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Recently, we decided to partner with some carefully selected businesses as a marketing affiliate. By carefully selected I mean we picked them! And by marketing affiliate I mean companies choose to advertise on my blog and give my family a little kickback when purchases are made through the links on my website.

If you choose to shop through a few links on dig (perhaps on purchases you are making anyway), it is an easy way to support my work and my family. It really does make a difference to us. Thank you.

Many of these businesses have special deals and discounts for readers of blogs like mine and I will pass them along to you as it feels right. Mostly (maybe entirely?), I will update this very page with current coupon codes  so, if you’d like to shop, you can come here to this blog post (bookmark it!) and click through! Easy.

Below are the businesses we’ve decided to work with. How it works: click on the images below or in my sidebar and shop as you would. C’est tous. That’s all.

xo

Amazon.

Additionally, we also created a ‘store‘ that holds books, gear and products our family uses and loves.

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Sierra Trading Post.

“Famous name brand clothing, footwear, and gear at 35–70% savings off retail prices every day.”

Magic Cabin.

“MagicCabin has been guided by the simple notion that children’s lives are enriched by ample time for open-ended, creative, imaginative play. We believe in good-old-fashioned make believe and in children’s innate need to interact with simple, natural toys and crafts.”

Hannah Andersson.

“Legendary for quality that’s crafted to last, Hanna Andersson’s supersoft clothes give babies and kids room to wiggle, play and grow. By caring for kids with comfy cuts, a love of color and eco-friendly fabrics, hannas make their world a little softer.”

Cricket Magazine.

An alarming BOOM that came from the living room. The sound startled me but I was pretty sure I knew what it was whereas my friend’s eyes grew wide and concerned. What WAS that? she asked. I cringed as I told her a bird had hit our window. I’ve already buried one robin this fall.

Last fall my kids and I made some pretty radical fall decorations for our home. Now, as it’s been a year and I can sincerely laugh at it, I will tell you that Andy threw them away! Because he didn’t know what they were. Actually I believe he said, “Babe, Sorry. It’s just that it looked like nothing. I had no idea what they were.”

I found this surprising since the items adorned our living space for more than a month. And our children made them (I loved the hanging pumpkins!). And the leaf wreath had some heft. I know my holiday decorations are all hippie-recycled-repurposed but…who throws away something that is clearly something? Oh really there is no sense in it just as there is no sense in placing a bath towel on the floor instead of the hook but this is my life and I will continue to instead focus on my man’s lovable qualities of which there are plenty.

*like, for example, spending the entire weekend ripping out a greasy old cream-colored microwave-hood and installing a stunning stainless hood that hums lullabies as I cook. And being adorable and funny the whole time.*

I have been getting all up in my holiday crafting this week. It’s so fun to me: making seasonal stuff with my kids that is fun for us to create and our style. For real, I can ignore most any obligation when I have cascading indian corn on my mind. What the what? This shocks me too. I am definitely not a minimalist person but I am sensitive to certain kinds of design clutter in my home. I like busy as long as the stuff in there means something to me. That’s my only criteria. Give me art, handmade, old, unique, interesting and I adore a carefully curated mess.

So there are a few corners I’ve done up in autumnal delight that do me right. I am aware my titles sound like soft porn movies. I’m ok with it.

1. Table Bling.

I wanted something affordable, practical and warm. And something that could be easily moved and not destroyed when knocked over to accommodate our raucous life. It’s simple, everything we had on-hand.

I have long been in love with the royal beauty of indian corn and this is the first year I’ve purchased it. I hung each cob from its own twine, tying the center few husky leaves (so a few were left out of confinement). Then, I gathered the twine threads and secured in a knot around those puppies.

And, one of my favorite things Margot has ever made: a little clay “monster”. I hot glue gunned him to the window.

2. Chairside Cozy.





I adore this little arrangement. Sincerely, it makes me very happy all day long. Morning sun through the wheat, afternoon mellow shadows.

yellow mums peeking though from the deck

sources:
stool: handmade by a friend; ponderosa pinecone; ceramic vase: gift from my mom, filled with rose hips from garden; thrifted ball jar, filled with wheat from local farm.

