Dabbling in the flower arts

I've been wanting to post pictures for a while of the flower ladies' work. Sometime last year the position coordinating the Mass flowers opened up and I had secretly been wanting to try my hand at this job so I leaped at the opportunity. I had some ideas for increasing the scale of arrangements and after I took over I found myself in a position that came with LOTS of freedom. I scoured books on floristry from the library, including ILLs and certainly have learned a few tricks of the trade. Over the year a few other very talented women have joined in and every week we have a great time trying to create worthy arrangements for our Church. It's definitely been an awesome creative outlet, and a privilege to work with such wonderful artists who help bring all my visions to bloom (so to speak).

Small altar vase for mission church by Logan.

Offertory vase by Ceci.

Deconstruction.

Rosary table vase by Logan.

This one was being ornery for Sue.

Sue showing that freesia who's boss.

One of the main altar arrangements.

The more I learn the less I know

I love how James knows when to tell me "I love you so much mommy," he's a pretty intuitive little boy.

It's funny how being a parent makes you a better parent. It's funny how before you have kids you kinda think you have an idea of how it all works. How you'll always be the picture of firm, yet loving, equability. And of course I am! ;)

I feel that having small kids is kinda like having manic depression, extreme highs and lows. The scary thing is how the ups and downs come in freakishly close succession-- seconds apart even. Right now is pretty high, Sally's chewing on my finger. Children are playing pleasantly. Laundry has a chance at getting finished. Much is right with the world.

As a parent you can never have too many bodily fluid stories

Around 3am this morning Isabelle crawled into our bed next to me. Around 5am she peed and got up and went over to Eric's side leaving me to roll into her puddle. . .hey, no fair! Eric left around 6am and I was awoken an hour later by the smell of poop. Somehow that smell always has the ability to jar me awake no matter how good the dream. Anyway, there was Max standing next to my bed with his exceedingly loaded diaper next to him on the floor. Thanks Max for letting me know! The third and final story also stars Max, who decided a good time to get on the table and pee all over it was when I was concurrently organizing our CD collection. I just looked at him and asked "why?'