H. I. P.

Last year, my Thanksgiving post was titled: Rated R for Violins. I thought that was so stinking clever, but nobody ever commented. This year, I’ll do one better, and provide you proof of what happens every year when my family gets together. Cousin Mike posted a video of several of my family members, playing a string quintet. It’s a pretty short clip. The dude on the cello is my dad, who made that cello, as well as most or all of the other instruments. Every year, I cry with jealousy, because I’m just a lousy organist, and I can’t join in. I guess I’m gonna have to take up the viola or something.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I totally ruled on Boggle. It’s really hard to totally rule on Boggle in my family, because everybody is freakishly smart and/or has photographic memory. I’m pretty sure my total rule-hood was a total fluke.

For which you are definitely NOT invited to enter. That’s right, I’m trying to get myself in twice, and I’m not advertising, at all, that you should head on over there to see what she’s handing out. I mean, seriously, if I don’t win those boots, I may shrivel up and die. I’m not being melodramatic, I’m predicting what will surely come to pass. You may enter in my behalf, though. You may go leave a comment and say that, if you win, you would like to donate the prize to desperate Sarah, who may shrivel up and die without boots for the winter. Yes, you may.

So I’m walking Calvin to school today, and we end up walking with the neighbor and his daughter, who is Calvin’s best friend. While they’re conspiring together, I say to Jack, “So did Christy tell you we lost Kiki yesterday?”

He says, “Oh, yours was the 2 year old?”

“Yes,” I say. Then I ask how he heard about it, since it’s clear his wife didn’t tell him without giving away important details like the fact that it was their neighbor’s kid who they see nearly every day.

“Oh, I heard about it at work.”

Yeah, word spreads quickly, when the apocalypse is nigh.

The thing that is mortifying, but also infinitely reassuring, is that Jack is a police officer. So someone, in those few terrifying moments, made sure to let the local police know that there was a toddler who had gone missing. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were an officer in a vehicle already on the way to the schoolyard by the time we found her. And I wasn’t the one who called.

I love my neighborhood. I love it that everyone on the street knows everyone else, and that we watch out for each other’s kids. Some of us joke about how we live on Sesame Street, since we’ve got a moderate mix of ethnicities, and the mailman gets invited to the kids’ birthday parties. It’s kind of freaky idyllic.

FYI: If you’re going to lose a child, the very best place to do it is at an elementary school, right as class is let out for the day. There will be a calm, collected staff person who has the presence of mind to call everyone to attention, as well as a surfeit of knowing parents who are eager to spring instantly to action, scouring the area for the toddler in the black moon boots. Girl or boy? What grade? What’s her name? What does she look like? Mine was apparently not the only heart that stopped this afternoon.

Point of interest: Should I be worried that my baby girl will, without hesitation, leap into the arms of any strange man passing by?

The zombies:

Derek took the boys to the Cincinnati children’s museum a couple of weeks ago, and they had a professional face painter there. I didn’t know there was such a thing, but don’t you think that work is incredible? No oil crayons for that lady. She airbrushed their zombie faces on, and I think she did an outstanding job.

This is what I just made. I know the fabric isn’t the most fantastic, but it’s what I had in my fabric basket.

These baby wipes are made of flannel, and they’re slightly larger than the disposable kind. I make a wiping solution that I found somewhere on the internet (and now I can’t find it, but there are bazillions of recipes that include things like baby wash, aloe vera gel, tea tree oil, lavender oil, etc., etc., etc.) I just fold up the wipes, stick them into one of those sandwich-sized plastic containers, pour about 1 cup of solution onto them, then close it up and keep them near the diaper changing station (Kiki’s bedroom floor).

The frolicking puppies are acceptable. I would love to find some fantastic Avant Garde flannel (oxymoron you say?), though it’s kind of necessary that the fabric be light in color, so it’s OK to wash the wipes together with the unbleached cotton diapers. Have I started sounding like an infomercial?

I did think that my assembly line style production method was conducive to the invention of a pretty good baby shower decoration/green gift idea for that eco-conscious mom-to-be that probably also has chickens in her backyard. And since the wipes are also the very best after-meal hand washers, and quick to dry (important in a humid climate such as Ohio…) they’re awesome to have around.

Just tell me you think I’m awesome, too.