And in another living room corner, a vase of branches (what is this tree? pink flowers in spring, looks like a crabapple but the fruit is tiny) and dish of our heart river rock collection.

sources: 
vase and bird frame: gifts; weird face jug: my dad made in high school; red wooden basket: also a gift but I believe from China Woods; rocks: river yo

3. Red Berry Burst.


The thing I want to change most about our home is the entrance. It’s upstairs and on the side of the house. It isn’t that obvious or welcoming. It feels like a design afterthought to me. So! Until we can make the reshake happen (oh! we have grand plans), I am focused on happy things that shout hello! to our guests. Currently, one has to step over piles of ducting, wood and an old microwave to access our front door but once they arrive they get one mother of a welcome.

construction chaos on the front deck

The girls played with the berries for hours which got me thinking…why not create a pretty little space for them to do just that? And add fire to the mix just to keep them aware? Just kidding. They don’t play in the berries when the candle is lit.

sources:
grapevine wreath: Joann’s; mountain ash berries: tree; bowl: handmade by Baba’s Bowlworks

4. Husky Love.

I have always felt it a waste to toss corn’s hearty, veiny paper on the compost pile. Fondly remembering the leaf wreath we made last year (the one that is now degrading in our landfill, ahem), I set out to make something similar but better: a crunchy, husky fall wreath that welcomes anyone and everyone to knock on our door. It was a last-minute epiphany to use tomatillo husks as well. And a last-last-minute incorporation of the cotoneaster berries. We hung this specimen on the new gate. I like husky homeboy there.

Margot especially loved the glue gun

A few process deets: I applied the corn husks with a hot glue gun in a clockwise fashion until the wreath was covered. Then, I went in and glued wrapped (from back to front) and twisted husks. Finally, I glued the tomatillo husks (previously split into stars) into a cluster on the bottom right. And, fer-real finally glued the cotoneaster berries in the center. But then! The husks dried and shrunk/curled so I got back in there, laying the husks flat and gluing even more, the hot glue gun assassin that I am.

sources:
compressed hay wreath: Joann’s; corn husks, tomatillo husks and berries: garden (both mine and others)

And because there are an unruly number of photos in this post, I’ll leave you with a few more featuring my two favorite home adornments. I have felt especially appreciative of their relationship and I wrote about it in this week’s mama digs: making love.

We woke to our first snow this morning. Just a wet skiff but it made me thankful I had foraged through the garden in the oily darkness last night, harvesting pounds of green tomatoes. It is supposed to drop down to 27 tonight.

The garden harvest was a last-minute choice after seeing a few friends’ facebook posts showing piles of zinnias and cucumbers. All of my weather sources predicted a 38-degree low but then I found *one* that headlined FREEZE WARNING so I slid into my puffy and garden clogs. I couldn’t find a light in the entirety of our home until I finally found the light part of Margot’s headlamp. The entire neighborhood of dogs barked at me as I hacked my way through our viney jungle in search of glossy green orbs. I laughed many times as drool dripped from my mouth to the cool earth. Why drool? Well, because the only way to hold the light in position to see was if I clenched it between my teeth.

I heaved the crinkly brown tarp, heavy with fruit, into my studio, shut the door and headed upstairs to shimmy under our down comforter. I woke to rain, a chorus I haven’t heard in months. It was still deeply dark at 7am when Andy left for the day, dressed in a warm jacket and leather boots. The streets are blanketed in gold and crimson. Warm mug of coffee a fixed featured in my left hand, I thought about a day of Halloween costume-making and green tomato relish-making. Or whatever.

I love Wednesdays. It is my one day during the week that’s just us three girls. We rarely make plans with others, we just hang out together. My hump days are sacred, saturated with beautiful ordinary.

Margot (grumpy, tense brow, arms crossed): I don’t think I like winter right now. I will miss climbing trees and doing cartwheels outside.
Me: Yes. It will be different. Should we talk about some things we can do in the winter?
Ruby (dancing, jumping, smiling): Ski! And sled! Snow! Snow!
Margot: RUBY. You don’t have to be so happy about everything all the time you know. Gah.
Ruby: la la la lalalala! Snow snow snow! Us love snow!

Pearl Jam was amazing.

The letter I published here I had also sent directly to the band. I did end up having some exciting email exchanges with someone on that end but we ultimately got tickets from a kind soul who sold them to us at face value. And! Hear this Pearl Jam: I can thaw out some peaches and bake up a pie in just a few hours. If you are still in town, have your people contact my people and we’ll arrange it. 

The whole thing was fun and funny…the family photo shoot, the enthusiasm and momentum created around achieving tickets-in-hand. Goodness, we had a great time this weekend hanging out, preparing for and eventually attending one epic concert.

While going to a concert isn’t *big picture* important, the way this unfolded got me thinking about big picture important stuff. Really it’s all the same, the big and the little. It’s all the same because your bigs and littles are different from your neighbors and are all important. Our daily paths are scripted by interactions and all it takes to make any situation different is one connection. We throw our energy out there for others to catch. And we catch the output of others. With every personal encounter, we leave a little something with each other. What a lucky power we all have: the power to connect, the power to give a situation brightness and love. Every single time we communicate with someone we have this opportunity. We are all people who seek authenticity and happiness. There is a lot of momentum there.

