Getting my fall fix

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

Since I moved to the south, Fall has become my favorite season. I like spring as well, but I so struggle with the hot and humid summers here, that that first cool breath of autumn air seems to wake me up from a long and exhausting dream. Doors may now be opened without air conditioning being swept out to cool the neighborhood, and windows propped up without threat of the pesky mosquitos.
And then, of course, there are the colors. The sky changes from that muggy, bronzy haze to a startling blue, and the trees begin their magic. I so look forward to this time of year that I was saddened by the thought that our trip out west was taking place during the last few weeks of October. I didn’t want to miss a moment of it. I had great plans for leaf collecting, orchard tromping and pumpkin patching before we left, but in the hurry of sewing and cleaning and packing, I did none of it. And when we got to Washington, we were greeted with such a series of rain that there were only a couple of days that allowed the few bright deciduous colors of the Evergreen state to shine.
All in all, I was pleased, (after returning from our wonderful and exhausting trip) to find that fall was still going strong here. But before we could go out and enjoy it, there was the sorting and unpacking and shopping to do and school to resume. And then we were all hit with a doozy of a cold that kept us housebound all weekend.
But yesterday, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I decided to ignore our runny noses and take advantage of what fall weather we have left.
I thought it would be fun to find an apple orchard, so we loaded up and headed to nearby Signal Mountain. We arrived, but after taking a quick tour of the place, it was clear that we had missed the season.

Although there were still delicious apples and cider for sale in the little store, I was disappointed. But having come all that way, I thought we would make one more stop at one of our favorite parks, just for the view. It was well worth it.

It was such a beautiful time, that I kind of went crazy taking pictures. I wasn’t the only one. There were people up there taking engagement photos, family Christmas card shots and maternity pictures. So I did my own little family session and went home satisfied. Then I made an apple crumble and drank some fresh cider. I felt like I had fulfilled my fall quota in one afternoon.

17Oct2014

Sticks and stones

Posted in Daily happenings, Mission statement by Climbing Vine Clothing

Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever had someone take one brief glance at your life and work and decided it was up to them to let you know what was wrong with it? Has anyone ever jumped to hasty conclusions about you and then assumed the absolute worst? And has anyone ever used Scripture against you in their judgement?

This kind of scenario has happened to me twice in my life. Once in college, and then again just last week. Twice have I had someone actually sit down and write a list of grievances against me, and then either read them to my face or send them to me in an email. Both lists were for very different faults, which I must admit is slightly depressing. But my first accuser, all those years ago, at least knew me fairly well, and there was just a lot of misunderstanding that had occurred. My last week’s accuser was a complete stranger who had stumbled onto my blog, and after a cursory reading of my ‘About’ page, made some super-sized assumptions, and decided it was time someone stopped me.

This stranger realized, looking at my creations, that the patterns I have based my dolls on came from a book they recognized. In other words, they knew the patterns were not my own. So they had words with me.
I will not post the entire message here, but here are some of the phrases that were used.

Reappropriation of intellectual property without permission.
Bad form for not crediting the original author. (Pretending I had developed all the patterns myself)
Blatant disregard of copyright laws.
Theft.
Placing myself in danger of countless lawsuits, etc.
And my favorite-
A willingness to bet that all of my other work was stolen as well.

This person was kind enough to tell me that they thought I had a lot of talent, but hoped in future, that I would develop enough as an artist to no longer engage in theft to make a little extra cash.

And then it was all tied up with a neat little Bible verse, and sent to me in plenty of time to ruin my whole day.

“Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need.”

Well.

There were tears. There was angst. There was self-justification, anger, and confusion. There was a lot of time spent asking my hubby for help in how to respond to these accusations. My first reaction was of course to defend myself- to make a long list of all the reasons they were wrong and I was right.
I mean, clearly they hadn’t read my blog all the way through, or they would see where I have not only credited the creative minds who have inspired me, but also worked for the greater part of a year to alter those inspirational techniques and patterns and make them my own.
They hadn’t followed me on Pinterest, or they would see how I have been in contact with the author of those books.
They couldn’t have taken a look at my shop where I clearly do not pretend to have developed the original patterns myself. (although there are many new patterns that I actually have developed myself)
And I am certain they have never taken a look at my email inbox to read the sweet and generous permission I received from the author in response to my frantic email, making doubly sure that it was okay to be doing what I was doing. She reassured me that everything was indeed above board.

I did write this person back, as charitably as I could have, (I think) and then tried to lay it all to rest. But it is difficult. Those words continue to rankle in my soul, to make me doubt myself, to make me burn with anger.

I say all of this, not to declare my own righteousness or to cry aloud “How dare they say that about me!” And as tempting as it is to run this person down and wrap myself in the comforting blanket of the commiserating outrage of my friends and family, I am trying to look at all of this from a different angle.

