spring fashion special

Can you see my Jewish children's Easter "baskets"? I went whole hog this year. The irony of the term "whole hog" is not lost on me, either. As a non-practicing, Buddhist-leaning Hebrew school drop-out, I have absolutely no problem with Christmas. The whole aesthetic gets me drooling like a diseased dog. I go catatonic with slack-jawed glee at the sight of twinkle lights, the smell of pine, and froth with giddy excitement upon viewing a slick, shiny load of gift-wrapped presents, even when I know they will disappoint one way or another.

But Easter. Pastels. Bunnies. Jellybeans. Eh. Not my thing. I do like a hunt though, and so do the kids. Hiding the eggs is fun. Stuffing them with chocolate-less treats for Hamish and just about anything for Stella is a joy I hadn't known before motherhood. But I can't commit to obtaining a wicker handled basket, lining it with cellophane grass, buying a chocolate bunny. They don't know they're missing out. They will next year, but in the meantime, their Whole Foods shopping bags had bunny ears Scotch taped to them for crying out loud. Now that's how we celebrate the resurrection of Christ! Amen.

Now, below, behold my firstborn son, he likes to help. I share these with you because they warm my heart. The next-door neighbor had a leaking basement and this very nice construction worker, he's been around since renovations commenced back in the summer, he's like extended family by now, he came by to lay a drain pipe in her driveway and Hamish saw an opportunity to use tools, gain confidence and haul rubble.
When the job was complete, the nice construction worker even carved Hamish's name into the fresh concrete. I'd show you a picture but then you'd know that my son's name isn't really Hamish, and then it might be awkward between us. Uh. Yeah.

In the end though, one of the highest highlights, for his proud parents anyway, is our son's growing fashion flair, pictured below. Hamish is particular about his outfits, ever mindful of the task he will be wearing the clothes to complete. Today, for example, for a trip to the art museum with his class, knowing that there would be a painting project, Hamish chose an all-white ensemble and was almost crestfallen when I insisted that he wear his regular sneakers. I think he wanted to wear his white moon boots, so his look would be monochromatic, or chroma-less. But he went with the sneakers in the end, being a reasonable five-year old, after I explained the amount of walking he'd be doing, and that no one would carry him when he got tired. This is why I no longer accompany my son on field trips.  

For light construction, Hamish can't do without the brown zip-up hoodie his grandmom Carolyn knitted him when he was two. Thanks Ca'! He just doesn't seem ready to move on to a boys' size small from a 2T. His leggings are from two Halloweens ago when I dressed him and his sister as quasi-Superman, and quasi-Superman Princess Helper, respectively. The Diego gardening gloves were a gift from gardening Grandmom, and are perfect for wearing while pushing a broom or shoveling gravel. We just gave those red socks to Stella, but thankfully, the pirate slip-ons from Old Navy, or as the kids call it, Old Maybe, still fit without pinching, and have some traction left. I'm sensing it might be time to buy the kids some new clothes, er, uh, or in Hamish's case, gear.