Haloween is nearly here.

...and I'm so tired of dealing with all the half-wits who waited until the Wednesday before a Friday Halloween to try and order something custom. COME ON, guys!

I love my customers.
I love my customers.
I love my customers.

Except for the "deleted" who thinks I can drop everything and run a bodice fifty miles to the nearest UPS store and pay twice the shipping, because her post office box is twenty miles away from her and she'd rather not drive that far. I just want to invent a new swear word for that one.

And the girl who wasted hours of our time asking questions she'd already had answered, if she'd read the Ebay listing or read the first two or three replies we sent her. We have a file with literally THIRTEEN messages from this chick, I kid you not.

And everyone who, instead of contacting us through the handy and easy Ebay message system, digs around on the internet, finds Michelle's e-mail account, and then asks her questions, thereby wasting her valuable time. This backwards method takes two or three days for us to get a message that we could have responded to the day it was made.

Just breathe....

If I've ever felt like Michelle was too stressed out by customers who are giving her family the money they need to survive, I am truly sorry. I am trying to remember that when a business gives me what I wanted in a timely fashion and it exceeds my expectations, I need to let them know. It gives me such a nice feeling when we get a message that says "Hey, I got my corset today and I LOVE it!" You sweet ladies out there, who are happy and let us know, sometimes you keep us going.

How not to can applesauce...

We in the McDonald house love our homemade applesauce. We've helped Toby's mom, Vea, make it a few times. But this was our first solo flight. Let's see what you think...

Step 1: Buy a bushel of apples at the orchard in Marionville. Eat all of them. By the way, #2 means seconds, not anything nasty. They're just the ugly apples, but they still taste great!

Step 2: Buy another bushel of apples. Eat half of them. Look at the rest for a week, saying, "We really need to make applesauce.

Step 3: CONSULT THE INTERNET. This step may take hours and consist of several distractions by the wonders of Ebay and The Black Apple. Finally, print a reputable-looking recipe.

Step 4: Wash canning jars and apples (separately). We have a great picture of Livvie back in the day, naked in Vea's sink full of applesauce apples. She sneaked into the sink when we were not paying attention. The applesauce was extra sweet that year.

Step 5: Realize I don't have enough lids. Run to the local Mennonite store and buy a dozen canning jar lids. Plus gummy fish for the kids. Plus white cheddar cheese powder, because, hey, I have to make the trip count.

Step 6: Quarter and cook apples.

Step 7: Run through applesauce mill. The kids are always very happy to help with this step. Note my swanky $4 Sqeezo mill. It came with both fine and coarse screens, so this year we're trying chunky sauce.

Step 8: Put hot applesauce in clean, sterilized jars. Realize that the water bath in my biggest kettle isn't deep enough for quarts.

Step 8.5: Chase down a naked, poopy Ivy who has shucked her diaper. Fix that. Wash hands obsessively.

Step 9: Run to Lucy's house to borrow her canners. Talk for 30-plus minutes--a very short visit!

Step 10: Water-bath for 30 minutes for quarts, 20 for pints. We made 8 quarts, plus two pints, plus whatever we ate while "tasting." It is lovely-good!

Step 11: Survey the damage to the kitchen. Go out for cheap pizza.

Breakfast of Champions?

I was feeling tired and nasty this morning, so Toby got the kids on the bus today. When he came back into our bedroom, he told me about Maggie's very specific breakfast request:

Toast with butter and cheese. (Because in this house we don't skimp on dairy!)
Carrot sticks and ketchup.

It's breaktacular!

It's Wed!

This is my little Margaret. She's named after my dear difficult Grandma. I should have seen that one coming. We did NOT get along for about the first two years of her life, due to her constant frustration and screaming no matter what I did. Ahem.

Now Maggie is a sweet funny little girl of three and a half, and we get along just fine. She's at that age where she says the goofiest things in the most adorable little-girl voice. Examples:

"Dad, did you hear that noise? It wasn't the storm-it was me burping."

Maggie, crying inconsolably, so I ask her what's wrong.
Mag: "Natalie said my hair was YEDDOW!"
Me: "What color is it?"
Mag: "It's WED!"
(I'll admit that I have wished her hair would darken up again, but it is a beautiful light strawberry blond.)

She likes to sing the ABC's while we're driving in the car. She's got them down, except for that tricky little fast "L-M-N-O-P." It usually sounds more like "M-M-M-O-P."

Right now, she's obsessed with the Disney Little Mermaid movie. She likes Ariel because "She has wed hair and a widdel nose." (like Maggie does.)

In Which I Become a Fashion Nerd

In one of my recent posts, I described myself as obsessive, especially about the costuming in movies I love. I have plans to complete a Regency (Jane Austen-era) ensemble for Toby and myself for Halloween. Because just strapping on a Damsel in This Dress Corset every year, while smoking-hot, is just too easy!

Ummm, I just got obsessed with a new period. Sunday night, whilst my hair was soaking in a henna paste that smelled like gingerbread, I stumbled across Ruby in the Smoke and Shadow in the North on Masterpiece Theater. The author of the books, Phillip Pullman, describes them as based on the "penny dreadful" style novel. I only saw the last half of the first, but was completely glued for the remainder.

I didn't care for Billie Piper in the M. P. version of Mansfield Park, but liked her in these movies. She was much more believable as anachronistically-emancipated Sally Lockheart than as quiet Fanny Price. And having loved JJ Feild as Mr. Tilney in Northanger Abbey, I was not going to mind him as Fred Garland.

But enough about the actors. Or the plot. Let's get to the costumes. I am not a Period Nazi--the term for all those holier-than-thou ren types who love to tell others why their clothes are not appropriate for the time. I much prefer a fun item of clothing that is inspired by the feel of a certain era in history. Because, let's face it, folks: unless you own sheep, are constantly spinning their wool, and weaving it into cloth, while processing flax into linen, and dying of the plague, IT IS NOT PERIOD. Don't we dress up for fun? I'm all about learning as much as possible about how things were done and why, historically.

But I digress. The awesomeness of this pinstriped jacket will hurt me until I try to make one. The stripes! The red tie! Must...buy...fabric....