What Rhymes with Lizard. . . ?

Last night we took the girls for a drive just for fun. Rob and I were quietly discussing whether we should stop and get a little treat while we were out. Suddenly from the back seat Signe pipes up:

"I want something. Hmmm, something that sounds like lizard." Accompanied by a thoughtful, slightly perplexed expression, like it was just on the tip of her tongue.

Can you guess what she wanted? Apparently we were talking loud enough to give our clever four year old ideas!

After we cracked up for a while we took her through the Dairy Queen drive through. Because really, how can NOT reward that kind of brilliance?!

Traditions

I am a traditional kind of girl. I love traditional, even historical homes. I dress in a fairly classic style. I have a traditional house in the country with a husband, two kids and a dog (all that is missing is the picket fence, and I have a picture of one I'd love to throw up!).

My husband often jokingly tells me I was born at least fifty years too late and probably on the wrong side of the country. I love the idea of big close-knit families that live in a house with a name that gets passed down through the generations. I aspire to one day have a home with a name that my kids will love so much that when I die they will just move in and not sell it to the highest bidder!

And I love heirlooms. I love the history of knowing something has been in the family for generations. Really, I just love history. Personal history. I don't have enough of that in my home.

But most of all I love family traditions. We didn't carry too many into our family when we married, but we have created several of our own. Traditionally, at Christmas time, our family does the 25 days of Christmas. We do something festive every day in December leading up to Christmas, ending with a formal, grand, candlelit dinner on Christmas Eve (With our heirloom silverware). And we watch a Christmas movie every night.

At Easter, the Easter bunny ALWAYS leaves a treasure hunt that leads to the baskets of goodies, with riddles and rhyming clues to show the way.

Traditionally on my birthday Rob has been out of town, so I started one of my favorite traditions--shopping for myself at Banana Republic in a major way for my birthday.

Every summer we all travel to Bear Lake, Idaho for Rob's family reunion. His Grandmother lives there. This is the first year in the eleven years we've been married that we didn't go. I am a little sad, because the girls so look forward to it--and I get a lot of great pictures. There is something about going to grandma's house during the summer that makes me nostalgic--which is funny, because I never went to my grandma's for the summer. One died before I was born and the other when I was young, and I never knew her well.

Traditionally, I take the girls to stay with my parents and Rob's parents for a week or two every summer. We are taking that trip next week and the girls can't wait. Our visit also usually falls on my niece's birthday and, since she is the same age as my oldest, this makes it extra fun for the girls.

Traditionally, on our anniversary, we go out to dinner and go shopping. I know, going on a date should be at least a monthly tradition, not a yearly one. I am working on it. But we had a great time none-the-less. Maybe one of these years I will say, "Traditionally we take a fabulous vacation on our anniversary." One can at least hope.

We have a few others, but I would love to add more. I really appreciate the comfort and expectation that traditions bring. It makes things feel stable and organized and happy. It connects us to each other, to our parents, grandparents, and children, and becomes "what our family does."

So I am wondering, are you a traditional kind of person? And if so, what are some of your family traditions?

To My Love. . .

Today is my 11th wedding anniversary and I would like to sing the praises of the man who stalked me for weeks and waited in the rain for half an hour so he could bump into me at college.

I am glad he did.

If he hadn’t I might not know what it means to be opposite and exactly the same.

I might not know our two beautiful daughters and what a great dad he is.

I would not be able to enjoy his quirky sense of humor.

I might not be driven to be a better me.

I might have to put gas in my own car.

I probably wouldn’t feel so secure without his financial prowess and frugality.

I wouldn’t know what it was like to be spoiled and adored by him.

I wouldn’t have the pleasure of all our inside jokes and innate understandings – that often make us laugh so hard we can hardly breath.

I wouldn’t get to hear, "I can do it, I can do anything" – and know he believes it.

I wouldn’t get to admire his intelligence, sense of responsibility and diplomacy.

