts, doors and windows.

My daughter – the rule follower – carefully picks out a green, a red and a purple gumdrop (the order shown on the box) to adorn the window. My son, on the other hand, announces that he’d rather use Sixlets left over from Halloween to line the roof. This causes a slight fracas, followed by a discussion about creativity and the box design being merely a suggestion. With the green light to deviate from the plan, the kids search the baking cupboard for jimmies, sprinkles, coconut and anything else that lends itself well to gingerbread house decorating.

After finishing our little candy homes, the kids are thrilled. They feel not only a sense of accomplishment, but that they are productive participants in our yearly Christmas decorating. We set the gingerbread houses atop a snow white blanket of fake snow and savor the faint smell of gingerbread emanating from the china hutch.

And that’s a day’s worth of fun for less than $10.

The First Snowfall: Winter's Official Arrival

Yes, I realize that technically speaking winter doesn't descend upon us until December 22nd. But I've never been one to pin this season to a certain date. In Minnesota, winter plays by its own set of rules and is controlled only by its own whims, not an orderly old calendar. In essence, winter comes when winter wants to come, and you can usually bet that pre-dates the end of December.

Whether you're 5 or 35, there's a certain magic that floats down with the first snowfall. As a child, the very first sign of a snowflake's flutter had us all running to unearth hats, mittens and snowpants that had been stored away sometime in March. Or April, during particularly infuriating Minnesota winters. I would imagine my mother heaved a heavy sigh of "Here we go again" pondering the wet floors and soppy mittens that would soon be a constant in her entryway. But even she anticipated the clean, white snow that would soon cover the ground in a crystalline blanket of lovely winter splendor.

All those years ago, we scooped together bits of that first snowfall and packed snowballs to hurl at one another, happy that a new season had commenced. It heralded the return of sledding and snow forts. It ushered in the months of hot chocolate and the smell of my mother's seasonal baking. It announced Christmas was nigh (even if those first flakes fell in October).

We received nearly two inches of pristine, white snow on Saturday. I dug out mittens and hats, boots and scarves. My kids bundled up and played outside until their cheeks were rosy and their eyelashes were wet and their socks were in need of a warm radiator. "Mommy!" announced my daughter stomping off her snow-covered boots in the entryway. "Winter is HERE!"

Sliding two snowmen mugs onto the table, each filled with hot chocolate and topped with extra marshmallows, I looked at her and winked, remembering my own youthful exuberance over the first snowfall. "You're exactly right, my dear. Winter starts today."

Happy Halloween, M'lady!

When I was young, television and movies portrayed kids trick-or-treating in what I now assume was California. They scurried about in their skin-baring, colorful costumes on bone-dry streets, no coats or mittens hampering their candy-collecting endeavors.

This wasn't really the case for us Minnesota kids. The most elaborate of costumes were usually hidden under puffy parkas or, on a few occasions, full-fledged snowsuits. In fact, the smartest of mothers would actually incorporate winter gear into their kids' homemade costumes. I recall rain, sleet and snow on several occasions, and every once in a very great while, we would have a nice evening, requiring only a light jacket under one's costume.

Therefore, it would seem futile to put a Herculean effort into producing a spectacular, show-stopping costume. However, since sewing my daughter's costume for her dance number to an Annie song when she was three, she has expected me to break out the sewing machine for her Halloween costumes. This was a breeze the year she dressed up as an orphan and then when she convinced me to sew Dorothy's blue and white gingham dress from The Wizard of Oz. But this year, she chose her yearly Halloween costume on our annual trip to the Renaissance Festival. She informed me that I would need to sew a Renaissance princess dress. Oh boy. The upside to this plan? She'd be able to wear it to next year's Renaissance Festival if I made it a skosh larger than necessary.

Now, to be fair, I've never sewn a costume for my son. But he's far happier donning a Star Wars outfit or shimmying into a Power Rangers costume, so I focus my efforts on my daughter's costumes. My first year in college, I worked in the university's theater costume shop sewing Hawaiian shirts for their rendition of South Pacific, fairytale frocks for Into the Woods, and (thankfully now), Elizabethan gowns for Shakespeare's Richard III. I never thought I'd put those skills back into use, but here we are!

Perusing the aisles of the fabric store, we happened upon a brocade woven into a luxurious gold, pale aqua and coral pink tapestry. My daughter's eyes grew wide as she ran her hand across the fabric. It was much more opulent than I would normally be prepared to pay for, but this mom had a 50% off coupon!

It occurred to me a number of times while toiling away at my sewing machine that this costume I was lovingly crafting would be hidden under a large purple coat. But, my daughter awoke each morning and ran downstairs to inspect the progress I'd made the night before on her dress, so I assured myself it was a labor of love.

