It is so, so, so good to have dear friends back in town for the holidays (and wedding!).

Simon snapped a few (hundred) frames too, which had the littler ones giggling.

DPP pics from past years: 2006 2008 2009 2010

The kids at Redeemer had their Christmas program tonight. (Simon had practiced with the choir, but he has been sick the past couple of days and had to miss the performance tonight.) They did great, with plenty of sweet antics to make the parents and grandparents chuckle. Our little friend Josh recited the whole Christmas story. It was kind of a rap, and it was awesome.

DPP pics from past years: 2006 2008 2009 2010

Among the myriad reasons I am thankful to have my dear friend Joie back in town is that I had always hoped that she would be around to teach my kids to dance. Today was our last day of our first Music and Movement class. The kids loved it—they would sing the songs and/or play the games for days afterwards. Cuteness abounded, and it would have been fun to catch on film had I been a bit more nimble (ok, a lot more nimble). The good news is that Joie plans to offer more classes after the first of the year. We’re in!

DPP photos from past years: 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010

We spent a lovely morning with friends. I got to sit on the couch and put my feet up and have a great conversation that I didn’t want to end while the boys got played with and catered to and generally spoiled. I can’t even begin to say what a blessing it was. What could be better?

Sadly, I didn’t pull out my camera to document any of the actual fun, but I remembered it in time to catch this one of Jacob and Kiah who had (along with Micah) come out to help buckle the kiddos into the van. Just a few minutes earlier I had left the room with Simon wailing, “I don’t want to go hooooooome!” and had come back to find both the boys happily putting on coats and boots. I don’t know how they did it. I don’t think there was any bribery involved—it’s that the Odells are just that good. 

DPP pics from past years: 2005 2006 2008 2009 2010

And by “Village Pie,” I do not mean Village Inn–esque or anything of the kind. I mean simply that it took a village to make this pie.

Once upon a time, we went to the apple orchard/pumpkin patch with Grandma Morehead and Uncle Hans and Aunt Leslie.

We picked out Simon- and Ian-sized pumpkins (and plenty of apples too). From the beginning, Simon was insistent that we make a pumpkin pie with his find. Did he want to make a jack-o-lantern? Nope, pumpkin pie.

On a Monday two weeks or so later, we roasted the pumpkins.

Except for scooping out the seeds (not my favorite), roasting a pumpkin is surprisingly easy. Simon and Ian were good helpers too. They didn’t like the “yucky strings,” but they did like scraping the insides of the pumpkins once I had most of the grody parts out. I put the roasted pumpkin in Mason jars, where they sat looking beautiful in the refrigerator for another four or five days.

Then on Wednesday Simon insisted it was the day to make the pie. I didn’t have a pie crust (I find the ones in the refrigerator section quite tasty enough and oh-so-convenient), so I thought as long as we’re doing the whole fresh thing, I might as well give making my own crust from scratch a go. I found a recipe that looked pretty straightforward (and, bonus, I had all the ingredients on hand). Simon didn’t want to help this time, but somehow I managed to get the crust made without my little sous chef. The crust then sat in the refrigerator for a couple more days.

On Friday I decided the pumpkin and the crust either needed to be used or frozen, so I asked Jason to roll out the crust. (He is so, so much better at rolling out dough than I am. He learned from his dad, I think. Truth be told, Simon is probably better at rolling out dough than I am. He also paid close attention to Grandpa Morehead. It is a talent I simply do not possess.)

Finally the time had come to make the pie! I found the easiest recipe I could (and made a few modifications to suit my own spice preferences—added cloves, cut back on the nutmeg, e.g.). We (and by “we” I mostly mean Jason) whipped up the filling and popped the crust in the oven to pre-bake just a little).

Meanwhile . . .

Simon must have decided that he wanted a trauma and scar to match Ian’s recent adventures. Just as we were getting Ian’s jammies on, I heard a bump and a scream from Simon’s room. He had been running “weally fast” and tripped somehow and cut his forehead open when he hit it on his space heater. I will say that this was considerably calmer this time than our last trip to the ER. Jason called Rebecca, who came immediately to fetch Ian (bless her! I don’t think she even knew at the time what had happened, just that we were taking Simon to the hospital). Simon was done crying before we even left the house.

We tried to prepare Simon for the fact that he would probably need stitches. He was totally calm on the way to the hospital, dutifully holding a washcloth to his head while he chattered on about how it had all happened. He did say, “Mommy, I don’t like bleeding.” I don’t think anyone does, kid. And his one question when we told him that stitches meant the doctor would sew his forehead up was what a sewing machine for boys looked like. Good question.