I would probably be in the dark for days if he weren’t around to change the light bulb within minutes of it burning out.

My house would probably be less organized if not for his half hour wonders and order driven personality.

I probably would be less. . .just less, if he weren’t there to encourage me and challenge me.

I know I would be less happy if he had not stood in the rain and fell in love with me,

And made me fall in love with him.

Happy Anniversary. I will love you forever.

A Child's Logic. . .

My children are pretty logical girls and sometimes they can argue a case so well, I am tempted to let them win on wit alone. But sometimes they miss the point and conversations like the following occur. Let me just note that I often say "Hurry up the bus is leaving!" in reference to my car, when we are headed somewhere.

This morning before swim lessons - right after I told the girls to get in the car:

H: Sig, hurry before the seats are gone.
S: What?
H: Hurry before the seats are gone.
S: Huh?
H: The seats, gone.
S: What seats?
H: The car seats!
S: What car seats?
H: The seats in the car, you know the ones you have sat on a thousand times! Sheesh!
S: (confused silence) Are they comfortable?
H: (Sigh of exasperation - clearly giving up on the analogy) You should know, you have sat in them before.

I find it amusing that she assumed Sig was confused about the seats, not why they would be "gone". . .as in filled up, like on an actual bus! Somewhere along in there the point got lost. Hee, Hee. Sure I could have stepped in and explained, but sometimes it is just more amusing to let them figure it out!

The Proper Motivation

Apparently when you really want something you are much more negotiable to chores. I have been lamenting the lack of enthusiasm and compliance my children have for doing chores of late. It seemed that no bribe or threat could get them done better, faster, or more cheerfully.

I have seen other children simply say, "Yes, Mother." and obey. I have. I swear. But my children are stubborn. Yesterday they were not allowed to play their DS games or play with friends, or even go outside until their chores where done. Simple chores, really. Clean their rooms, including their bathroom and their playroom. Bring down their laundry. No torture involved.

I have seen them do all these things in under an hour, but yesterday neither child left the house or turned a the TV until after 5:00. It took that long.

Then Hannah sat down to look through the American Girl Magazine. She is like her mother, she has a LOT of wants. And she has the American Girl doll, Julie. Julie has a lot of accessories that Hannah might die without, it would seem. BUT, is it Christmas? Is it her birthday? Is it some other special occasion where her parents buy her expensive doll accessories? NO. But this child of mine is pretty smart.

You see, she earns points for doing chores. Points that can later be turned into money. Money that can purchase lots of wants outside special occasions (That is, if she has lots of points).

Hannah's outlook took on a sudden change last night. On her way to bed she turned on the stairs and asked, "If I get up in the morning and clean my room before I come down, do I get a point?"

"Sure." I said. I found it highly unlikely that she would wake up and remember, let alone be cheerful enough to start cleaning before demanding breakfast.

I was wrong.

After she cleaned her room she asked how many points she had. I told her 16.

"Can I cash my points out for money?" She slyly asks. I say slyly, because generally they buy things directly with the points. I don't hand out cash. If I cash out her points then I can't deduct from them when she is naughty or disobeys me. I told you she was bright. I counted the money she has wadded in her purse the other day while we were waiting for the ice cream truck. $17.00. That is what she has stuffed in her coach purse (which she got from her Manna--I don't even own a coach purse! But that is beside the point. But speaking of the money, I think she managed to leave Grandpa's, Manna's, and Uncle Mike's pockets a little lighter when last we visited. No theft involved--when you're that cute. . .or sly. . .these things work themselves out!).

I tell her I will think about it. Then I get the bright idea that if she earns 25 points I will cash out 20, so I still have a reserve to hang over her.

I have never seen a more productive little eight year old. She cleaned, she folded laundry and put it away--her sister's too! She did dishes, she washed windows, she pulled weeds. SHE WAS NICE TO HER SISTER!! I should have thought of this ages ago.

