Thursday, May 10, 2012

He is Roast

Blog slacker like the best of them...

If you would have told me a few months ago how crazy these last few months before moving would get - I'd have told you to get out of here. But now, I'd totally believe you and take you up on that bottle of wine because goodness knows between launching my latest collection for brownie-goose, prepping patterns for publishing, packing my sewing room, selling our house, etc. I could certainly use a bottle glass or two. 

But for now, let's rewind back a few weeks, ummmkay?

So, here we go - back to the day before Easter when good old tradition has you dyeing eggs and learning all about the reason of Easter from your 5 year old.

Me: Lou, do you know the real reason we celebrate Easter?
Lou: Of course Mommy. It is about Jesus.
Me: (while smiling and thinking maybe I have done something right) That's right Lou. Do you know what it is about Jesus?
Lou: Yep. He is roast, mommy.
Me: You mean he rose?
Lou: Yep, just like I said. He is roast.

And yes, halleluiah, he is roast. I could barely contain my giggles, and sure...shame on me, but I didn't correct her. It wont be too much longer that she says her words incorrectly and I must enjoy it while it lasts. :)

Moving back to dyeing eggs. I don't know if I have ever blogged before about "sassy sauce" but it is in essence white vinegar that I will give a teaspoon for all sassiness that may emit from a certain tow-headed 5 year old that lives under the same roof. Tisk-tisk or shake your head or shame me, what have you - but sometimes just the mere threat alone will stop a fireball in her tracks. Judge not my dears. Anyways, I told Louisa to carry her tub of crayons outside to the back deck while I got all the supplies ready. As I walk out the back door with a carton of eggs in one hand and the bottle of vinegar in the other (for the dye), Louisa took one look and almost fell off the back of the porch and her eyeballs were just shy of popping out of her head. "SAAAAASSSSSSYYYY sauce!!! WHY????" Oh dear, here we go...

Anyways, I calmed her down and explained my need for the sassy sauce. As I poured the very last bit into a cup for dye, she seemed concerned and asked if we had enough and if I had anymore inside. Not picking up on her shanties, I said, "Nope, that is the last of it. We can put your least favorite color dye in that one since there isn't as much liquid." And that child, let me tell you. She put her hands on her hips, cocked her head to the side, found the biggest smirk she could muster up and said, "Well good, looks like I can be sassy all I want to now!" Count to 10 Amy, slowly...count to 10.

Thankfully, we got through the process of coloring and dyeing our eggs without any other issues and we were left with some beauties for colorful egg salad for the rest of the week.

The next day was Easter and we joined the crowds at my favorite cathedral in Jackson for Easter Sunday service. I absolutely adore feast sundays at the cathedral because of the formality and incense.The only thing missing is a mass spoken in Latin, but then again...that is just the dork in me that sat through years of Catholic masses in one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the southeast. (See St. Vincent's staff - I was paying attention, and I did love it...whether I could participate or not) Anyways, after I bowed to the cross and sang, "Christ our Lord has risen today, alleluia" I realized that I had chills all up and down my arms. "Our triumphant holy day, alleluia." Not only did I have chills, but I had tears. And the non-emotion-showing Amy was grateful at that moment for the incense for a whole other reason, mostly to place a blame for my tears. Because it dawned on me at that moment - maybe it was a moment that all guards were down and I was in a place that I felt so comfortable singing a song that brings nothing but great thoughts to me, but it was then that I realized...this was my last Easter Sunday at the cathedral. Not only that, this was marking the beginning of many of my lasts. My time in Jackson was quickly coming to an end and it finally hit me that things that were part of my daily routines were about to become memories. This was my last Easter Sunday at St. Andrews, soon it would be my last Sunday at St. Andrews, my last weekend in Jackson, my last day in Jackson, etc. It hit me like a ton of bricks standing there in church that morning. Oh my goodness. Something I have waited for for so long was finally here. And there I was in church, almost in tears and feeling like a complete goob.

As I get older, I realize I am more emotional than I give myself credit. However, I don't like to show it. Having children makes you weaker in some ways while strengthening you in others. I have NEVER been good with goodbyes. I usually just skip them all together. Now, here I am...faced with many goodbyes that will come in the next few days. It kinda gives me the heebies. Today I packed my sewing room and realized when I looked at it empty and listened to it echo that holy smackaroons, this is it. Soon, I will be saying goodbye to a house that I didn't really think I was attached to. But you know what, joke is on me. This is going to be way harder than I imagined. I have a whole other blog post on saying goodbye to a house (that may or may not get written in the next year) that apparently I love more than I admit. Do goodbyes ever get easier? 

Before I get any mushier in this post that I need to wrap up soon before I fall asleep behind the computer, let me change the subject real quick-like and get back to a subject I am far better discussing.

Sweet Baby Nash.

Love that child. He is a work of art though. 100% boy. He even laughs when he toots. I mean, how early does one learn that poor behavior? He certainly doesn't get it from his mother whose maturity level is way beyond her age. 

The last time I blogged, I blogged about the hooligan dogs getting into the pantry and stealing the cookies. Well, little did I know they had a role model.

Look at how proud he is. 

Stinker. Even with his ever-present partner in crime. 

He has started to walk (at 14 months, 2 months before his big sis) and it is all I can do not to eat that big old pot belly that sticks out while he walks around with a ginormous cloth booty bringing up the caboose. And his first actual word was officially "uh-oh" and the way he says it just melts me. There is at least a 5 second pause between the words and the last part has a complete different tone than the first. Absolutely edible. Even when murmured from the dryer from which one climbed into...

But watch out ladies...this blue-eyed boy will steal your hearts away too. Mohawk, big booty and all...

 He certainly has mine...and the labradors.

Until next time when I just might have to get all emotional and say goodbye to Cowan Place.