There was joyful momentum in the heartening interactions I had surrounding our ticket capture. And, holy smokes, there was other worldly momentum created during that concert last night. Thousands of people bobbing together, hands overhead, bodies vibrating. Pearl Jam creates unity and excitement when they perform. They played for hours, leaping about stage like giddy teenagers. They do what they love and share it with others. We get to catch it. It’s awesome.

And I freaking love how politically active and vocal they are. I think most of you know where I lean, I’ve written about it before. But I sometimes still feel cautious when sharing my opinion. Why? Will you be offended? Maybe but probably not. I am certainly able to disagree with a person’s yard sign and still want to hear what they have to say. I imagine most people are this way. I imagine most people who like coming here to my space choose respectful, kind interactions to create the momentum in their lives. And having an opinion and voting is SO important. I attended the Tester rally with my kids yesterday and was reminded that he won by a few thousand votes in the last election. A few thousand votes. I was interviewed by our local paper which always makes me nervous, especially when my two year-old is tugging on my skirt and I wish I had taken time to reapply deodorant. But certainly, stretched hems, distracted attention and stinky pits are little and normal things. Having my kids understand the importance of supporting candidates that reflect our family’s values and them hearing me say it out loud in front of them is a big thing. To me.

Yesterday, the smoke lifted. I spent time with my family. We ate yogurt muffins, attended a political rally and a birthday party at the carousel. I obsessively checked my email waiting for tickets to emerge and they did. We called every eligible babysitter in the valley, achieving success at the last minute. My brother-in-law, sister-in-law, husband and I ate bar-b-qued ribs and salad as fast as we could just before kissing our our mac-n-cheese gobbling kids goodbye, piling in the wagon around car seats and landing at the base of Mount Sentinel with thousands of people who wanted to dance, sing and feel something big.

hump day nuggets: bits of the season in photos and words about the last week

Margot ran out of her room, arms wrapped around her chilly shoulders. She wore a bathing suit and announced the day’s plan would be to swim in the creek. “Or, if you think it’s too cold we could fill up our baby pool and pretend it’s the creek. Or take a bath and pretend it’s the lake.”

We’re all feeling a little punchy and desperate for fun outdoor activity. Our forests are on fire. Smoke fills our valley, our eyeballs, our lungs. I wasn’t bothered a bit at first, knowing it would pass, still high on our wonderfully mellow, warm summer. Our forests burn, it’s part of where I live. But, getting into week two of this haze, I feel melancholy when I look up. They gray density is disorienting and boring. It’s like all of Missoula treads in paste.  Suffocating, white, slow, blah.

Last week, while Ruby and I picked tomatoes, she stomped her foot and said, “GRRRRR! This smoke! I am over it!” which made me notice how often I had said that in the last few days and notice that, no matter how consuming it felt, I didn’t want to focus on what I didn’t like.

So I decided that if looking up makes me feel like poop, I’d look down. There is a lot to feel thankful for on the ground.

:: Garden days are numbered, evidenced by low-slung, frost-kissed jungle in our backyard. Still, every day, we manage a basket full of something.

:: New chalkboard wall in the studio.

:: Scored a sunny chenille bedspread on ebay for a song.

:: We canned Beet Carrot Soup.

:: On one super smokey day we headed to our local nursery where perennials are buy one-get one. We ended up staying there for close to an hour because the kids had so much fun playing hide and seek. Ruby counts like this one, two, free, four, six, seven, eight nine, six, seven, eight, nine, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE!

:: While I am third generation alum to The University of Montana, I am completely not into Griz football. Really, I don’t like football in general but I do like doing things with my family and I do like the energy of 25,000 people jumping up and down screaming MONTANA. We went to a game when family was in town. Ruby fell asleep on my back and we walked the perimeter of smokey maroon and silver. I don’t know what the score was and I absolutely didn’t approve of booing the other team (got a few looks when I applauded the opponents’ efforts. Come on! They were someone’s baby once.) and I had a fabulous time. Touch down!

:: Tomato pie.

I updated my recipe to include this variation

:: I love this window in our living space. The top of an outdoor garden bench atop two old apple crates hold toys and succulents.

:: Ruby helps pin tags on clothes with Chelci.