What motivates your children to this degree of productivity?

The Undeniable Allure of the Craft Store

Over the weekend we took our Pilot in to get the transmission adjusted so we can tow our boat with it. By the time I got down to the dealership with the girls to pick up Rob, we decided to get lunch and kill some time rather than go all the way home.

I got the bright idea to run into a craft store because I needed this:

. . .so I could make this:

(For my Young Women Personal Progress birthday "Purse")

But since we were not in a rush I got to looking around. What is it about a craft store that gets me so excited? I am not a big crafter. I might be, because all that potential gets me excited. There is something about making things that is just fun. And I get all kinds of ideas and inspiration just standing in the supply laden aisles. But really, what do you DO with all that stuff you've made. I am not big on chotchkies. I like uncluttered and not too cutsie. I don't even scrapbook.

So how did I manage to come out with this:

Some of it was for my daughter. While we were shopping she was begging for things and my youngest turned to her at said, "Hannah, you are a drama queen." I have no idea where she gets it. Anyway, I bought her a few things for her new obsession, making friendship bracelets. She convinced my husband to let her have an etsy shop and he in turn promised her I would set it up. (So go over and make her day at Sassy Sofia.) She has taken to carrying this box every where so goes--even swim lessons, so she can work when it is her little sister's turn.

And the other stuff? I had the idea to make this:

And it's reversible. Cute huh? Hannah picked out these colors. Did I mention we have aprons for everyone in my family already? And two extras? And I still have the fabric I picked out for another one:

Am I the only one with this compulsion? I have a similar problem in office supply stores. So wish me luck in the next couple weeks while I am shopping for back to school supplies. The goal is to not end up with more supplies than the girls!

Work Ethic and Role Reversal

I have these friends. Friends with kids. Friends with kids who have chores. Friends with kids who have chores and do them happily.


Something must be done.


In an effort to make my children more appreciative and less, well, spoiled. I have decided they need to work more. The other day while doing yard work I tried the reward system. Otherwise known as bribery. I even let them choose their reward. Raspberry milkshakes, to be received immediately upon completion of the chore I assigned them.


The Chore: pulling weeds.


Simple enough, one would think. It was only 72 degrees and I was working outside too. It's not like I was forcing them to do my work so I could sit in the shade sipping Mountain Dew. So the girls begin with a lack of any enthusiasm what-so-ever, and commence for, oh, about two minutes. They then proceed to sit on the step and argue over who pulled more weeds. It went something like this:


Han: I pulled like eleven weeds.

Sig: Well, I pulled three!

Han: (with eye roll) Eleven is WAY more than three.

Sig: I mean I pulled a thousand.

Han: No you didn't. You pulled, like, one.

Sig: I pulled eighteen, that's what I meant. You only pulled eleven. Eighteen is way more than that.

Han: No you didn't, you just said you pulled three.

Me: It really doesn't matter because neither of you pulled enough to earn your milkshake.

Han: WHAT! I worked! You said if I pulled weeds I'd get one, and I pulled weeds!

Me: Two minutes is not worthy of a milkshake. It would take me longer to make it than it took you to pull your eleven weeds.

Han: That is so not FAIR!


After which she storms off with exaggerated foot stomps--and a mimic shadow.


Seriously. I am such a mean mom! So, I tried again today. A little more work and then similar results. As both girls sat arguing on the step while Rob and I tore, dug, hacked and sawed THIS:




from the ground where our tree used to live, (which, even after hours of work until our arms turned to mush barely put a dent in this:)



I decided I needed another plan. The girls had high expectations for the evening and I wanted more work out them before they got it. So I got the brilliant idea to have them clean the kitchen. Hannah readily agreed and rushed inside. Soon Sig wanders out with a plate. On it sits a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Which she made herself. Hannah rushes out. "I want one. She's not even cleaning!"