The fact is, what I do here in this little corner of cyberspace, I do publicly. And the fact is, I am terrible at dealing with personal criticism. Of course, that message was a little more than criticism. It was more like a defamation of my entire character, which in times past was a much more serious thing to do. People didn’t used to drop the term ‘thief’ so lightly. But laying that aside, I need to remember that this strange thing called the internet is remarkably public. I need to be prepared for any and all kinds of comments and opinions. I always figured that in starting a blog about sewing and cooking, I would be fairly safe from criticism and hateful words. But having been on the internet for most of my adult life, I should know better.

People will say what they want to say. They will take things personally. They will read into things way more than they should and put a spin on words that were never meant to be spun. They will make a controversy about the most benign topics. They will think it is their duty to tell you what they think you need to hear. And yes, they will rarely do any research before they accuse. This is the world we live in. And full disclosure, I am not entirely innocent of such folly myself.

In the meantime, if I want to continue using the internet as a great way to reach a lot of people, I must learn to develop a thicker skin. It’s a package deal. These things will happen. And painful and unjust as those words were, they were a good reminder for me to be careful in all that I write and say and in all the work I do. I should strive for integrity, remembering at all times whom I represent.

But above all, I must remember the Merciful One to whom I am finally answerable, and be at peace.

16Oct2014

Seven

Posted in dolls, Hand made gifts by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well, my little shop is humming along, thanks to all of you who have put in orders over the last several weeks. Life has been so very busy, but I am not quite at the point where I can say I am overwhelmed. Having five kids seems to be a new level of insanity, and I suppose I am stating the obvious here, but babies take a lot of work!
However, because I don’t seem to know where to draw a line, a few weeks ago I entered to win a spot in a very large Etsy Christmas Market in Nashville this December. I was a little panicky about doing it, but wanted to see if I could push my business a bit outside my circle of friends and family.
There were two weeks where I didn’t know if I would make the cut or not, and my mind was going a mile a minute trying to think of ways to increase my stock and make my brand look more professional so the market would be profitable for me. I couldn’t tell if I really wanted to make it or not, or if would even be wise at this point in my life, until I received an email last night saying I didn’t make it. My biggest feeling was one of relief, but it did help me to think about ways that I might someday promote my business in other ways.

In the meantime, I still have orders coming in. For instance-
A college friend of mine very generously decided to give me her all Christmas business- meaning a bulk order of dolls. She gave no specifications as to hair color or dress design, so it was fun coming up with something for her.
She and I were both in the music department in college, and both share a love of musicals. So when she gave me an order for seven dolls for seven nieces, I immediately thought of this.

Now there are many things that aren’t exactly PC about this musical, not least of which is the opening anthem- “Bless her beautiful hide”- and continuing on to a mass kidnapping of all the town’s eligible women. (It’s all in good fun, right?)

But the scene I was inspired by was this one-

I have always loved the bright, rainbow-y jewel tones in this scene, with the girls in complementing ginghams. But I didn’t have much gingham on hand, so I just put my dollies in simple jewel toned skirts with black buttoned shoes to match.

There is something so satisfying about rainbow order.

I can tell they are already friends.

I wanted to be able to do a little photo session with them in dancing poses, but they just kept falling over. So here, for your enjoyment, is a little video instead.
http://youtu.be/TygmMPbwfjA

5Oct2014

Rat tale

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well folks, how about we take a break from cutesy ballerina stories and try something a little more, shall we say, distasteful? If you are squeamish about rodents, I advise you to stop reading now. And full disclosure, there is a rather disgusting picture at the end of this post. But if you don’t mind dead animals, and want to be impressed by the perseverance of one of God’s most hated creatures, keep on going.

During homeschool, I have been working on writing stories with my oldest boy, and have told him that is easiest to write from life. So he decided to write about our family adventure with a rat. Yes, you heard me. A rat. And as I was helping him lay out the characters, the plot and the details, I came to realize that it was such an interesting story- so full of intrigue, daring and suspense- that I needed to write my own version of it.
I have hesitated to post this, for obvious reasons. Having vermin in your home is nothing to be proud of, and I imagine most people would not want to admit that they have had a rat as a house guest. I myself tried to deny the fact for a while.

“Oh, it’s just a cute little mouse,” I told myself when I first saw the tell-tale nibbles on a box of crackers.
“Oh, it’s just a playful, rambunctious little mouse,” I assured myself when awoken in the night by loud scurryings and scratchings.
“Oh, it’s just a huge, lumbering mouse with a really long, nasty tail,” I flat out lied to myself when I caught sight of it in my side yard one day.

It’s pretty sad when you are trying to convince yourself that what you have is a mere mouse problem. But I would rather deal with a few mice than a single rat any day. Especially since the signs began appearing right after the hubby had left for France for a month. There I was, a single mother with my new baby girl, and three boys who would rather keep a rat than get rid of it. And I knew I would never have the guts to take on a large rodent by myself.

