Through Finger Tips

…a journey towards homesteading

…and here she came a year ago.

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Shivering in bed and looking towards the ceiling I notice the window above the bed slightly cracked. It’s raining. The dripdripdrip is music to my ears. Instead of lifting my body up to close it, I rationalize a bit, move closer to Matt and not-so-sneakily steal blankets.  He’s a snoring mass of boy and seems to not mind. It is now October and this will become a regular occurrence until it’s chilly enough to turn the furnace on.

Merry Fall.

The birthday happened. Little Bug is now one year and five days old. I wish we would have forgone the vanilla cake for carrot cake, but there is always next year. So much family came to congratulate her on the first year of her life. She is so very loved. Never have I seen so many smiles out of such a small person. Though I do not invest much into birthdays, this one may be an exception.
The two days following up to her big day, I found my mind floating into the past. “What was I doing, this very moment, one whole year ago?” Memories of labor, bullets of sweat and endorphins rush my brain. It’s surely an experience I’m not to have again (especially swearing off any more children), but I must be thankful  for the experience as a whole. My birth plan was trashed immediately, but gosh, can’t a lady improvise! After 34 hours of discomfort, the threat of a C-Section, then an additional 2 hours of hysterical crying in fear of a C-Section, she came into this world with ease. Right into Matt’s arms. Right onto my chest.
A year later and the hormones haven’t left me.


On the eve of LadyBug’s shindig, Matteau had plotted a date. A real life, leave-the-house-and-do-things-ALONE date. The noise of those words about knocked me off of my feet. But who would watch LittleBug? No doubt, I’d forgotten, but we’ve some lovely neighbors who adore a baby’s presence. These neighbors of ours, they’re just lovely. He: A twisty-mustachioed gent’ with an eye for knickknacks. She: a lady of the earth, hospice nurse, who can put down some moonshine. At a time, they’d actually pleaded for us to exit the house and leave EvieBug in their care. After a couple full nights of lighting our street with explosives (fireworks) and trading goodies, I can say I trusted them to keep her a’smiling. EvieBug adores both him and her, and demands their attention if we step food outdoors and she spies them in their rocking chairs. And sure enough, a couple of Sunday’s ago, Matteau was outside chatting them up, and unbeknownst to me, he’d put forth a plan to take me out for a night of joy.

After my waking LittleBug from her veryvery late nap at 8pm, she was dressed for success in her favorite jammies. The bags were ready, and across the yard we went. The neighbors were left with the essentials and a house key for possible forgottens. And onto downtown we went. Matteau reserved a table at Piatto 614 and we made it 20 minutes early. Standing at the front door to the restaurant, I heard some sweet tunes around the corner. BLUEGRASS. It was suggested that we jaunt around the corner for some banjos and swaying. Oh yes, the banjos, the mandolin. These sounds are like honey.

Nearing reservation time, we trotted back around the corner, and right into our seats. Starters: Calamari. Main Courses: Black Linguine with shrimp and lobster sauce + White Pizza which was split between the two of us. Desert? Pumpkin Ale and a Dry White Wine for him. At the back of the house, there is a lounge with tall ceilings. We took a seat at the bar and had a couple more cold ones. I ran into some old friends and acquaintances whom I introduced to Matt. It was so lovely seeing their faces and hearing their lovely talents played out though the speakers. We took a quick trip to Foster’s Martini Bar for a Moscow Mule (mine) and a Kansas City Ice Water (him), then right back to Piatto for some bluegrass jams. My face was warm, and my feet couldn’t stop moving. It was definitely time for some groovin’. Not sure how long we danced, I requested some water to cool down, and took a load off until we decided to trek back home.  The night was long past due, and pheromones were in the air.
DoodleBug was fast asleep, and had a marvelous time watching IceAge, eating cheese, and dancing around to tunes of her own. I couldn’t have been happier with the outcome, or more thankful of the neighbors. For thanks we brought them BlueBerry Bread Pie, and the next day, Spinach Artichoke Bites as well as a chicken dish Matt prepared. EvieBug slept until 830am the next morning, exhausted and happy.

As autumn sets in, crafty blood fills my veins. The holidays are nearing and I hail from a long line of gift givers. This week I’m purchasing supplies to fashion (more) handmade gifts.  I’d really love to put together some Pressed Flower books, as I am a very floral lady, but it’s definitely a lost art. Can we call it that? Can we consider the act of pressing flowers an art? If it’s not an “art”, I motion it should be.
Christmas seems so far away, but I know it’s basically just next week. October leaves me 2.5 months to jump up to par with my brain. I am alwaysalwaysalways behind on holiday shopping, even WITH the Amazon Prime account. Procrastinator Extraordinaire.

I’m off to delve my hands into some acrylic paints. Don’t worry about “that dead thing”. Ishamel is just a beast. He goes for full sized squirrels now.
May the God of Dance                                       Smile upon your feet.


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