"I could make you one." Signe suggests--the four year old to the eight year old.

"Okay." Hannah agrees. They turn to go inside.

"Do you even know how to make one of these, because I am kinda like a mom, you know." Sig says as they walk back inside.


I laugh. A short time later they come out with plates of peanut butter and honey sandwiches and my kitchen is clean. Hooray!



Too bad the roots aren't out. . .and my arms no longer work. What else do you suppose I could make them clean. . . .

Let Me Just Add. . .

After the last post and a few comments, I feel compelled to add that while I love the country, (that part was no lie) and I do want 2-5 acres, I prefer that it be pretty and green, and has trees. Also, I love the small town with a cute main street and shops, maybe a cafe or two. One of those nearby would be great. I still want my semi-manicured landscape--not an actual farm, I think--at least not with cows and chickens. That would prevent me from wearing ridiculously cute footwear like these:

And I want it all within 30-40 minutes of a big city. I need my shopping and entertainment occasionally! Does that still make a country girl? Do any of you live in a place like that?

And for those of you (family mostly, I'm sure) who don't care and just want to hear what the girls are up to, I'll post more about their antics later.

Country Peace or City Bustle?

Having grown up in the country, on a farm, in a very small town, I thought the best thing in the world would be to become some high paid executive and move to the city. I would wear trendy clothes and intimidate unsuspecting men and have an orderly fast paced life with lots of shopping and high class parties.

I hatched this plan in high school and took several business classes. I started college with International Marketing in mind. Even struggling through business calculus and statistics I was undeterred.

Then I met a cute boy. A senior with his eye on medical school. And I really liked him. I figured I could be a doctor's wife and a high powered professional. So we got married and moved out of state. This was essential for my plan and his job. We bought a condo and settled in and loved the freedom we had. And while the city wasn't huge, it was a far cry from our roots.

Before we knew it we had kids and had moved to suburbia and really, I was just fine with that. I still had my plans. Then one day while I was back home visiting my family a funny thing happened.

We are driving through the country and my girls are fighting. I turn around and attempt to distract them with a clever suggetion. "Why don't you look out the window and count how many ditches you can find?"

Blank stare.

"What is a ditch?" my oldest asks.

What is a ditch? Seriously! Oh how far have I come that my children don't know what a ditch is?

"It's the dip in the ground that carries water to the fields." I explain slowly and point out the window, thinking they will now ask more questions. Questions about the country, the farms, maybe the cows. I am all geared to explain, like the time my neice, who also had not lived in the country, asked, "Why did they put the bales of hay all over the field like that?"

"Oh." They both turn. "I see one!" The oldest yells. "I am winning!" Apparently they don't need to know more. Not when there is a competition in progress. So much for the stories I could tell.

But it got me thinking. So when we moved I decided I wanted a little space for my kids to make outdoor memories. Close to a Banana Republic, of course. But as it turns out, if you want space you have go move out, way out, of the city. (Maybe I exaggerate--we are thirty minutes from a very large city, but it felt very far) There was no Banana Republic. I would have to drive forty-five minutes to get to one. But really, I do have a computer and a credit card!

So we purchased our little two-thirds of an acre (which is basically on a golf course-my quasi country house) and sighed with delight at the space.

Six months go by.

Man this place is crowded! I really don't want to hear my neighbors while they barbecue. I really need more trees for my kids to climb in. Wouldn't it be fun to plant an orchard, and a really big garden? Did I mention I started canning? And we got a dog! (granted he is a Maltese. . .do those really count? probably not--scratch that).

Who is this person I have become? What happened to the big city girl inside, bursting with impatience to get out?

You know, I don't really miss her. I love my life. I love space and quiet, county fairs and simple pleasures.

This post is longer than I intended. What I really want to know is, are you a City Dweller, or a County Lover? And did you always know, or come full circle like me? Just wondering.

Can You Say Carbon Copy?