He was quite the charmer in the ER, telling everyone who would listen how fast he had been running, that he weighs “firty” pounds, that he’ll be four! on his next birthday, and so on. At one point the nurse told him he was being a very good patient. “Yeah, I suppose I am,” he said. In the end, he didn’t get stitches, just glue (he was disappointed). And by now, you’d hardly know it happened (he has such a crazy amount of hair to cover), but he will have a scar to rival Ian’s.

And back at home (and back to the story of the pie) . . .

Rebecca and Liv came to put the Squisher down to sleep. Jason had turned off the oven but hadn’t thought to take the crust out. Rebecca to the rescue! I am so thankful for friends who took such good care of our kiddo, the pie, and, um, also of our house (I am particularly fond of the “also” link—love the sweet, sly expression).

We ended up baking the rest of the pie after Simon was safely tucked into bed. The end result was really quite good—but probably not quite as good as the saga of getting it made might have warranted.

Sadly, not all the hands involved got to partake of the Village Pie (which has now been polished off), but hopefully Rebecca for one was at least partially mollified by Baked Pumpkin Spice Donut Holes, made from the same pumpkins.

I’m starting a new project—a series of creative collaborations. It’s called Pictychy (pronounced “pick-tick-ee”), and you can head on over to see what it’s all about or keep reading for a bit of the backstory.

A couple of years ago, my friend Shelli sent me a link to 3191: A Year of Mornings, wherein two friends who live 3,191 miles apart each took a picture every morning and shared them on a blog. (The blog is no longer available because it has been made into a book, but there are a few examples if you scroll down at that link.) I loved the idea—especially the collaborative aspect of it—and filed it away, wondering vaguely if someday I might find someone with whom to share a similar project.

Meanwhile, I continued to find (and get sucked into) inspiring photo projects. But the truth is I tend to lose interest fairly quickly either because I don’t have enough of a personal connection to motivate me to participate (adding images to get lost in Flickr pools generally isn’t for me) or because the scope is just too big. (Although I’ve been doing really well with taking a photo every day for my own Project 365, I really don’t want to commit to taking a self-portrait every week for a year or to do anything else for a year for that matter.)

Then one day it finally occurred to me that what I really wanted to do is everything—lots and lots of projects—but in small doses. I really like the idea of having a finite, doable project (think December Photo Project or Tulip Week). And adding to it a collaborative aspect, i.e., getting to share ideas and make art with my friends, is right up my alley.

I originally wanted to call it the Diptych Collective, but Wordpress was charging $17 a year for that domain name, so Pictychy it is. I am, of course, still figuring it out a bit as we go along, but I’m eager to get started and see what develops (ah, ha ha ha).

First up is a photowalk that Rebecca and I took a few years ago. I imagine that Pictychy will generally focus more on current/new projects, but it seemed appropriate to start with this one. Even though we didn’t plan on making it a collaboration as such, my memories of the day really resonate with the spirit of what I want the project to be about—friends “brought together to share different perspectives, tell shared stories, and encourage each other as photographers and artists.”

(You’ll also find the first in an ongoing project about color—I’d like these to be primarily collaborations, but this time I took both images in the diptych just to get things started.)

I’ll be adding a new image every day this week, so check back often (or, better yet, subscribe to the RSS feed).

A series inspired by beauty that moves.

A series inspired by beauty that moves.

The kids’ Christmas program tonight at church was sweet—and complete with all the goofy things kids do during such things.

Marriage is funny. Jason and I are extremely compatible, but I am often astounded by how different we are.  Generally speaking, I am more permissive with the boys than Jason is, and I’m specifically thinking of the fact that I tend to let them make more messes or to let them try things that will make a mess. Today, though, as Jason was painting the dining room, I was surprised to hear him offer a paintbrush to our eight-year-old friend who was over and then even more surprised when he said yes to Simon’s request for a “brush like Rev’s.” I don’t think I ever would have let a two-year-old come near that kind of paint. But, as it turns out, I’m so glad Jason did.

Yes, he made a bit of a mess—he splattered some paint on the baseboards and “ruined” a four-dollar Target shirt. Big deal. He had so much fun, and he was so, so, so proud of himself. His (constant) running commentary went something like this: “I big. I have strong muscles. I painting a snowman. I have a big brush. I painting hard. I helping. I big. I painting a snowman. I paint ovah there. My muscles are big. I painting so hard.” It was precious. And now we have a dining room that has a bit of extra drippage behind the piano and maybe on the baseboards, which in my mind makes it pretty much perfect.