I finished the gown just in time for Halloween, despite an unplanned round of pneumonia for me – true love, to be sure, to continue basting and hemming while coughing and sneezing. But she was so proud when I finally zipped her up, and the smile on her face as she gracefully lifted her skirts and descended the stairway made it completely and totally worth it.

And, as if the fates knew of my effort, we had an unusually mild Halloween evening. My little Renaissance princess darted from house to house, collecting her candy with her Storm Trooper brother, her costume on full display.

And to think, twenty years earlier, I trudged through the record-breaking 20+ inches of snow with my younger siblings during the great Halloween Blizzard of 1991, my little sister's Snow White gown that I'd sewn stuffed into snowpants and covered with a parka.

I hope you all had a wonderful Halloween! Now on to Thanksgiving!

The Last Hurrah

The brilliance has waned from the tree canopies and the vast majority of the leaves have drifted into heaping, crunchy piles on the lawns, sidewalks and streets. Nighttime falls sooner these days, and the evenings reveal each puff of breath, leading the kids to forage for their mittens in the winter accessory basket.

But, clinging onto this majestic season until the last leaf has forfeited hold onto its branch, I'm intent on soaking up the last autumnal traditions. So when a family from the school my children attend opened their home in the country for a fall festival, I was downright mirthful.

It was a beautiful fall day – crisp, autumn air and sunny. This celebration involved not only a hayride through the woods, a scrumptious potluck and a mountain of leaves for the kids to tumble around in, but also old fashioned cider pressing. This was a first for our family, but a fun new tradition, to be sure!

Two large bins heaped full of Red Baron apples awaited. Old apple cider presses stood at the ready. How would these work, exactly? Would the kids be interested in this? The operation looked suspiciously like hard work. Hmmm.

My husband, the brave one who is always up for trying something new, stepped right up to the hand crank. Apples were poured into the hopper at the top of the apparatus and soon the fun began. As he cranked, the apples were ground up into a pulp-like consistency which fell below to a small, wooden, barrel-looking tub. It looked like a fun way to expel any aggression, grinding away and mashing up those apples, and so the kids soon wanted in on this lark.

Once the tub was full, a cover was placed at the top, which was then screwed down, pressing the apple pulp and squeezing out the juice into a catch pan. Fresh apple cider! Voilà!

The kids were mesmerized. Surely, apple cider comes from the grocery store! What’s all this business, they asked. These discussions always lead into a conversation about “back in the olden days” and whether that timeframe was during my childhood or their grandparents’. I fear what they would think of my age if I ever took them to grind flour or hollow out a canoe from a log.

Taking breaks from the apple press, the kids clambered onto the tire swing, rolled in the leaves, and explored the wooded ravine behind the house. Parents continued with the apple pressing, laughing and chatting over hot, mulled cider.

After supper, as evening fell, the kids snuggled into our laps amid the hay bales arranged on the wagon hitched behind the tractor that pulled us through the harvested cornfields and snaked us through the woods.

We wrapped up the night around the bonfire, discussing the many gallons of apple cider we produced earlier that afternoon, and how this would certainly make for a special treat for Thanksgiving.

Yes, the grocery store still sells apple cider, and yes, it’s a lot less work to buy a gallon. But I’ve always been drawn to the old fashioned way of doing things, whether it’s canning jars upon jars of jams and sauces or hand-dipping candles. It’s a bit of history. It hearkens back to a slower, less-hectic time, and affords me a new appreciation for my forefathers and –mothers. And many times, these old ways of doing things bring people together – just as they did years ago.

Amid the cool weather and last breath of fall colors, this was the best cider I’ve ever tasted in my life. I can’t wait for this day next year. A perfect ending to a perfect fall.

A Bag of Apples and a Dash of Courage

Soooo… sometimes I'm reminded that the smaller, less momentous occasions in life need to be celebrated in their own small ways. Take, for example, this past weekend's little to-do our family experienced.

The kids and I awoke to a perfect, sunny, 60° fall day. My husband had already left to run a community football program, so we agreed to meet him for lunch at the apple orchard. Haralsons are in season and the kids were eager to have another go at apple picking.

Ten minutes into our visit to the apple lodge, my daughter left my side at the maple syrup and candy shelves, where I was crouched next to her little brother, to take a peek at the caramel apples. Except that's not where she went. Enticed by the apple sample table, she decided a nice slice of an Empire was in order. I hadn't yet noticed that she had left my side when she rushed up to me, in a panic, clutching her finger. She certainly sliced something – but it wasn't the Empire.

A family fun day trip to the apple orchard shouldn't be capped off with a frenzied drive to the ER. But, life being unpredictable and all, that's exactly where the four of us sat. This was my daughter's first foray into the realm of stitches, and she wanted mom to sit right next to her on the gurney in the exam room. Now, historically, these things make me awfully woozy. But, since it wouldn't do to have both of us crying and cringing, I had no choice but to toughen up a bit.