Let me just start by showing you a little photo comparison. . .

I have often been told that my oldest daughter looks just like me. You can decide.

My husband claims she acts just like me (And believe me, when he says it, he is not usually being complimentary. And while I strongly object, doing so only proves his point, to a degree--perhaps the house could use a little less drama).

And I have written before about how she loves to write, again, just like me. I even posted a journal entry she wrote about the day she had a real tornado warning at her school, because I thought she wrote it so well. She even begs to have her own blog.

She loves taking pictures and even asked for a camera for Christmas, which she received, thankfully, so she can quit stealing mine and making me stress over the potential disaster that might occur while she is wielding it.

We are both probably too cautious for our own good. Activities that normal people find fun and exhilarating we both find frightening, due to our over active imaginations, do doubt. She hates going. . .anywhere alone. I hate driving, or shopping alone. I should say, I hate driving, period.(Although mostly in large cities, like the one I live near).

We both need friends and reassurances that we are wonderful. . . frequently and profusely.

She is also very fashion conscience. I am not saying I am particularly fashionable, or that she and I agree about style, but we both know what we like and have definite opinions about what we will and will not wear.

Plus, her current favorite color is blue. I love blue (It goes well with white!)

Then, today I witnessed something that made my heart swell. It confirmed that we are indeed very alike. Scary alike.

I came downstairs to find her watching. . . .HGTV. And loving it. All on her own. Sitting on the couch, watching lovely home improvement and design programs.

I have found the secret to immortality. Just reproduce yourself. And just think, If she is doing everything I do at age eight, imagine what she could accomplish by the time she is . . .my age!

All the Lovely Shades of White

I find myself having a growing love affair with the color white. It has been a reluctant fondness. I have never been shy about color. Indeed, I love red, and wear it often. I even have a red mixer and a red arm chair. But all the lovely shades of white are enveloping my life like a clean fresh breeze, blowing in off the ocean on a sunny day. White feels so clean and simple, fresh and uncluttered. The more white I have the more I love it.

It started with my dishes. A couple years ago I decided all white restaurant ware dishes were the way to go. They go with everything and they look nice stacked in the cupboard.

Then I decided to use all white sheets. Again, they match everything, you can bleach them, and they look fresh and clean.

After that it was a logical leap to go with white towels. All white linens, really. Evey time I change a color scheme it seems silly to have to buy new towels. Plus, a guest bath with big fluffy, white towels feels so spa inspired. I do like to impress my guests.

I even began to only get my toes done with a french manicure. The white looks so clean and, again, goes with everything.

When I think about it there are lots more examples of whites I love. Take my daughters' dresses for instance. I LOVE a cute white sundress. My four year old has four of them. . .

And the largest section in my color-coordinated closet is the white section (and yet I am even now waiting for two different white shirts to go on sale at Banana Republic so I can buy them). . .

And when I buy or cut fresh flowers for my house, nine times out of ten they are . . .you guessed it--WHITE!

My dog is even white--I guess if I must have a dog he should not clash with the decor!

So, when I moved into a house with a paint color palette that looked like this--(Plus a few colors!)

It was not a huge leap for me to gasp in horror and start painting every wall in sight. It was not my intent to paint all my walls white--the paint sample, against the white trim sample, seemed very UNwhite. See. . .

And living in the Northwest where the sun is a stranger for the better part (by better I decidedly don't mean BETTER, but rather biggest) of the year, it seemed smart to go light on the paint in a house that faced north and seemed dark--particularly with the dark colors I started with. So, I painted the entry white (the green had to go) and then continued down the hall, and around the family room, and into the guest room. It looked so pretty. . .

I had to keep going. And now, 90 % of my house is white--well, actually it's called whispering wind, and against the white trim it just looks fresh and clean and lovely--and not at all stark or unpainted or boring.

So now that I am working on my kitchen remodel, can you guess what color my kitchen is going? Yeah, it's going to be. . .lovely.

