Ode to Applejacks

I've been sewing. And sewing. And sewing.

I even came up the original "Sugar Britches"

You think they will fit? "A" is for "Ali", right?

You think I'm kidding, but I was reminded of bloomers this week when TLC aired a reality show on CLOGGING. No joke. I watched and shed a tear for my old Applejack friends. I rocked my petticoat and bloomers entirely too long. I was 17 when I quit. That's about 13 years too long to be doing windmills and heel clicks but good golly I loved, loved, loved those clogging days.

They made a comeback in college. Mostly when I had had too much to drink. And maybe also at my wedding.

Chris came home from his trip to Arizona and went straight to our dresser to make sure I hadn't monogrammed his socks.

I would never! (Wait, monogrammed socks? Now that could work. JK. #obsessedADL)

Coop has been growing like a weed. I'm sayin.

He loves preschool and is learning so much every day! His little lip barely even quivers in car pool anymore. Go Coop, go!

He was strangely quiet yesterday when I put him down for his nap. I snuck in to kiss his chubby cheeks and found him standing at the foot of his bed. Butt nekkid. With a 3 foot mound of clothes around him. He had emptied every stitch of clothing from his dresser drawers. When I asked him what on earth he was doing, he replied "I tee teed on the floor mommy. And the curtains too."

I cleaned up the mess but not before skipping off to the bathroom to check for grey hairs. I had 3.

Slow down little lion, slow down.

This Old House

If porches could talk, this one would tell some stories.

893 Stark Road.

It's where chairs and babies were rocked. Where Big Wheels were raced. Where sweet tea was sipped.

Where cars and blessings were counted one by one.

Where this old screen door slammed and this old brown door squeaked.

Where our mighty rock Mama Potts was born.

Right inside this very window.

This old house is where we got our raisin'. Where we learned that the good Lord carries us and that His Grace never fails us.

This old house is mighty old. As we've grown, those porch boards have weathered. Those walls have bowed. Those ceilings have sagged.

The time is coming where our old home place will be torn down. And it's tearin' us up. But as these doors and walls and windows and porches come down, we will know that their very being helped to raise us up. 

And we know that heaven's got a mighty fine front porch made just for rockin' and that is just where our sweet Mama Potts is right now. Counting cars. Shooin' flies. Singin' hymns.

And laughing at all of us sillies down here.

"But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord" Joshua 24:15

Sweatshop and Transformers

I've been mighty busy.

So busy that we were greeted by tons of Georgia Power trucks on our way in from dinner tonight. Transformer blew. On our street. Something about a sewing machine going nonstop for 36 hours.

Definite work in progress, but here goes nothin'--

SUGAR BRITCHES

When Sugar Britches hits 25 followers, I will have a faboosh super sale.

I used to dream of opening a little boutique at the beach. Boutique in progress, beach...well, baby steps y'all, baby steps. I've gotta say I'm just tickled pink and having bookoodles of fun!

Bobbin and Weavin

My machine came today.

Nearly snuck up and grabbed me when I came home from work. Wasn't supposed to be here for 8 more days.

It took me 2 hours and 1 trip to Chick-fil-a to muster up the courage to thread my first bobbin. Truth.

I just sat there staring at the thing, sweating, and rehearsing the steps over and over again. I watched an instructional DVD, 3 YouTube Videos and read the 200 page manual front to back. All to thread a bobbin.

Once I powered the machine and watched the thread whir around that lil bobbin, I was hooked.

20 minutes later and I had whipped up my first creation.

Interpretation: It's a burp cloth.

A ruffly mess of a thing but oh how I shrieked when it was complete. It's crooked and silly looking, but it makes me happy. Imperfections up the wazoo. Crooked ruffle ribbon. Wrong color thread because Hobby Lobby closes before 11pm. Messy back stitching. Imperfectly perfect.

Tomorrow to conquer the Mighty Monogram. Not to be confused with the Mighty Mammogram (I heart you Aunt Lucy).

Sew much fun.

Carpool Line and The Pink Pickle

The carpool line got my Super Coop. Tears. Wailing. Screaming. Superhero like Houdini moves that landed him in the floor of the backseat reaching and hollaring for me.