I don't particularly relish having to physically restrain my kids when they're hurt and scared, but luckily for me, the promise of a new Barbie doll if she was brave and stopped crying did the trick, and she settled down enough for the doctor to proceed with the Novocain. Hey, bribery is certainly not beneath me in these instances, and I do believe anyone who endures having the side of his or her finger sewn back on surely deserves a shiny new toy.

When the ordeal was over, the nurse enthused that she now had "kitty whiskers" in her finger, just like her beloved orange tabby at home. She smiled a bit through her tear-pooled eyes. Once bandaged up, she was eager to stop at the store for her new Barbie. This, of course, had my five-year-old informing me that, "It's not fair! Why should she get a toy? Can't I get one too?" Dad informed him he could absolutely get a new toy – all he had to do was first get a couple shots and then some stitches. Apparently he didn't want Legos quite that badly.

These moments are tough for parents, and make your heart ache for your child. I hate needles and I hate getting stitches even more, but I would have volunteered without a thought if I could have taken her place. But they're important life lessons for kids, too. She made it through her first laceration, and proved to be a brave little girl.

On the drive home, she perked up a bit. "Mommy," she asked, "do you think we could go back to the apple orchard and pick some apples?" Absolutely! A half an hour later, perched atop dad's shoulders, she was reaching for great big red Haralsons high on the boughs.

Among the big things in life – birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, etc. – there are the everyday moments that help shape us and teach us new things about ourselves. Going through a scary and painful "first" and coming out of it brave enough to head back and finish the day – now that's a little life lesson worth celebrating.

Apple Picking!

If you hadn't noticed, apple harvest time is here!

I'm pretty finicky when it comes to apples and their many varieties. I get that from my mother, who got if from her mother before her. I would imagine even my great-grandmother had a propensity toward carefully selecting a half peck of Jonathans, Haralsons or Wealthys for use in apple pie baking, saving the softer Cortlands and McIntosh for the countless quarts of applesauce she surely canned. Truth be told, I was into my college years before a good friend and classmate clued me in that the world would not, in fact, stop spinning should you opt to cut up a bag of Red Delicious apples for pies. Gasp! Surely no one told her those are better left for eating out of hand!

And so it is that every fall my husband and I make our way to the very same apple orchard we've visited for going on our seventeenth harvest season together to bounce along in the wagon ride which pulls us back to the farther corners of the apple orchard where we pick bags full of ripe, deliciously aromatic apples to take home, wash, and cut up for the season's run of pies, crisps, cobblers, strudels, sauces and cakes. No, this isn't the only time of the year that I utilize apples in my kitchen, but it's the best time!

While my son still frowns at eating fruits of any and all varieties, my daughter loves apples. The girl makes this mom proud with the efficiency with which she bites and nibbles neatly down to the core. She's partial to Fuji and Braeburn, but has been known to bite into a tart Granny Smith when that's all that's left in the crisper basket in the fridge. Since her first apple picking experience at the age of five months, our annual fall trip to the apple orchard has been an autumn activity she eagerly looks forward to with fervent anticipation of being perched atop dad's shoulders to reach the good ones. As she is now at the age of seven, she's had to give up her spot to her little brother. This means I will be called upon to hoist her up from time to time to pluck a perfect pomme from the overloaded bough.

After a thoroughly enjoyable time in the petting zoo, we decide it's time to get to pickin'. "Mommy, can we pick Paula Reds this year?" my daughter asks as she pitches and sways gently next to me on the rumbling wagon ride through the orchard. "And how 'bout Zestar!, mommy. Can we try some of those?" This makes me squirm just a tad. I'm a creature of habit. Tried and true is my motto when it comes to apple picking, and some of the newer apple hybrids make me wonder how many varieties are really necessary. There are already thousands! There's nothing at all wrong with a good old McIntosh, I think to myself. At times like these I have to remind myself that change can be okay, and that the Red Delicious apple pie didn't poison me one bit. Perhaps I'll find a new favorite?

But as I'm mulling over new apple varieties like MN 1734 and New York 2, my husband beats me to answering our daughter. "Sure! Let's try something new!" he heartily proclaims. And so we are deposited under a red embossed street sign planted firmly in the earth that reads "PAULA RED." For a moment, I feel as if I'm disembarking a Greyhound Bus in a strange city. This is new territory for me.

But it's all about the kids, right? So here's to new adventures, folks! I'll keep you posted on how these beauties cook up. In the meantime, get out there and enjoy a day in an orchard.

Fall Hayrides – A Rambling Ride Through the Colors

 

What better way to revel in fall's wondrous display of colors and brisk weather than to wend your way through the woods perched atop a hay bale on the back of a wagon? Now that's fall!