It wasn’t difficult to deduce how the thing was getting in. There was a small hole in the corner of my living room floor that the hubby had long ago filled in with some tasteful, yellow spray-foam. Every morning, I noticed there were more bits of foam scattered about the floor, and the hole was perceptibly larger. Just to verify things, I taped a thick piece of paper over the hole one night. In the morning, there was a rat shaped hole busted through the paper. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but the paper had been shredded by something.

The next thing I did was to take a thick piece of wood and hammer it tightly into the hole. Problem solved. I went to bed that night, congratulating myself that I had conquered the rat, sans hubby. In the morning, the wood had been popped right out. Impressed but undaunted, I went out to the backyard and found myself a nice sized brick, and fitted it snuggly over the hole. Problem solved again.

But as I sat sewing in my quiet living room that night, I heard an ominous thumping noise. I looked up quickly and saw, to my horror, that the brick was being slowly nudged out of the way. Heart racing and wanting desperately to avoid a Ratatouille-like encounter, I ran back outside and grabbed another brick, and then another, for good measure. I piled them on top of the first one. I kept an ear open all night, but the three-brick stack remained unmoved. I had successfully blocked the hole.

Fast forward a few weeks. The hubby had come home, and life had returned to normal. I had forgotten all about the rat until one morning, when I found an apple on my pantry floor. Sad to say, finding an apple half-eaten on my floor is not an unusual occurrence around here. But the teeth marks in it were definitely not from my three year old who is the usual suspect. With a groan, I showed the apple to my hubby. Our rodent guest had found another way in.
He was untroubled by the news. He simply got one of those old fashioned, spring loaded rat traps and set it out before we went to bed. Feeling thankful that he was there to deal with the carcass in the morning, I closed my eyes. But before we had even fallen asleep, there was a loud SNAP from the kitchen. Mr. Rat had wasted no time. We both leapt out of bed, and ran to survey the scene. But all we saw was an empty trap, and the cheese absconded with.

We left the trap out on several subsequent evenings, but it was never again disturbed. We still weren’t sure what new hole he was emerging from, but as there were no further sightings, we dropped our guard. Then one morning at breakfast, my oldest boy told us that upon returning from a midnight trip to the bathroom the night before, he had observed a shadowy something scurrying into the corner where our dishwasher resides. Sure enough, we found a crack that might just be big enough to admit a rat. I wanted to block the crack, but the hubby wanted to catch it once and for all. So he went back to the store and this time came back with jumbo glue traps.

That night, he set four of the traps in various locations around the kitchen, including one by the dishwasher. We settled into bed, and that night I had a terrible dream. It was one of those dreams where you can only move in slow motion, and I could see a strange man climbing over my gate as I tried to reach my front door. As I reached the door and began turning the lock, the man pulled a gun out. I had just managed to lock the door when the man raised the gun. Then there was a terrific BANG! I sat bolt upright in bed, trying to shake off the dream, but the banging continued. It took me a minute to sort out dreams from reality, but I finally realized that the banging was coming from the kitchen and could only be one thing.

“Honey! Honey! The rat! I think we caught the rat,” I said in a fierce whisper.
Honey snored on.
“The rat!” I said a bit louder. “You need to go take care of it!”
He didn’t budge.
But I was not about to do battle with anything that could make that much noise in my kitchen, so after shaking his shoulder several times and repeating the word ‘rat’, he finally got the message and stumbled out of bed. He was only gone a moment or two when the noise ceased, and he came back.
“What happened?” I asked, feeling queasy. “What did you do with it?”
“It got away,” he replied and climbed back under the covers.
“What!?” I asked incredulously. But he had already fallen back asleep.

The next morning, the hubby explained that he had only gotten there in time to see the rat disappearing through the crack, with just it’s tail still stuck and flailing wildly. As he watched, the rat had made one final effort, unglued its tail and made good its escape, leaving behind what looked like half of it’s fur.

I was so disgusted by this point, that I just prayed it would go away for good, or be so wounded, it might never recover. And it seemed my prayer might be answered. We continued to put out the traps for several days, but no more midnight drama. Until, of course, the night we neglected to put anything out.

I was again awakened by a loud banging, but this time it sounded ten times louder, as if something was clambering around in one of my pots. Turns out, that was exactly what was happening. I was so mad at this creature that I got myself out of bed and went to investigate. As I crept towards my pantry, I realized that it must have been standing on the lid of my big stock pot that I keep on the floor in there, and fallen in. But as I got closer, a board creaked and there was suddenly dead silence. I knew it was still in there, and that there was no way out except through the door, so I grabbed the first thing to hand- a dish towel. Then I heard snorting behind me. The hubby had arrived on the scene.
“What do you think you are going to do with a towel?” he laughed.
Realizing how futile it would be to try and chase down such a creature in the small confines of my pantry, (with a towel) he wisely gathered together all the glue traps and laid them end to end across the doorway. There was no way it would be able to get out without getting stuck again. We headed back to bed, confident that we would be up again soon, taking care of it once and for all.