What color can you not get enough of?

Lake Merwin

Mountain Cabin or Beach House?

Rob and I have often debated the question of whether we would rather have a cabin or a beach house. . .should we ever be able to afford either. And the answer I have come to is NEITHER. What I really want is a lake house. A cute, cottagy little house by a lake. Preferably with its own dock and maybe a boat house, since we now own a boat. In fact, when Rob bought our boat earlier this year I told him that I had not envisioned us owning a boat unless we owned a lake house. He didn't take the hint.





Over the weekend we got a taste of what it might be like to actually own a lake house. And while it wasn't ours, and it wasn't actually on the lake--so no private dock, it was pretty ideal. The setting was beautiful--wooded with a creek feet from the back deck, and it sported a large lot with a fire pit, and it was maybe half a mile from the public dock. It belonged to a friend of a friend and we've decided they are good people to know with perks like those. Actually, they are pretty great friends and we stayed with them for the weekend.


The idea was to take both our boats out, but ours was not quite ready for it's maiden voyage, so we decided to take a tutorial from them. We drove up Friday night and settled in. After dinner we surrounded the fire pit in the fading light and made s'mores.



We even had a run in with the s'mores monster. . .



And we managed to make it through with only one minor burn.




After a late night of cards and fun we slept with the windows open and the sound of the creek lulled us to sleep.






Then we rose early and packed up the boat to head to the lake. The girls killed time making stick arrows and trying to shoot them.


Vanessa even stopped to show them how it was done.

Merwin Lake is a breathtaking experience and having Brian to maneuver flawlessly down the boat ramp in like one minute flat, putting the other boaters to shame, only added to our enjoyment!

Then we were off and the girls took to the ice cold water like fish. . .with chattering teeth.

There's my little fish.

They even got me in the tube with the girls. Brrr.

And Brian showed us how to have a good time.

I would say it was a successful day. When we headed out to come home Signe pleaded for us to "Go back to the cavin. I want to live in that cavin. It is so beautiful!" Until she fell asleep. When we got home we decided to shower up and go out to eat. The girls picked Wendy's and while we were eating I wondered if Sig hadn't gotten a little overheated. She said the funniest things. First, when it was time for her to order she said, "I will take one of those," pointing at a coffee, "and some nuggets." When we told her no she, of course, asked for coke.

Then while we were eating she suddenly said, "There is a pool party in my stomach and the food is the people!" We all laughed and shortly after she burst out with, "I want to be a Red Box for Halloween!" Heat stroke? Probably not. She is just our crazy Sigbert.

So, which do you choose, cabin, beach house, or lake house?

What's in a Name?

Coined words, phrases and nicknames. . .

In this fast paced world of emailing and texting and IMing, one would think that a fast talker and a quick thinker like I am would not hesitate to jump on the band wagon. And I do love the time saved in leaving out the actual words in the sentences, but my family has a tendency to create nicknames and phrases that are longer than the names and situations they are meant to replace. (This really shouldn't come as a surprise considering my tendency to long windedness!)

Here are a few of Sig's best made up words:

Morether (more)
Churchable (This is like fashionable, but it means appropriately dressed for church. I think it is clever and quick, but I just ruined the quickness with this long winded explanation:)
Lasterday/lastertime/lateryear -- pretty self explanatory
Carshmallow - car completely covered in snow

Here are a few of Hannah's:

Crocatators -- one day she stopped saying alligator or crocodile and combines the two, covers both bases.
B's - Barbies, as in "I going to play B's."
(I would have more for Hannah, but, 1) I can't remember, and 2) she is a big fan of pantomiming until I am crazy trying to guess what she is saying!)

The Parents:

The happiest time of the night - girls' bed time, but we refer to is as "Girls, it's the happiest time of the night. Go put your pjs on." And sometimes we break out in song.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious - this is just the general password for escaping . . well, any trap Rob puts me or the girls in.