Having spent a good number of my childhood afternoons amid the wooded acres of my grandparents' farm, it simply doesn't feel like fall for me until I partake in a seasonal hayride. Of course, those rambling rides of my youth usually entailed chugging past the cornfields, over the hills and down into a valley adjacent to the wooded fence line to forage for hickory nuts underneath a canopy of brilliant yellows and rusty reds. Once my grandmother and I had filled our pails, buckets and bushel barrels with those meaty little nuts, we'd climb back into the wagon, sit atop our wobbly bales and enjoy the autumn afternoon as my grandpa pulled us back home behind the tractor.

My introduction to fall hayrides may have been simple transportation to and from one of nature's generous little food supplies, but the beauty and simplicity of those rides wasn't lost on me. When my kids were younger, I decided it simply wouldn't do to find the winter winds descending upon us without having taken time out for a fall hayride. As luck would have it, a large regional park/nature reserve in the area was not only home to acres upon acres of wooded splendor, but was also open for business for those looking to hire a hay wagon. This would be a perfect family activity, I decided!

We gathered the extended family one Saturday afternoon in late October and clambered atop bales stacked on a large flatbed wagon. Imagine the kids' delight when they discovered that this ride would not be powered by a pickup or a tractor, but two gentle giant draft horses! Some coaxing was needed to convince the kids to leave the horses be and climb up on the wagon.

A two-hour ride through woodlands and fields was just enough time for children of all ages to jump and play in the loose hay before snuggling down into their parents' straw- and hay-covered laps as the day grew cooler. The afternoon sun illuminated the hues of the season, setting the leaves ablaze in autumn tones of reds, oranges, coppers, yellows and golds. I sat back, my three-year-old daughter in my lap, thinking that fall drives are heavenly, but you miss out on the fresh, cool air in your face and the squirmy, giggling straw-covered urchin in your lap.

When the horses finally pulled the wagon to a gentle, swaying stop, kids and adults jumped down, brushed themselves free of straw and chaff, and ambled toward the picnic area where a bonfire and hotdog roasting sticks were at the ready. The hot mulled apple cider that awaited us helped ward off the chill in the air as my husband and I helped the kids hold their hotdogs over the flames. Later, after a potluck supper, the marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers were brought out – a perfect ending to a perfect day. Ooey-gooey s'mores and hot chocolate as the sun set on a lovely fall day.

Don't let this fall escape without finding an apple orchard, park or farm to partake in a fall hayride.

Welcome to Autumn Splendor!

 

Perhaps it has something to do with my hair color, but every year when fall settles upon us, my soul is happy and I find genuine contentment with the world around me. The colors! Oh, the colors! Brilliant reds, decadent oranges, deep russets, glowing coppers… the hues that create the palette of fall feel like home to me, and I am at peace.

I’ll admit, there are moments of summer that I adore – the smell of freshly mown hay, the feel of thick green grass below bare feet, an ice cold root beer on a hot day, my mom’s colorful riot of blooming flowers filling the yard of my childhood home. But summer can hold only so much sway over a redhead with pale skin, devoid of any and all ability to tan, who has an ironic allergy to sunscreen. I simply wither when the mercury climbs into the 90s and beyond, and I’ve known my fair share of sunburns. No thank you!

Fall, on the other hand, is another matter entirely. The crisp, cool mornings and late evenings are invigorating. And who can resist the season’s smells? My grandmother’s apple crisp – heavenly. Cinnamon and nutmeg simmering together with apple cider – divine. But the inviting aroma of the crackling wood from a fall bonfire, now that’s the smell of the season I look forward to all year long!

There are those perfect days that come along every once in a while – the ones that you look back on and smile about for years to come. I couldn’t have been older than six or seven. I spent the day raking leaves into big piles with my grandparents in their expansive backyard on their farm. We raked and raked, and then my brothers and I jumped into piles of crunchy red and brown leaves. Later that day, we sat atop straw bales stacked in the wagon as my Grandpa’s red Farmall H chugged us back towards the woods. There, amid yellowing birch leaves and under golden orange hickory tree canopies, my dad and grandpa built a fire. Supper that night consisted of hotdogs cooked on sticks over the flames, golden brown marshmallows and apple cider.

The evening was chilly, but wrapped up in red woolen blankets and gathered around that delicious-smelling fall fire, sitting amid the fallen leaves, listening to my grandparents and parents talk and laugh, life was perfect.

Welcome, Autumn. I’ve missed you.  

In Honor of Grandparents and Patriots

This year, Grandparents’ Day falls on Patriot Day, September 11^th. Sunday will also mark the tenth anniversary of 9/11. It will be a day to remember and honor those who perished in the attacks, as well as celebrate our grandparents.

The significance of both of these important days falling on the same calendar square bears special meaning, I believe. Each year, when September 11^th rolls around, I remember exactly where I was the morning I learned of the attacks. I clearly recount turning on the radio in my car and being confused and bewildered by what I was hearing. Would there be more attacks? Who could do something like this? Was our nation at war? Was my family safe? And then came the news footage and the images. Horrifying.