I was all like "Gimme some sugar" and he was all "mama don't leave me, I wanna ride on the golf cart".

Left me shakin' my head.

I think it's probably because we've been at the beach.

I didn't want to get out of the car either to be honest. Or put my clothes on. Or do anything except play in the giant yellow submarine,

Or play with a tractor in the sand,

Or ride on a giant giraffe (I promise he insisted on the giant giraffe and loved every minute of it),

Or crawl up under the table and play with cars and choo choo trains,

Or have ice cream with Daddy,

Or splash in the pool all day long.

(It's a crying shame no one ever takes a picture of this child.)

Some people run off to the beach to find themselves. We run off to find good food.

But while we were there, Chris encouraged me to do something. I've been needing a hobby something fierce. Something to get my mind off of Ella Grace and this stinkin' fertility business. It's an awkward topic, I know it. And I'm sorry for mentioning it time and time again, but it's just where the good Lord's got us right now. The closer we get to Ella Bella's due date, the antsier I get. I've been out of whack. I've been preoccupied. I haven't been myself.

I did some soul searching over fried pickles and ice cream at the beach and asked what do I love oh so much that I could pour myself into?

Sweet tea, babies, and all things monogrammed. There it is.

We ordered a monogramming machine. I hem hawed around and around and Chris kept encouraging me and telling me to go for it. I've been sewing for years. And by "sewing", I mean hand stitching yards upon yards of fabric. Roomie/Floormie Abby will tell you, time and time again, she would come home and find me stitching away.  I've made curtains and duvet covers and pillow shams and monthaversary onesies and whatnot. Chris is never surprised when he comes home and I've restitched every thread of fabric in our house just because I want to. It takes me approximately 27 hours per pillow sham because I refuse to use a sewing machine. Everytime I order something monogrammed from Super Fly Emily (the absolute PRO at all things monogrammed) I squeal and shriek and tap dance around the kitchen.

Time to learn a new skill. Time to focus on something not Clomid related. I tap danced around the beach condo just thinking about thinking about something other than this baby makin' business.

I sat with my toes in the sand and dreamed up a shop name. I dreamed up monogrammed bloomers and onesies and burp cloths and john johns. I can't decide between "Pumpkin Doodle Designs",  "The Pink Pickle", or "Sugar Britches" (not to be confused with "Sugar Bear" on the only show that gives Desperate Housewives a run for it's money. Don't lie y'all. Everyone is bashing June and her June bugs when really, is HBB any worse than Snookie? Watch on. No shame.) I'm stuck between the Pink Pickle and Sugar Britches.

I sashayed right down to Hobby Lobby and signed myself up for some sewing classes. Gotta learn how to use this machine cause I hear you can't really monogram by hand. Psh.

When you see a post entitled "A monogramming machine got me pregnant", you'll know the sun was shining on this monogrammed tush.

Mighty Works and Real Life Angels

I can hardly believe it. Coop sashayed right into preschool this morning, didn't cry a single tear or throw a single Goldfish Cracker. Unbelievable. All these times of separating with the tears and the drama and the puppy dog eyes. Not a single tear. Galloped over to the toys and didn't even stop to kiss me goodbye.

I stood there all awkward and lost until I realized that I should just walk down the hall and out the door.

I might have cried just a wincy bit in the parking lot. And on my way to work. And on my way to Target. Alone. Target, y'all. Alone. I didn't even know what to do. I wheeled my red buggy (full of Coop-sized goodies) aisle by aisle just staring at things in silence. Did you know they make mint flavored marshmallows now?

I met Abby and Parker Baby for lunch. Got all sorts of choked up holding him. Almost boo hooed all over our Rico's samiches. I couldn't help it. To touch a real life, living, breathing miracle absolutely took my breath away. I'm saying. Our mighty God moves mountains every single day. He is sovereign. He is good. And that Parker Baby is Grace in the flesh. I could have sat and stared at him all the live long day.

I swang by to scoop Coop, only it seems he didn't want to come home. SO incredibly blessed by his precious teachers and his preschool. SO.