But in the morning, there were the glue traps, untouched, unmoved. We could only wonderingly surmise that the animal had jumped the traps. I couldn’t quite believe that a rat could be so clever, so we tried the same trick again that night, thinking it might get stuck heading into the pantry.
The next morning, the hubby found me standing and staring at the door way. The rat had not jumped the traps. It had calmly and deliberately moved the traps aside and walked straight in. I was beginning to feel a little bit in awe of this beast. I began to think that maybe it was a raccoon. Or magic elves. The hubby went back to the store.

He came back with a box as long as my arm. It was time to bring out the big guns. A baited cage, to trap the rat in a more humane way. I had no idea what we would do with it if we actually caught it- bring it out to the country and let it run free? I somehow knew that this particular rat, no matter how far it roamed, would always find its way back to my pantry. So the hubby put out the cage, and I continued to place the glue traps. Four nights passed without incident.
And then came the fifth. I was not awaked by a bang this night, but with a scream. This time, the hubby was out of bed in a flash. I thought maybe one of the kids was screaming, but then I realized it was the rat, caught again in a glue trap. I didn’t know a rat could produce a sound like that. It was very much like a nightmare.
I peeked my head out of the bedroom door, squinting in the glare of the kitchen lights. The noise was so loud that all the kiddos stumbled out of their room too, rubbing their eyes, looking confused.

“What is that, mom?”
“Did we finally get the rat?
“What’s dad going to do with it?”
“Is it morning?”
“What’s for breakfast? Can you make pancakes?”

I herded them back to their room, trying to ignore the struggle in the kitchen. I just felt sick. I got the boys back in bed, and went and buried my head under my pillow. Finally, there was silence. As much as I hate rats, I was glad to think the creature was out of its misery.
“What did you do with it?” I asked the hubby as he came back to bed.
“I drowned it,” was his short reply, but I could tell he felt sicker than I did.

The next morning, the boys were up early and chatting excitedly about the great battle of the night before. They wanted more details- they wanted to see the rat, to hear my side of the story. And what about the cage? Could we keep the cage? It would make a perfect jail for lego bad guys.

I ignored them all and went straight to my pantry with a mop, rubber gloves, a pile of rags, and a bucket of lysol. While I was scrubbing everything furiously, I heard a tap at the window and looked up. The hubby was holding up the dead rat for the boys to see. They all scrambled around the window, chattering with excitement, asking for the camera.

As for me, I almost passed out.

And worthy adversary though he was, I’m just glad the battle is over.
Now please reassure me that we are not the only people who have ever had a rat.

24Sep2014

Ballerina dreaming

Posted in Childhood, dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

When I was a little girl, I shared a dream with many other little girls. I wanted to be a ballerina.
It was for all the usual reasons- the lovely, floaty dancing- the shiny, pointy, pink slippers- and of course the tutus. If there were tutus involved, I was in.
But I was one of six girls. My mom worked part time and we were in school full time. Ballet lessons just weren’t on the agenda. But did I let that stop me? No siree. If I couldn’t have real lessons, I would teach myself.
Those were the days before Youtube, of course, and there were no handy online tutorials I could google. But we did have a well worn VHS recording of the Nutcracker, performed by the Pacific Northwest Ballet that I watched ad nauseum. I imitated the dancing as best I could, hunted around the house for ballet -type attire (one of my mom’s fluffy old slips was a pretty good tutu substitute) and thus attired, I pranced around the house to my heart’s content.
One year, I was given a pair of silky, pink, ballet-esque slippers for my birthday. With those on my feet to spur my imagination, I felt capable of starring in a ballet of my own. And one of the beauties of having five sisters was that I could make such a thing a reality. I coaxed them into joining my venture, and we started production immediately.
First, we had to decide on the music. That was easy enough. Dad had just purchased one of the first compact disc players on the market, and we were the proud owners of two cds- Handel’s Messiah and Rachmaninoff’s 3rd piano concerto. Handel didn’t seem very suitable for ballet, so that left Rachmaninoff.
Then it was decided that we were all to be flowers, as pink and fluffy as our dress-up box would allow. There we would huddle in the living room while the opening bars of the concerto began. I was in the center of the flower huddle- the self-appointed prima donna- because, if you remember, I owned the pink slippers.
Then, as the music quickened, out ran my baby sister, trailing a bright orange blanket. She was the sun, of course. She circled the flower huddle once or twice, and as she toddled away, we flowers would slowly awaken. Then I had to do my own little bit of solo dancing (the pink slippers demanded it) and after that, it was pretty much every dancer for herself. (Just imagine a whole lot of twirling)
The grand finale always included the same dramatic scene- the six of us lined up according to size on the living room stairs, and with arms gracefully extended, we would leap more or less simultaneously onto the worn brown carpet below. Despite our best efforts to land lightly, we always came thudding down like a ton of bricks, causing the cd in the player to skip around violently and bring our performance to a sudden end. It was not, perhaps, the best ballet in the world, but it has left plenty of good memories. Sometimes I still think about being a ballerina, even though that ship has long since sailed. And I will always enjoy watching ballet.