The event drew to mind an event I’d only ever heard about, something that happened years before I was born. My grandparents were all of the Greatest Generation. They survived and endured through World War II. Each of them could recount where they were and what they were doing when news of the attack on Pearl Harbor came across the radio. I now knew what it was like to look on in horror at a brutal attack against my fellow countrymen and women.

Although Patriot Day endeavors to honor those who lost their lives on 9/11, the day never fails to make me take stock of my own patriotism and love for my country. Much of this I owe to my grandparents. They were a generation of people whose parents risked everything to cross the ocean to come to this land, and throughout my childhood, they painted a very clear picture to me of what it meant to be an American – a deep, undying respect for our nation, reverence for the flag our soldiers fought under through world wars, the pride felt when our country rallies together in times of crisis. Sacrifice, perseverance, and a sense of unity.

My grandmother passed away five years ago. She left behind several books of partially-used ration stamps from the 1940s. I asked her once why she kept them, and mentioned how hard it must have been to struggle to get things like sugar and shoes. Her answer was that she kept them to remember how her family could make it through any hardship, because these were sacrifices that every American was making to aid in the war effort. I always marveled at that measure of patriotism.

This year, on Sunday, September 11^th, my husband will hoist the flag on the pole at our house. I will slice apples with my kids to make a good old fashioned American apple pie, the very recipe my Grandma Mabel taught me to make, and we will share the stories with them of 9/11. We will tell them of the courage and self-sacrifice of the firefighters, police officers, paramedics and first responders who fled to the falling towers to assist their fellow Americans, and how so many of them died in doing so.

Although my grandparents and great-grandparents have all passed on, their memory reminds me of the strength and determination this country was built upon. It makes me happy to think that this Sunday I will celebrate Grandparents’ Day by remembering four people who lived through a critical part of this nation’s history, and passed along those lessons and stories. And I will celebrate Patriot Day, a day to commemorate those who lost their lives to prove that this is still an amazing country, and Americans can still pull together and endure any hardship.

And hopefully, my children will grow to know how fortunate they are to be little Americans.

Family Game Night: Inexpensive Fun for Everyone!

A while ago, my husband and I decided to treat the kids to a 3D movie, complete with a large bucket of popcorn, a 32 oz. Coke and the kids’ choice of candy. One would think a simple outing for a family of four wouldn’t be a budget breaker. There I go assuming again.

After paying for the tickets alone, it dawned on me that with the money we had just spent, we were halfway to the cost of a new Blu-Ray player. Paying for treats had me squirming. Since my husband and I are not immune to the worries of this current recession, we decided to usher in the era of Family Game Night at home. “We can make our own fun for free!” I proclaimed.

Having spent many winter nights at my grandparents’ farm with no cable television and certainly no VCR, I can shake a mean Yahtzee cup. And my older brother schooled me more than once on the financial benefits of setting up hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place (which, as I recall, he always seemed to own). My husband also grew up in a family that eagerly gathers ‘round the table for games, cards and the like. Would we discover our kids had inherited some of these genes?

The following Friday night, my husband and I popped a big bowl of popcorn with the real popcorn popper, which made the kids marvel (“I thought you had to make popcorn in the microwave, mommy. Is this how they did it in the olden days?”), and made me feel old. Then we pulled out Candy Land.

We were off to a roaring start until daddy picked the Queen Frostine card, placing him way ahead of the rest of us. This caused my four-year-old to decide that things were just not fair. I hear ya, kid – mommy never picks the good cards either.

Battleship, on the other hand, was a hit. My daughter was just as into it as my son was. While he spread his boats out across the water, she cloistered all of hers tightly together in one corner. Okay, so she’s no military strategist. “The boats like their friends to be close,” she whispered. The kids soon didn’t need our help anymore with figuring out how to call targets and placing little pegs in their grids. “This is fun!” they both agreed. Total cost of an evening of jubilant game playing around the kitchen table: $1.50 worth of popcorn. That’s recession-proof fun right there, folks!

An overall success, we have expanded our collection of board games. The kids have been known to put down the Wii remotes and ask us to play Mancala or Connect Four. I won’t say that we haven’t taken the kids to a movie since then, but we’ve gotten awfully choosy when it comes to trips to the cinema. We’ve found that there’s a bit more talking and laughing that happens on game night than if we’re sitting in a movie theater eating $8 popcorn. Imagine that!

In Celebration of Grandparents

 

In 1978, Congress passed legislation that proclaimed the first Sunday after Labor Day would be National Grandparents Day, a national holiday. The purpose of such a day was to honor these special people and to help foster children’s awareness of the love, guidance, strength and wisdom this older generation offers.