Bear Trap - any time Rob traps one of us he yells "Bear trap." Generally this involves someone laying on someone and minor suffocation.

Tweet-Tweet-Poop - Must be uttered before the holder of the treat will distribute a treat.

"You are a *insert last name*" - which means you must do whatever I am asking you to do. Generally uttered with force by Rob to encourage hard work, happiness. . .essentially it translates "Never show weakness!"

And our renaming does not end there. Most people and places we know get nicknames. Our girls become Sigbert (I call her this in public and people give me strange looks that clearly say "You named your child SIGBERT?"), Bigs, Big Little, Siggy Biggy. Our oldest became Miss Sass, Sassifrass, Banana Rama. Rob is Roberto, Dr. Science, or sometimes Dwight. I am Jenia, or Hey You, most often moooom. Grandma is Manna (Because Miss Sass couldn't say Grandma) I have a friend named Aki who became Archuleta. Our entire condo complex where we lived for the first two years we were married had only names like: The Cowboys, The Party Boy, The Flight Attendant, The Cranky Man, The Realtor, etc.

Fred Meyer is Freddies, Walmart is Wallies, Jack in the Box became inexplicably Yippy in the Box (Thanks to Sig). It is almost like speaking in code and it is fun when strangers can't interpret.

I have noticed that a good portion of the bloggers out there use nicknames for the people they refer to in their posts. So, I was wondering, what are your nicknames and what is the story behind them?

Sugar Cookies - Cooking with Hannah

Hannah has been bugging me about making her a blog. I told her maybe she could be a guest on my blog. So today we baked and she would like to share our day with you.




I really like making sugar cookies with my mom. It is really messy work. But they are really sweet, and it's GOOD that way. I had lots of fun. Here is what we did. . .(the recipe is just the Better Homes and Gardens Book--the red checkered one--but it is really good if you do it correctly!)

In a mixer, blend 2/3 cup of butter and 2/3 cup of Crisco. You have to beat it until it is creamy. Like two minutes.


Then you add 1 1/2 cups of sugar, 2 teaspoons of baking soda, and a dash of salt. Beat this for another two or three minutes, scraping the sides with a spatula.




Add two eggs and two teaspoons of vanilla. Blend well.




Beat in four cups of flour. If it is too sticky, add a little more.


Roll out dough on a floured surface. Make it a quarter inch thick. We don't want dry crunchy cookies.



Choose your cookie cutters--I picked a flower, a fish, and a butterfly. . .'cause they seemed summery. Cut out shapes.


Place on a cookie sheet. Bake for 8 minutes at 350 degrees. Don't over cook it or they will be dry crunchy cookies. . .which we don't want.


Cool on rack, or on the pan, or on the counter. Whatever, just don't frost them while they are hot--because we don't want soupy cookies either.



While they cool you can hang out and look cute, or clean up, or make frosting. I hang out, then make frosting. I leave the mess for my mom to clean up. This frosting is not in the red and white book. My mom made it up. It goes something like this:



Throw in a large scoop of sour cream (maybe 1/3 cup) and 1/3 of a cream cheese box (8 oz. box)

Add like a bag of powder sugar. Then add 1 teaspoon of almond extract. Trust me, it's good. Mix it up.

It should look like this when you are done. Yum. (You need a lot because it tastes good straight, and we like to pile it on thick.

Divide into bowls and add food coloring. I made pink, blue, yellow, and purple. Purple for the butterflies. Yellow for the flowers. Pink of the hearts (oh, yeah, I did some hearts too) and blue for the fish. And maybe I will mix them up a little. It is more fun that way.

It goes on more smoothly if you use the back of spoon instead of a knife.

And, if you are feeling sassy, add some sprinkles. I LOVE sprinkles, just ask my mom!

If they turn out this pretty you did it just right. Oh yeah, and they taste REALLY good, too.