:: I did manage to get some exercise, although in an unlikely place. I danced Oula in a grocery store produce section with 50 women for a mamalode video. Say what? True. I was so excited about my new moves to Call Me Maybe that I performed for my daughters. I didn’t know Ruby had snapped this pic with my phone until I downloaded my photos. I am surprised to see this awkward hunched claw pose because when dancing I feel so smooth and rhythmic. Hmm.

:: Getting there.

:: Reason # 758 why we love Benson’s Farm: haven’t been in 2 weeks and walked in to find Ruby’s beloved zebra hanging by the corn. The entire Benson family cheered (and a few got teary!) when Ruby hugged her found friend. It was one of my favorite moments.

:: Remember that dream I had where Olive visited me? Margot had one too. I wrote about it in this week’s mama digs: dreams of spirits.

:: And I leave you with an accidentally good peanut butter popcorn ball recipe. I was out of ingredients and late to a potluck so I made do and it turned out fab. Love it when that happens.

:: peanut butter popcorn balls ::

15 cups popped popcorn
1 cup sugar
1 cup honey
1 1/2 cups peanut butter
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
a bit of canola oil

Mix honey and sugar in a pot and cook over medium heat until melty and boiling. Turn off heat, add peanut butter and vanilla and mix well. Pour a tablespoon or two of canola oil on a plate. Pour hot mixture over popcorn and mix. When you are able to stand touching the popcorn (it’ll be hot!), palm the oil with both hands. Grab a clump of popcorn and shape into a ball. Keep it up, dipping in oil as necessary (to prevent popcorn from sticking to hands). Makes about 20 three-inch balls.

I think we’ll make mini balls for Halloween. Oh I am excited to share the girls’ costumes!

Looking down has helped my smokey blues. I can’t blow the haze away but I can shift my attention. And when the fires extinguish? Oh how I’ll appreciate blue sky, clouds and distant peaks. Until then, there is so much awesomeness to study on the floor.

Ruby: I love you Margot.
Margot: Awe, sis. I love you too. Want to play family?
Ruby: Sure.
Margot: You be the mom and I be the dad?
Ruby: No! I be the dad.
Margot: We could be two dads who take their kids to the creek?
Ruby: Ok!

I have a million ideas queued in my head right now. To do, to arrange, to share, to make, to finish, to start. Today — as coffee cut cream in my mug, as sun fought through the thick smoke haze that’s got us all disoriented, as my daughters scooted about all bed head-shiny — I decided to not do a lick of anything because I felt I should. I announced this out loud to my daughters, as they chewed granola.

“OK,” said Margot with a yogurt mustache. “So, we could, like, totally play family.” Ruby nodded.

I had a dream in the morning, just before waking up. I came home to my house and Andy was in the kitchen with the girls and he said Babe, look. Babe, she’s home. and he was holding Olive. Everything was brilliant and electric and she purred and I buried my face in her fur. I touched her ear tufts and counted her belly spots with the kids. And then she looked straight into my eyes and we were locked there in a deep, spiritual stare. Everything was blurry around me. She was peaceful and pensive. I woke up. I smiled and I sat right up, knowing for a hot second that it was real. I believe Olive is dead. My dream was my goodbye. I got to see her and hold her one last time and for that I am thankful.

Our day was breezy and random. I finished arranging my studio while Margot and Ruby played Boxy Heads. Boxy Heads is a game they invented where one places a box on their head and then runs into objects and exaggerates their fall while shouting BOXY HEADS! at high decibels every nine seconds. We cleaned a bit, had a friend over, ran a few errands, cut down branches, painted feathers, had more friends over and then Margot surprised us all when she hopped on our neighbor’s bike and rode off. So that’s what we did for the rest of the night until just before bed. I could hardly breathe though my excitement for her, my pride in her.

I haven’t made a home video in years and felt compelled to do so tonight. Its repetition might be tedious to people who aren’t Margot’s grandma but this song* is so rad that you just might make it through.

with love,
dig

*Rise by Eddie Vetter

I remember, when I was first seriously in love with Andy — like introducing him as my boyfriend to anyone who looked our way, reading something that declared seven years in a relationship equals one of two things: true love or divorce. Eight years later we married and we’ve now been married for seven years. Happy to report it’s true love over here.

I know it’s unusual that I met my guy when we were 12. That I’ve had a crush on him since then. That he was starry-eyed over the class photos of me that adorned on my aunt and uncle’s fridge, even the one where I chose to wear a canary yellow ribbed shirt under overalls that were two sizes too big.

It’s funny to me now that I questioned (and even felt frustrated with) our love-at-first-sight energy. But I did. Because, when I was 19, I wanted to travel the world! Fall deep in love and have my heart broken! Date around like a regular ol’ single gal! It quickly became clear that none of that was my fate. I am so happy I grew up with this man and then grew alongside him to where we are now. From holding hands in the Roman Theater in high school to holding hands while I pushed our kids out of my body. He’s the greatest person on the planet, I think.

