The Advent Calendar Incident

Every year I give great thought to advent "calendars" for my family. (I blame it on my mother. She always gave us advent calendars of some sort.)

One year it was a small tree with little ornaments to open and hang each day (my Nana assembled one like this for me when I was little).

One year it was 25 mini galvanized buckets each with a treasure, treat or note.

One year it was a candle that you burn down a little every day until Christmas.

This year my seven year old asked if we could do something different--"like one of those paper ones other people get, sometimes with chocolate in them" (I think she recalled the one her Dad gave her a recent year after returning from Germany--and it was filled with delicious German chocolate.).


I was a little sad. A little disappointed. And, well, frankly a lot relieved. You see, this is an exceptionally busy holiday season given the fact that I've started a new job that involves more hours and travel. One of those pre-made paper ones -- sure!

I left the calendars for the girls to open on the 1st after school. They were waiting for them with their sitter.

When I got home, my 7 year old said with a bit of nastiness in her voice, "Mom, I opened up all the doors."

I stood in shock.

I expected that of the 2 year old, but was shocked that my older, more mature, more patient daughter would do that. I tried really hard to just let it go. Or, maybe I should say I'm still trying (after all I've just written about it on the 15th day of December...), to let it go.

I think this will, however, be the last year of paper advent calendars -- it clearly didn't work for us.

Nana's Chair

My mom told me I should feel terrible. (That's not the first time she's said that to me, but that's another story.) I have left people hanging about Nana's Chair. I argued that no one is even paying attention. And, I've been really, really busy with a new job and lots of associated transitions.

But, then the other day a Maine-ly Home follower actually asked me if I'd gotten it back. (You can read all about it here.) 

So, IF you having been waiting -- or even worrying -- I am sincerely sorry. But, I'm happy to report that the newly fashioned Nana chair is back home -- and, although it got the cold shoulder for a day or two, it is being much loved, new fabric and all. 

What do you think?

What We Say

Our children echo us. I am reminded of this time and time again and yet I'm always surprised. Sometimes it's big profound statements, other times not so much. Sometimes just plain funny.

Baby (now toddler) R, as I was picking her up the other day, said, "I getting so heavy."

:)

Dreaming of a Snow Globe Christmas (Thanks Sundance)

{Photo via Sundance}

If you've followed me for a while now, you know that last year we had some snowglobe magic

{Photo via MainelyHome December 2010}

and some snowglobe tragedy.

{Photo via MainelyHome December 2010}

I like to focus on the magic -- and, when you can combine that with my MasonJarLove, well, it's super magical.

And, Sundance has done just that.

Mason-Jar-Snow-Globe-Magic.

Sigh.

Pumpkin with a Purpose

I know, I know, I've been absent. Lots of transitions going on over here. But, I'm back (I think).

I've been holding onto this photo for a few weeks now - eager to share. It makes me really happy. A friend of my mother's (and, a reader of Maine-ly Home, I'm told!) gave her this lovely floral piece for her birthday. It's just so happy I can't stand it.

Letting Go

Shortly after my very dear Nana died two and a half years ago, I indicated to my mother that if no one had their eyes set on her wing chair, I would love to have it.

I know what you are thinking. A rose floral wingchair. Why on earth would I want such a thing? It's about as old lady as you can get.

But, I really did want it.

First of all, I have grown up in an extended family of wingchairs. Or, rather, an extended family who has (and values) wingchairs. For me, they are a symbol of family and of comfort-- even though I would never have thought a wing chair was my style.

But, more importantly, my nana's wing chair symbolized her to me. At least in recent years, when she wasn't buzzing about, it's where she was. And, when she was sitting in that chair - whether reading, catching a nap, or talking with a visitor, she always looked as comfortable as can be.

I remember in the last few days of her life, her sitting in that chair, predicting that my baby was going to be born on her mother's birthday--she just knew it. It was funny, she was so connected to this pregnancy - maybe because I saw her so much during it. But, it definitely struck me. She was so interested in it - offering thoughts and predictions. Three months after my Nana died, my baby was born on HER birthday.

So, I got the chair. And, much to my husband's shagrin, I insisted that we put it in the antique bay window in our dining room. Odd, I know. But, it's this wonderful sun-filled nook where I knew I could sit and nurse one baby while watching the other frolick outside. That was my vision. After I re-upholstered it, of course. I can't stand rose floral patterns.

Two years later, Nana Chair (yup, that's what we call it) has become a very significant piece of our life. I have nursed a zillion times in that chair. We have all read many a book there. We have all snoozed there. We have all snuggled there. We all seek out THAT chair.

All along I have still intended to reupholster it. A zillion fabric swatches have come home and been rejected. I even purchased 7 yards of fabric that I thought was perfect only to cry when it arrived. Finally, I found a fabric that most of us liked -- and, to me, would bring this wing chair to modern life with a little spunk - just like Nana.

The day the chair was hauled away, my eldest would hardly speak to me. My two year old cried, "Nana chair no go." And for the weeks to follow that space seemed so empty. While I was so certain that I wanted to change that chair, I couldn't help but wonder each day as I stared at the empty space whether everyone's anguish about reupholstering it meant something. I wondered if I had, in fact, taken the magic out of the chair.

Stay tuned.

The Harvest.

After much re-scheduling, we finally carved out time for our potato harvest. For those of you who know me - and where I live - you are probably laughing. I live on less than a quarter of an acre, much of which is shaded. But, I can assure you that we (And by "we" I mean primarily my husband, though I certainly help and give counsel.) take advantage of every square inch of garden-able space. Realistically, this translates into an herb garden, two self-built 8 foot by 4 foot raised beds, and a whole lot of empty pickle buckets that can be moved around as the sun shifts. (While we love many aspects of our in-town life, we do dream often of a farm. And, I'm guessing our neighbors might also wish we'd find one.)

This year, to stretch our gardening space a little further, I suggested we try growing potatoes in bags. Yes, bags. I'd heard you could do this - and, well, we have lots of those reusable Trader Joes and Whole Foods bags, so why not give it a whirl. (Besides, if it succeeded, it could quite possibly end our relationship-long argument about where the best potatoes come from - Maine or Idaho.).

So, we did it. We procured a couple of seed potatoes, two reusable bags, and organic soil. We poked some drainage holes in the bottom of the bags and filled with soil and the seed potatoes. And, we waited.

And, then there was some signs of hope.

And, further signs of hope.

But, only time would tell if there were actually any potatoes in the bag.

At last, it was harvest time. Nervously, we began to dig.

And, then we struck gold. Our first potato.

 

And, another!

Honestly, we were like kids at Christmas with each potato found. The full harvest amounted to 15 of the most beautiful  potatoes ever. Suffice it to say, they'll be more bags of potatoes scattered about our yard next year.

By the way, all though we can't say yet, I think the best potatoes are grown in Maine. :)