But all of this is to say, that when a friend suggested a few weeks back that I should try and make a ballerina doll, I had to mentally smack myself in the forehead. Of course! I love ballet, I love dolls, and I love tutus!

So without further ado, let me introduce my first ballerina doll.

Generally, when I think of ballerinas, I think pink, but I only had a little bit of red and white tulle, so I thought I would see what I could make out of the materials I had on hand before stocking up on new supplies.

A view from the rear.

And a view of her slippers. I thought about altering the doll pattern so that her toes would be pointed down, but again, figured I would see how things looked before I made any major alterations. What do you think? Should I change the feet?

Here is her little leotard, with the tutu removed.

And when I put her tutu back on, I accidentally had it turned around. But I kind of like it reversed as well. Two tutus for the price of one, eh?

So there she is. (By the way, I have already sold this doll, but I plan on making more if there is interest.). And I’ve also been contemplating some design ideas for Nutcracker dolls, what with Christmas coming and all. Or maybe just some custom ballet dresses.

So I ask again~Feedback? Suggestions? Good places to buy lots of tulle?
Thanks!

18Sep2014

Working on a wardrobe

Posted in dresses for sale, New baby by Climbing Vine Clothing

So fashion has never really been my thing. I’m really bad at keeping up with the latest trends, and even worse at actually going shopping to buy them. If you have followed this blog at all, you know that I prefer to make my own clothes, both because I enjoy it and because it is harder and harder for me to find things that will work with my constantly evolving body shape. And when I find a pattern I like, or that works, I usually make it and wear it, whether it’s in style or not.
All that to say, even though I’m not particularly good at dressing myself, I have been looking forward for a long time to dressing my baby girl. But having been inundated with baby clothes before she was even born, I haven’t really needed to get or make her anything yet.

However, I was cleaning out her 0-3 month clothes the other day (sniff) and I realized she has next to nothing for this winter. Her closet is full of little white and pink cotton summer dresses that she is quickly outgrowing, but there is hardly a long sleeve to be seen. So I thought it would be fun make her a little fall/winter wardrobe.

I started a pinterest page for baby girl clothing as soon as I found out I was having a girl, and have been slowly adding to it since. One of the things I love about pinterest is that, even if you can’t easily say what styles you like off the top of your head, it’s easy to tell by a quick glance at your pins.
Scrolling down through her page, it was quickly evident what styles appeal to me. Apparently I’m not a big fan of ruffles and frills, but tend to prefer simple straight lines and pleats- and more vintage styles. I like either subdued grays and neutrals, or jewel tones. I like buttons and peter pan collars. And I like wools, velvets and plaids.

Oh. Also boots.

And hats. I really like hats.

Seeing as 3-6 month clothing doesn’t take much in the way of fabric, I figured it was time I upcycle some of my old things, and thus avoid too many trips to the fabric store. I can’t trust myself near fabric stores.
So I pulled out some of my favorite old wool skirts from college days. There is little hope that I will ever fit into them again, but I hate to throw them away. I mean, I was wearing that blue and green plaid when I visited the Louvre for the first time! There are memories in it!

I also have a lot of other clothes and fabric stockpiled for my shop that I might have some fun with- lots of autumn-hued velvets and wools.

And I don’t have a lot of little girl patterns, but I usually just fall back on these vintage ones as a guide, and make alterations as I go.

So now that I feel inspired, all I need to do is find some time! If I actually succeed with any of these ideas, I’ll let you know. What are your little girls wearing this fall?

15Sep2014

They say it’s your birthday.

Posted in Cooking, Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

Birthdays in our family are divided into two groups- the spring birthdays and the September ones. Today is my hubby’s birthday- next week is my third boy’s. The rest of us celebrate in the April/May/June sector. I love my hubby’s birthday because it always seems to fall just when summer is turning down the heat and autumn is peeping her head around the corner. It’s still warm, but not too warm, and there is just enough summer left to have an excuse to make ice cream.
I want to share our favorite ice cream recipe with you all today. I have written about it before, on my first blog, but I thought I would post it with pictures this time, since it can be a little tricky.