Why is it important to honor grandparents? They represent a living link between the present and the past. They are an integral connection to our heritage, family traditions, and culture. The lives they have lived and history they have witnessed serves as a font of information and wisdom. Additionally, they have a rare insight into your life and upbringing – they are the ones who raised your parents and very likely had a prominent role in your childhood as well.

Gift giving and card giving are popular ways to recognize grandparents. Some 4 million greeting cards are purchased and sent for Grandparents Day each year. Others make it a point to visit their grandparents, invite them over for a meal, or participate in a variety of activities with them. For active grandparents, attending a baseball game, movie, play, musical event or the like can be a fun way to spend time with a grandchild, old or young. For grandparents who may be housebound or in a nursing home or other care facility, simply spending time visiting them is a meaningful way to recognize Grandparents Day.

For young children, commemorating Grandparents Day can be as easy as coloring or painting a picture or creating another thoughtful art or craft project. What grandparent doesn’t love to display a grandchild’s work of art on the front of the refrigerator? Writing a poem or story about time spent with a grandparent is another special way to honor these grand people.

Spending time with grandparents is also special. Fishing, baking cookies, going for a bike ride, participating in a nature hike together… times like these are wonderful opportunities to engage in conversation. What was your grandpa’s childhood like? Where did your grandparents meet? What were grandma’s favorite activities when she was young? What do your grandparents miss most about the era during which they were born? It’s amazing how much you can know about your own grandparents and still be pleasantly surprised to find out something new.

Why not spend some time with your grandparents honoring your heritage? Is there a special cultural dish they loved as a child? Share time preparing and enjoying a special meal together. Download some memorable music from their childhoods to play while you dine. Top off the evening by hauling out some old family photo books and take a stroll down memory lane with them. The official flower of Grandparents Day is the Forget-me-not, so if your grandmother is a flower lover, pick up a special bouquet.

Whatever names they go by – grandma, grandpa, nana, papa, gran, gramps – they are a living link to your past. For many people, grandparents have played an important part in their childhoods and lives. Whether your grandparents lived just down the street and you saw them every day as a child, or if they lived miles away and your relationship was mainly via telephone, Grandparents Day is the perfect opportunity to take time out of the busy schedule to dedicate a day to the older generation in your family – the people who have watched you grow and helped you become who you are today.

Bachelor Parties for the Modern Man

I won’t lie, I’ve never been in attendance at a bachelor party. Oh, I’ve heard stories and I’ve seen movies, and I’d like to think that I’m not entirely naïve to some of the things that might go on. But when the subject of bachelor parties was brought up, I figured some of my younger brothers might have a few insights on the topic. After all, a number of them are of the prime marrying age and seem to be going to weddings every other weekend and flying home to attend bachelor parties at a fairly rapid clip. Surely they must have the scoop on bachelor and stag parties.

 “So, do all bachelor parties end up being an evening of shenanigans, tomfoolery, drunken revelry and general naughtiness?” I pose the question to my 24-year-old brother. His mouth goes up in a half-smirk and he slides his gaze across the room to our brother (his roommate) who is only one year his senior. They exchange a grin. “Let’s just say,” he begins, “that it’s a night of ‘male camaraderie.’” My husband chimes in at this point, “I think what your sister is asking is if all bachelor parties end up as a night of bar-hopping and waking up with a tooth missing and a tiger in your bathroom.”

This propels us all forward into a discussion about options and ideas. It would seem that guys have just as much of a sense of participating in varied activities as the ladies do. My husband opted for a fish launch on one of the Great Lakes. He and his friends spent the day on a boat, baiting hooks, casting lines and, well, I guess I’ve never asked what else. He points out that he’s joined in bachelor parties at the golf course, an evening at the pub indulging in dark beer and bocce ball, and a canoe trip. My brothers begin listing off guy get-togethers that included paintball, hunting, trap shooting, and other activities that typically catch men’s fancies. Camping, hiking, skydiving… What better way to have one last hurrah with the guys than to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?

Certainly, celebrating a friend or relative’s ending bachelorhood and impending journey into a lifetime of wedded bliss is an event worth celebrating. Whether that includes an evening out on the town, some awesome tickets to the big game, or the sounds of nature around a campfire, the options are endless.

Calling All Caped Crusaders!

What little boy isn’t enamored with superheroes? My son loves running around the house, a dark colored bath towel turned cape pinned around his shoulders, fighting off evil-doers untold and battling against villains unnumbered to protect and uphold justice and freedom – in the living room. Let’s just say that his sister may have clomped around in mom’s high heels, a pink feather boa tossed haphazardly around her neck, but my son is every ounce the make-believer as well. I’m not sure by what name Stan Lee might have dubbed this little imaginative fellow, what with a black vampire cape, Batman suit, cowboy boots, a ninja mask, his Thor helmet and a light saber as his crime-fighting accoutrements. Never have I seen Bruce Wayne don cowboy boots, but then perhaps someone ought to clue him in that a Bathorse might just come in handy should Gotham City’s criminals seek refuge out West. See? My son is just a forward-thinking little crime fighter!