Happy Anniversary, love of my life.

In this week’s mama digs, I wrote about the stash of rainbow, ahem, balloons Ruby found in my bedroom. Are all of your friends talking about vasectomies? Click to read my weekly column mama digs: colorful balloons.

Once upon a time there was a thirty-something couple who loved to cook. They decided they wanted a new range. They saved and saved and saved and, after a good while, they had about half of what they needed. One day, on his way home from work, the husband stopped by their local appliance store just to see. The nice appliance store employee said today is your lucky day. The shop had just received two orphan ranges that needed to move out asap. They were generously discounted.

The couple bought one, their friends bought the other.

Range Porn, September 2010

The wife was particularly taken with her new prince. It was love at first sight. Boiled water purred, melted cheese reclined. The range came home at the end of the summer and she canned more food than she had ever canned before. She was charmed by the steely soft facade, the caressing convection. Would you like a pie? What kind? How about a fried egg? Lasagna? Stew? I’d love to. she was known to say.

Soon after, the couple decided to move up a valley across town. Without discussion, they agreed the range was not for sale with the home. Their home sold and, as these things go, there were negotiations. The lovely soon-to-be homeowners said It’s perfect! We’ll take it and we’d please like the range too.

And so it was. The husband felt conflicted confessing he couldn’t imagine it happening again: their having the resources and the universe dishing out a range at the exact amount they’d saved. His bride, however, felt great. She had this annoying habit of rejoicing It always works out! in response to sticky spots. She did this on this occasion. It’s not that she thought a range would magically tumble down the hillside and land in their backyard (although she thought that’d rock!). It is that she knew that this was falling as it should because it felt right. The range had helped them sell their house and helped them move into a home they would raise their family in, the unlisted home that had found them because of an email from one of her blog readers. She had never been wrong when trusting her gut. Even her husband trusted her gut.

The couple, their two small children, dog, two cats and six chickens moved into their new home except there was a funny glitch: their new home held tenants. See, the sellers had asked the couple how they felt about their eventual home renting until the sale of their current home could happen. They enthusiastically supported this idea, excited for time to sell during the crushed housing market. The sellers signed the lease and the couple sold their home the next day. So in the cold Montana winter they moved into the basement apartment of their new home, under a family that was now their tenants. Thankfully the two families got along swimmingly.

She was honest about the snobby bitch of a kitchen they had acquired. She was so grateful for this move that tried not to complain out loud but she sometimes cursed loudly in her head. It was actually remarkable how different the range situation was for she now worked with an ungrateful adolescent terror who feigned cooking by heating up to the same degree no matter the temperature reading. It was always hot; oven at 400 degrees, stovetop a boiling, neon orange rage. Her bed was the only available counter space. She rolled with it because it wasn’t that bad. And actually she thought it was a pretty damn fun, like camping all the time. She liked rolling with it. She got good at it.

One day her man called. She answered Hello and he said, with laughter You aren’t going to believe this. Or, actually, you will. He then told her about this new job he was working on. He was an electrician. The homeowners were upgrading appliances and their old appliances were awesome. The couple knew the homeowners and they proceeded to have friendly conversations. The end result was a beautiful barter: the range and refrigerator for one of the husband’s paintings. Everyone was delighted and hopping.

The couple and their daughters lived in the 400 square-foot apartment for six months and then it was time To Move Up. Spreading into their home felt spiritual. The spaces they had previously thought to be small or dark or uninviting felt luxurious, expansive and perfect. The small-space living had afforded them the exquisite opportunity of perspective.

The fridge moved in right away, the range hung back in the garage due to some installation complications. And then, one September afternoon it happened. Strong, tan friends arrived and, together they lifted the range out of the garage, up the concrete steps, up more steps and into place. Fit like a flipping beautiful silk glove. She promptly made cocktails and invited everyone to dinner.

It had only been a day and she felt intimately involved with the new range. It was harvest season. In their first week together, they prepared and preserved peach salsa, caramelized onion relish, beets and corn. They made granola, casserole, cookies, pizza, soup, muffins and omelets. Split and slice. Flesh, fruit. Pit, peel. Chop, sear, roast, scoop, stir, spread, scrape, turn. Do it again.

Their youngest daughter grew so tired of waiting on her quesadilla :: The couple looked forward to yanking out that microwave/hood 

Some said she and the range were in the honeymoon phase but they both willingly declared
And they lived happily ever after.