It’s a recipe my dad taught me to make many years ago, out of a fancy dessert book he had. He always called it “chocolate, chocolate malt with Bailey’s.” I’m not sure why he called it “chocolate, chocolate” since there is only one kind of chocolate in it. He was always one for hyping things up. But there is malt in it, and Bailey’s Irish Cream liqueur. (We use a knock off brand)

This is a rich ice cream, in more ways then one. It calls for a lot of eggs, a lot of chocolate and a lot of cream. (And Bailey’s. Did I mention the Bailey’s?).
So it’s a once a year kind of ice cream- a birthday treat kind of ice cream. But if you want to try the smoothest, silkiest dessert you’ve ever had, this is it.

Here is what you need.

Get your supplies lined up first, so things will go smoothly. You will need two medium size bowls, two saucepans and a fine mesh strainer. If you don’t have a fine mesh strainer, cheesecloth will work. Straining it is important to get that silky smooth texture.

In one of the saucepans, get about an inch of water simmering.

In the other saucepan, on medium heat, put

2 cups of heavy cream
2 cups of milk
1/4 cup malt powder (found next to the hot chocolate in most grocery stores)

Over the pan of simmering water, place one of the bowls filled with

-10 ounces of good quality chocolate- milk or dark, chopped.

We like dark around here.

Stir both pans occasionally. You want the chocolate melted and the malt dissolved.

While that is going on, separate your eggs. You need eight egg yolks here.

Put the yolks in your second bowl, and save the whites for omelets or something.

Now beat the eggs yolks until they are light and frothy.

Set them aside and return to the stove. Your chocolate should be melted by now and your malted milk steaming.

Remove the chocolate from the heat. It’s time to make the custard.

Start by slowly whisking about a cup of the hot milk into the egg yolks. This is called tempering and will help avoid scrambled eggs. Or if you can’t pour, whisk and take a picture at the same time, get your son to help you.

Once the egg yolks are warmed up, you can slowly add the mixture back to the hot milk, which should be turned to medium low.

Place your fine mesh strainer over the bowl your yolks were in, so it will be ready.

Now stir the custard until it thickens. With that many yolks, it shouldn’t take long- just a few minutes, so watch it carefully. You can tell when it is thick enough if you can run your finger through it on the back of a spoon and it stays put- like so.

As soon as it thickens, pour it immediately through the strainer into the bowl. It can scramble very quickly at this point.

But don’t worry. Even if it scrambles a bit, the strainer will catch it.

And that’s your custard! Now grab your melted chocolate.

And you guessed it- stir them together.

While you’re doing that, call the birthday boy in to add the final ingredient.

How much Bailey’s Irish cream you add is entirely up to you. I’m pretty sure the original recipe called for 2-3 Tablespoons, but I am also pretty sure we have never stopped at that amount. Just keep pouring until it tastes good to you.

And now it’s ready for your ice cream maker.

I had every intention of taking pictures of the rest of the process, including the eating of it. It was the grand finale to the picnic we had yesterday afternoon at one of our favorite spots. I got plenty of pictures when we were at the pool-

And of course lots of the birthday boy with my girl-baby in her first swimsuit-

But I totally forgot to take pictures of the food, and the only evidence I have that the ice cream was a success is the bowl I found on the table this morning. The hubby must have finished the picnic leftovers off after I went to bed.

Oh well.
Happy Birthday Dear!

12Sep2014

It’s not your business to succeed

Posted in Daily happenings, Mission statement by Climbing Vine Clothing

When I was in high school, I was required to write a lot of essays. We were given a topic to address, and then had to come up with some sort of thesis, supported by well reasoned arguments and then sum it all up neatly in a sentence or two. I was never very good at it. I have always loved to write, but my writing has always tended towards the long and meandering story, not the succinct and informative essay. So I struggled along for a while, getting C’s and B’s, until I stumbled upon a book on my dad’s book shelf entitled ‘The Quotable Lewis’.
It was simply an index of memorable quotes of C.S. Lewis, arranged by topic alphabetically. If you wanted to know what Lewis thought about something, you just looked it up. More often than not, there would be a clear, concise statement on the topic, written in his inimitable style. I started using quotes by Lewis to help jumpstart my essays, and they helped me focus my thoughts. At first I was worried that it might be a kind of cheating, but my teacher didn’t seem to mind, and my grades started to go up. I kept at it.

I stole the book from dad when I went to college and used it there occasionally as well. I did finally return the book, once I discovered that Google could do the same thing for me, but I still often find myself asking, “What would Lewis think?” when perplexed by certain issues.

For instance, I’ve been thinking a lot about success lately. What it looks like for a Christian, what a Christian should be succeeding at, and how it is measured. I go through occasional periods of discontent with my house-wifely lot and even sometimes feel wildly ambitious. Sometimes I dream of writing a best selling book (or creating an award winning blog : ). At others, I want to get back to my music and to the concert stage, make recordings and devote myself to singing. And sometimes, my sights are set a little lower- making my little business a success. All of these ambitions have, at their core, a desire to glorify God with my gifts, and of course, make a little money.