As evidenced by the other little cape-wearing characters in the neighborhood, superheroes are a big hit with little boys. So what better way to celebrate boyhood than by having a superhero birthday party? Invite all your little Man of Steel’s sidekicks (or arch rivals!) over for a party that could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Even if your little guy’s birthday doesn’t happen to fall close to Halloween, make it a costume party! Be sure to have a few inexpensive masks on hand, just in case some of his buddies forget their gadgets and gear. If your playroom dress-up box looks anything like ours, you’re sure to be able to outfit the entire Justice League singlehandedly.

Unless you’re a cake diva (which I, sadly, am not), a quick trip to the local bakery should afford you enough options from which to choose a diabolically delectable cake or cupcakes decorated with your Boy Wonder’s favorite superhero. My son was a fan of the cupcakes topped with plastic rings emblazoned with superhero emblems. It’s the small things, folks.

Decorations? Oh, where to begin. Balloons, streamers and confetti in colors matching your child’s favorite character are a fabulous start: black, gold and gray for Batman; red, white and blue for Superman; green and purple for the Hulk, and so on. If you’re feeling creative and ambitious, turn your basement into the Batcave or even an evil lair. As my husband and I discovered, Silly String can work wonders to transform any room into a web of Spider-Man happiness.

Depending on the ages of the children, games can be simple and quick, or a bit more of a test of their super powers. As Clark Kent can attest, changing clothing can be an exceptional feat of superhuman agility. Have the kids compete in dynamic duos to see which can don his or her costume the fastest. Set up an obstacle course in the backyard. Put your crew of caped crusaders to the test, challenging them to make it through the Maze of Metropolis. Divide the kids into teams and give each a box full of household items with which to create a new superhero (think oven mitts, fly swatters, snorkels, athletic gear, vacuum cleaner hoses, etc.). Make sure the winning team has come up with a good name for their creation, and an explanation of his or her super powers. Looking for something a bit simpler? Pin the nose on the Joker, anyone?

Game prizes and goodie bags can include inexpensive comic books, superhero-themed party favors, and small toy figurines. At snack time offer them up some lime green Kryptonite Kool-Aid and bat-shaped cookies. Feeling Daredevil-ish? Make it a sleepover and let your heroes and villains choose superhero movies to enjoy with popcorn.

Remember to include any little superheroines who may want to join in on the fun. Where would our comic book heroes be without Wonder Woman, Catwoman or Batgirl? If the girls are a bit less enthusiastic about dressing up as crime-fighting lasses, there’s no reason they can’t create their own unique super character – Ballerina Girl or Princess Power, perhaps?

Using some of the same creativity and imagination your child uses every day you’ll be sure to throw a marvel-ous superhero party. A bit of prep work, a little decorating and Biff! Bam! Kazam! You’re little masked marauders are in for a delightful party of fun and adventure.

How Sweet It Is!

In anticipation of my 16^th birthday, I held out a wee bit of hope that my friends would throw me a surprise party, or that maybe, just maybe, my parents would hand me the keys to my very own brand new car (okay, that was just plain delusional, but a girl can dream, can’t she?). My 16^th birthday was certainly a memorable one, but hold your horses if you think it was because I celebrated in style or took a new convertible out for a spin. Alas, neither happened. Instead, I was housebound – a tragic birthday girl victim to a Midwestern ice storm that Mother Nature was more than happy to dole out in honor of my special day. My mom apologized for not having the ingredients for a birthday cake on hand, and instead we sat down for a game of Scrabble™ while the winter winds whipped outside.

Believe me when I say that it’s probably not every girl’s dream to ring in her 16^th birthday with a triple word score (although looking back, I SO nailed it with “quince”!). The occasion certainly calls for a bit more fancy and fun.

Sweet 16 parties can be just a mere step above your average birthday party, or they can be an all-out extravaganza, complete with a hall, catered food, band, photographer, limo, floral arrangements and other accoutrements befitting a gala wedding (sans the groom, of course). In some areas, Sweet 16 parties are a social must for young ladies. In other regions of the country, they are simply becoming a wonderfully fun reason to celebrate your young lady. These parties have grown in popularity, in size, and in cost. Parents are going to great lengths to commemorate their daughters with these coming-of-age soirees.

Some girls are opting to live it up with their gal pals, hitting the spa together, having elaborate sleepovers, or employing fun and fanciful themes to ring in their sixteenth birthday, while others are choosing to invite the girls and the boys to parties that run the gamut of small scale all the way up to formal affairs held in swanky settings.

