Fred the Monster

The last time my mom was in town, we took a quick spin through Knitter's Palette in Lakeville.  The goal was to find yarn suitable to knit a modern blanket for a wee babe.  While I love and adore cute babies, I do not love and adore overly cutesy baby products and decor, nor do I adhere to the traditional sense of color typically associated with them. 

(Photograph & pattern courtesy of Purl Bee.)

We succeeded.  The dark teal will become the corners, the lighter teal the stripes and the marled moss colored yarn will become the main color.  Modern.  Not traditional for a baby.  Perfect.

Mom has now added this to her 'to do list', and I cannot be happier.  


In the process, Channing made some new friends.  As he played hide-n-seek among the yarn bins, these darling monsters caught his eye.  The woman running the shop that morning was kind enough to take them off the shelf and allow Channing to make their acquaintance.  He fell madly in love with them, in particular, the red monster, quickly naming him Fred the Monster.

Even Fred's little buddy got some lovin'.

He was allowed to pick out a skein of yarn of his choosing to go along with this book.  At first, he didn't want to relinquish the soft, bright colored ball to grandma.  He held it, petted it and hid it from the camera's view.  I even heard him softly croon 'Oh Fred, you're just darling.' as he carefully cradled it in his arms.  After a few assurances that she would indeed turn the ball into a Fred the Monster of his own, he gave in.

Book & patterns can be purchased from author & creator, Rebecca Danger.  Believe me, when you see them, you'll fall in love with them ALL and have a difficult time choosing just one to create.  

Mom arrives next week for our usual round of post-chemo activities.  Guaranteed, Channing will ask where Fred is before he says hello or offers up any hugs or kisses.

This is the yarn Channing selected, already turned into the first few rows of Fred.

No pressure, Mom.  No pressure.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Eat a monkey cupcake too.  Perhaps that should read 'eat a monkey cupcake or two.'  

Last week, our post-chemo Tuesday night dinner expanded to include Aunt Kris in addition to mom, Kathy, Channing and myself.  Each diner brought something to share, with Kathy being in charge of dessert.  As plans were made, she paused only slightly to ask if we had any requests.  Without even waiting for our reply, she declared, 'I know just the thing!'


She'd discovered them on Pinterest and pinned them on her 'Things to do with the grandkids' board.  Monkey cupcakes. 

They were darling.  Just ask Channing.  Those were his exact words as soon as he saw what was in the basket hanging from Kathy's arm when she rang the front doorbell.  

He couldn't have been more pleased.  With a little coaxing, he finally did relent to sharing.  Finally.  

As you can see, he kept a watchful eye on us all making sure no one had more than he did.

Green Thumb

I'll admit it.  My thumb is not green.  Around here, WM is in charge of the house plants and the lawn care.  If he wasn't, we'd have a lovely home surrounded by a sea of brown, burnt grass and filled with pots of wilted, shriveled plant remains.  


Despite all that, the pull of local greenhouses come spring is too much for me to ignore.  When we go, we spend more time playing around than making our selections.  


Channing tries out as many pots as I will let him climb into, searching for just the right place to grow over the summer months.

He'll sneak off and try to hide among the blooms.

If the music is just right, he'll have a dance party with imaginary flower fairies.

He takes great delight in finding tiny bugs in bright colored blossoms.

We're the annoying cart you're stuck behind when you're in a hurry.  We stop frequently, smelling nearly every flower and declaring which are delicious and which are disgusting.  

He's helpful too, being quick to offer to push the cart.  

In the end, we walk away with one large planter filled with a smattering of spring and summer beauty, big grins on our faces and a mental promise to be the one to do the watering.

Boingarooski

His word.  Not mine.  While at first, Channing was reluctant to have his picture taken, he soon got caught up in the fun of his new, blue ball and the camera was forgotten.  

Sometimes, the second my camera comes out, Channing turns his back on me & refuses to let me take his picture.

Boingarooski! became the exclamation of choice as he bounced all over the kitchen and dining room.  Yes.  We play these games in the house.  Yes.  I can be that mama who breaks the house rules.  

These plastic spiders from Halloween are still popping up here and there.  Channing found it hilarious to flick them at me from atop his ball while I tried capturing his photo.  Love that look of concentration!

When rule breaking elicits grins like these, who wouldn't?

Wee Bitty

It's beginning, the return of baby items lent out to friends or passed along to family.  Each time something new appears, Channing asks if it was his or whether or not he used it.  The questions are quickly followed by a sincere conversation with regard to how our new baby will now have a turn 'right, Mom?'

This item in particular fascinated him, our family bassinet.  It was made by my grandfather for my mother and her brother.  In turn, the babies on the Henderson side of the family, my sisters and myself included, have all slumbered in it.  

Here is Channing, just three weeks old, during a weekend at Horseshoe.  While it does have a stand, the basket alone makes for a fantastic mobile sleep spot for tiny babies.

As an aside, the blanket was only placed in the basket with Channing for the purpose of taking photos.  He was never put to sleep like this-on his tummy and with a blanket. 

Jenn, after a recent visit with our folks, sent it north once again for Sarah & I to use come September.  Our niece, Kinsey, has outgrown it, and while soon the days of soothing dollies to sleep will be upon her, there are other wee bitty babes waiting their chance to become part of this family tradition.  

And here is Channing three years later.  He was curious as to whether or not he'd still fit.  Obviously, he did not. 

And yes, my son can rock fancy socks like no one else.  He has a small collection, mostly striped.  

My oh my, how he's grown.

Mini Chef

Channing's love of helping in the kitchen holds no bounds.  He's always up for a kitchen project.  Always.  Last Tuesday was no exception.  While the rest of us dined on herbed chicken pizza of the pre-made variety, having only to toss it in the oven to bake it, Channing's pizza was a little more involved.  He couldn't have been more pleased.


Have you ever seen these at Papa Murphy's?  It's called a Mini Murphy.  Everything you need is right there in the cute little box.  My mini chef smeared, sprinkled and plopped his way to pizza perfection.

He may have had just a little help from Grandma Meredith.  ; )

See?  A perfect little pizza for one hungry little chef.

Oh yeah, and he got a tattoo.  Not sure which he was more proud of, his pizza or his arm. 

 Nonetheless, it's a culinary experience worth repeating.  Soon.

For The Love

The weather promised to be nice.  It did not deliver.  This mama promised one little boy longing for summer days an afternoon of water play in his splash table.  While I could not deliver on my original promise, a quick trip to Dick's Sporting Goods allowed for making good on another one-the promise of t-ball.  

With the tee assembled, all thought of the splash table was quickly abandoned.  Channing was focused.  Very focused.  As he swung the bat, his eye never left the ball.  

Grandma Meredith played both ball setter and ball getter, happily cheering Channing on, as he hit the red and blue whiffle balls farther and farther into the neighbor's backyard.  I cheered equally as loud from behind the lens.

This routine has been repeated almost daily since its inception, be it with Grandma Meredith, WM, our neighbors or myself.  Channing's determination and focus never wavers.  Never.  

He hits more than he misses.  When he does miss, he comments on his own play.  Sometimes he calls, 'Strike one!'  Other times he laments, 'Oh man.'  My favorite though is when he says, 'Oh for the love of sakes.'  

While he may have his sayings crossed a bit, combining 'Oh, for the love of Pete.' with 'For goodness sakes.', this sport suits him to a T.