But most days, I see my life as it really is. I’m a stay at home mom of five, struggling to keep up with housework and homeschool, trying to be a help to the hard working husband who fights to put bread on our table. Shouldn’t I be trying to succeed in this arena, above all others? And what does that even look like? My children aren’t geniuses, my house is a mess, and we certainly aren’t wealthy. I so often feel I am failing, and find myself calling out to God- “Prosper the work of our hands, Lord!” I often ask him what I am doing wrong that is getting in the way of my success.

In wrestling with these questions, I remembered my old habit, and decided to google ‘C.S. Lewis on success’. I was unprepared for the first link I found. It was a quote from one of his letters and it simply read,

“It is not your business to succeed, but to do right. When you have done so, the rest lies with God.”

This was astounding to me, and raised more questions than it answered. It’s not my business to succeed? After thinking a while, I took it to mean, not that success was bad, but that it is not a goal in itself. After all, C.S. Lewis was very successful in his lifetime. It was a liberating thought, and a terrifying one. I can leave all in God’s hands, (blessed thought) but at the same time, I must relinquish all perceived control over my future, and that of my children. ( a seemingly impossible thought)
And then to cap it all, he says instead of worrying about succeeding, I must simply do right.
But what did he mean by right?
I’m a good enough Presbyterian to know that nothing I can do is right, but I also know the Bible also requires me to do right.
And what does it mean to do ‘right’ when the baby won’t stop crying, or when the sky won’t stop raining? When the dentist finds four cavities and the car won’t start in the morning? Or when you have a choice between two good things, and either one might be life altering? I was going round and round in circles over these and other questions until my hubby gently suggested that I was overthinking the whole thing. I took a deep breath and decided to search a little more. Then I found this, also from his letters.-

“Remember, He is the artist and you are only the picture. You can’t see the picture, so quietly submit to being painted.
This means keep fulfilling all the obvious duties of your station, (You really know quite well what they are!) asking forgiveness for each failure and then leaving it alone.
You are in the right way. Walk in it- don’t keep looking at it.”

So then, Lord.
Let me submit quietly, and patiently to being painted. Let me not be always trying to look over your shoulder to see what is coming next, or how well I will ‘succeed’. And let me not say, like my three year old being told to have patience,
“Okay. I will wait. But I’m still gonna hafta cry about it.”

5Sep2014

Why I homeschool my kids

Posted in Daily happenings, Home and Garden by Climbing Vine Clothing

I’ve been wanting to blog lately, but have been coming up dry for a topic. I’m still cooking and sewing and telling childhood tales, but most of my energy lately has been focused on homeschooling. And since I haven’t ever addressed that topic on this blog, I figured why not?
Last year, when my shop was going great guns, homeschool took a back seat. I was still doing it, but I had stopped making it my primary object. We took a break when the new baby came, but started up again in July, part time. In August, when the hubby took my oldest boy to France for a month, I took the time to reassess what exactly I wanted homeschool to look like.
I found I didn’t really have a clear answer. I’m writing this to try and clear the cobwebs out of my own mind, but feel free to keep reading and tell me what you think.
To be honest, I never really wanted to homeschool. I have no great theories as to why homeschool is the best, or why going to school is bad. The main reason I started was pragmatic. It was a financial issue. The hubby had just lost his job, so we took my oldest out of first grade at a local private school. Public school is not an option for us. We are zoned for some of the worst schools in the city, and my own small experience in public schools has left me a little scarred. So we brought him home.
He was and is such a smart boy- a strong reader and writer by the end of Kindergarten, and eager to please. All I needed to do was give him a stack of books, and a bit of guidance. He did the rest. Easy-peasy.
But things are different now. I am now teaching three. And two of them haven’t already learned to read and write from a competent teacher. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. I am not a good teacher. In fact, I will go so far as to say I really don’t care much for teaching at all. I have never been taught how to teach others and it doesn’t come naturally.
So now, instead of a quiet, studious six year old independently reading high school level books on my couch while his little brothers play blocks in the bedroom, I find myself in a totally different scenario.

Days begin with a nursing baby, a really grumpy three year old who never wakes up on the right side of the bed, and three big hungry boys who hardly let me get a shower before banging on the door, asking what there is to eat. Coffee is slurped while eggs fry, and then we multitask lessons. Daddy speaks french while they eat breakfast, while mommy drills them on Bible verses after they have put down their forks. Chores are completed.
Then the juggling of three separate classes- different levels of piano instruction, handwriting practice, grammar, phonics, reading, math- workbooks, pencils, crayons and notebooks scattered pell mell over our tiny house.