Depending on your bank account, the sky is the limit. Some lucky lasses have parents who are willing (and financially capable, I might add) to hire one or more of the music industry’s hottest singers or acts to perform. Feeling like appeasing the palates of your super sixteenager and her friends? By all means, feel free to hire one of the nation’s top chefs to come to your event and create a culinary masterpiece to delight her and her guests. Planning on ordering her a cake befitting its very own episode of a Food Network cake show? Have at it!

If that’s a bit out of your budget (as I’m guessing it would be for the majority, so no need to fret!), it’s certainly doable to make your young lady feel special without breaking the bank and blowing her college savings. Teenage girls (and guys) love food, music and socializing. Throw those together with a unique (and affordable) theme, and you’re sure to have a winner of a party.

Set a budget, establish some ground rules (such as no alcohol or a guest list limit), and assist your teenager with brainstorming options for themes, party decorations, venues, food, etc. There’s sure to be a perfect Sweet 16 party plan right up her alley.

So what themes would have struck my fancy had I had the privilege of a Sweet 16 party back in the day? Some of my personal favs are:

Hawaiian Luau Sweet 16 – Hula contest, anyone? Virgin fruity, tropical drinks (topped off with umbrellas, of course!), tiki torches, and grass skirts will have everyone in the mood to try their luck at the limbo.

Totally ‘80s Sweet 16 – a totally tubular party theme, dude! Requirements: big hair, acid washed jeans, slap bracelets, and of course, plenty of radical ‘80s music to get people dancing.

Masquerade Ball Sweet 16 – a formal affair for both the young ladies and young gentlemen. Gowns, suits and ties, and whimsical masquerade masks are a must.

Sweet 16 Mardi Gras Style – a celebration including jazz music, beads, hats, masks, and decorations aplenty in purple, green and gold.

Alice in Wonderland –why not celebrate with a whimsical tea party with mismatched teacups and saucers, a topsy-turvy mad hatter cake, a game of life-sized chess or croquet? Invitations should urge your guests to not be late for this very important date!

The internet is a font of Sweet 16 party theme knowledge, so be sure to do some surfing for unique and fabulous ideas. Then again, I’m sure there’s something to be said about hosting “My Super Sweet 16 Scrabble Party”!

Who's In?

My husband, the good sport that he is, might join me at a co-ed baby shower with minimal grumbling, even though his beloved Twins are playing the White Sox. Of course, having access to the radio on his smart phone helps with this matter, but I’m not judging. He might be distracted, but at least he’s there, right? However, tell the man we’re off to a poker party and he’s all in! With his poker chip set and enough quarters to wash the laundry on a dorm floor for a month, he’s Johnny-on-the-spot when it comes time to take a seat around the poker table. And with good reason!

The game demands its very own World Series each year. We have movies that center on the game in its various forms. We even have songs about it that teach us such imperative life lessons as, “You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table,” (duly noted, Kenny!). Poker, which long has been a card game played by everyone from the poorest working class on up to the wealthiest men of means, is a game of not just chance, but skill and stakes. Whether you’re in for a penny or in for a pound, it can be an exciting thrill ride. Of course it’s worthy of its very own celebration!

Poker parties have become all the rage, and are a popular excuse to get together, have a few drinks and some food, play cards, test your poker face, and as long as you’re not in my house, perhaps indulge in a cigar or two. This Friday night past-time for the guys has risen to a bit loftier level than simply cheap beer and flannel shirts. For starters, the ladies want in on the action, and are willing to ante up when it comes time for both planning and playing. Throw together all the chips you can and make sure the cards are casino quality – you’ve got an evening of fun and surprises for both the guys and the gals.

But, oh, which way to go with the party? Laid back and easy, with inexpensive green dealer visors and costume armbands for the guests, topped off with pizza and chicken wings? Or, to make the affair a bit more high-brow with black tie optional, fancy hors d’oeuvres and martinis – something out of a Bond flick? Either way, or anything in the middle, is sure to have your guests cashing in on a good time.

Don’t know a flush from a straight? Confused about how the “flop” differs from the “river”? Hey, I was there too! And believe you me, you’ll be catching on in no time. Plus, you have the infinite wisdom of the internet at your disposal. Run a search on “poker” and soon you’ll know that Omaha isn’t just a city in Nebraska.

While Texas Hold’em continues to be the poker game of choice, there are several variations that will test your card-playing mettle and keep you busy trying to decipher what your neighbor holds in his or her hand. While I have my older brothers to thank for introducing me to the world of Five Card Draw and Seven Card Stud when I was still too young to effectively hold the cards in my hand, my husband and his college compadres shared some Texas Hold’em strategy with me some years back. Imagine their surprise when I ended up with the pot – and my husband’s shock when I suggested that we all just take back our own money so nobody feels bad.

Hey, what can I say? I’m a giver.

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