And then-
My nine year old is starting to push boundaries, to question why Mom is making him do all this.
My seven year old is often found crying in a corner because reading is still so hard for him and his little brother is passing him up.
My five year old is just five and can’t sit still for more than three seconds at a time.
My three year old- well, my three year old is a hilariously naughty piece of work. I’ll leave it at that.
And my baby. My sweet, lovely baby is wonderful and adorable and needs to be everlasting fed and changed and burped and bounced.
But every day I force myself to push on. My goal is to finish school with a group history or science lesson at lunch. And then we are done. More often than not, we succeed in getting most of it done.

I hope those who may be contemplating homeschool are not scared off by this picture. I know that homeschool is not for everyone. There have been many, many days when I wonder is it is right for us. I’ve read the pros and cons until I am blue in the face. I live in constant fear of failing my kids, of failing to teach them what they need to know. But for us, it still comes down to being the only viable option right now. Our house is too small, our resources are limited, my patience wears thin, but this is where we are. So I must look to the bright side. And there are more than one.

My oldest boy and I have discovered a shared love of writing stories. He is writing a thrilling chapter book, and every day I look forward to see what he has written next. We discuss plots and characters and he eagerly reads me each completed page.
And getting to assign him all my favorite books to read so we can discuss them together? Priceless.

My second boy is slow in picking up new things, but homeschool has allowed me to see a different side of him. Instead of being at the bottom of his class in a schoolroom, I have been able to see his slowness as a strength. A mind full of curiosity that has the patience to sit and figure out how a thing works- a passion for observing nature, and a willingness to keep at a task until he gets it right, no matter the time it takes.

And my sweet and goofy third child- his incessantly moving limbs would have him in constant trouble in a classroom. He seems to learn best swinging by his feet from the top bunk, and that is something I can let him do. The other day, he read an entire book while standing on his head. A little unorthodox, but it does the trick. He’ll learn to sit still someday.

And my three year old. He is hilarious and naughty and very bright. He is absorbing all that is going on around him, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he taught himself to read by the end of the year. That would be a bonus.

And with all of them, when tears and temper and frustration inevitably erupt, I can put a pause on everything until it is resolved. I can deal with their hearts as well as their heads. I am seeing more and more how terribly important that is.

And with all the crazy of my mornings, I find the craziness is just about compensated for the freedom of the afternoon. No homework, no racing around town, no extra curricular mayhem. Just time to play- to take a walk, have a leisurely lunch or a picnic. And of course, take a nap!

So I suppose it’s not really a question of which is better. It’s more a matter of putting the best face on what is before me and being thankful for the ability to do it. And I trust, if we ever did put the kids in school, it would be the same.

21Aug2014

Hey! Summer isn’t over yet!

Posted in Childhood, Cooking by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well folks, the end of tomato season is upon us. Or at least it is in my yard. But before it is gone completely, I wanted to post a super quick and easy recipe that many people have asked me for in the past. It’s one of my favorite potluck contributions- versatile, colorful, flavorful and fresh.
My dad used to make huge batches of pico de gallo every summer. I am talking enormous. He would fill one of those giant, shiny restaurant size bowls with the stuff. As a kid, I was super picky, and although I liked the flavor of his salsa, I didn’t like the chunks. So I would just dip the tip of my tortilla chip into the tomatoey juice that had pooled in the bottom of the bowl and nibble while he rolled his eyes at me.
But thankfully my appreciation of multi-textured foods has matured, and now I love a good chunky salsa. I’m not actually sure if this recipe qualifies as a salsa or a salad, but either way, it’s good.

Here’s what you need.

If you can’t tell from the picture, it’s
tomatoes,
onion,
green pepper,
mango,
black beans,
frozen corn,
lime,
chipotle peppers,
garlic,
and a big bunch of cilantro.

Normally, I would add a red pepper and an avocado, but the red pepper had gone bad and my avocado was still rock hard. But no worries. Like I said, this is versatile!

Now here comes the hardest part. Lots of chopping! If you don’t know how to dice a mango, I suggest finding a good youtube tutorial.

In a big bowl, put your rinsed black beans and about half a bag of frozen corn. You could, of course, slice some fresh corn off the cob, but I’m going for easy here.

Then toss everything else in.

I’m kind of a wimp when it comes to heat, but I love the smoky flavor of chipotle peppers in adobe sauce. And it goes great with the sweet mango. So I just throw in one and let it sit for a while until the flavor has permeated the rest. Then I remove it. It’s a bit of an eye-watering shock to get a big bite of chipotle.
You also need a good dose of lime juice. Please don’t tell my father I used ‘fake’ lime juice today. He might have a stroke. I kid you not, Walmart was out of limes.

I usually use about two fresh limes, but just squirt and taste as you go until it tastes right. Same goes for the salt and pepper.

And that’s it. Nice and chunky, sweet and smoky.

This is, of course, great with tortilla chips. But as often as not, I often grill up some chicken or beef, slice it, throw it onto a tortilla, and pile a whole bunch of this salsa on top. With sour cream of course. It’s pretty fabulous.

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