Give a Child an Inch, and She'll Take a Mile...

...but in a good way.

Over the summer, Fifi sewed her first skirt. Right before her birthday back in June, to be exact. Here, she excitedly found the pieces that her chosen pattern called for...

she cut them...

she ironed them--I hope she didn't forget to empty the iron of any water still in the reservoir!...

she found her reflection in the shiny bottom, because she was, after all, not quite 13...

she pinned--with only the occasional "ouch!"...

she played with the cat...

she checked her work...

modeled her fabulous new creation and then went to bed too late.

And then, she started doing this kind of stuff. Because she is 13 and the sky is the limit!

The Day Higher Education Showed Itself an Ignoramus In Its Display of Disdain for Common Hospitality

12-year old Fifi and I were on the treadmills at the gym this afternoon when Iranian President Ahmadinejad made his controversial appearance at Columbia University. First we watched the dean of the university introduce the president of the university, who was in turn, charged with introducing Ahmadinejad. That's when I almost tripped over my jaw. So did Fifi. Mr. Bollinger, if your conduct is indicative of a life spent pursuing higher education, you can keep it--I don't want it!

It is not my place to say who is what, and what he meant, and why they did, and what they do or don't have over there. I am relishing the Truth tonight that my place is really to serve my husband and teach my daughters how to be keepers at home, and how to love their husbands and children--and it is more than enough to keep me under contract for another 20 years.

So I'll say this: Daughters, be very careful who you invite into your life and especially into the sanctity of your home. Check your motivation against the wisdom of God's Word. And when you do choose to extend an invitation--to friend or foe--you must treat them hospitably.

If you have a difficult topic or touchy subject you want to discuss--say, like: terrorism, human rights or nuclear capabilities--you must do it by mutual consent. Please don't invite your nemesis over under the guise of friendship or the "free exchange of ideas" and then insult and humiliate her with a scathing narrative in front of an audience, before she has so much as opened her mouth!

And if you don't get along with her in the first place because you suspect she is unstable, a liar, impulsive or otherwise dangerous--do not fan the flame! Do not fuel the fire!

Because manipulating a situation to humiliate an unreasonable person just. isn't. going. to end well--for any of us.

Earl Grey, Sugar Cubes and Charades

I learned a lot in the last week or so. Practical things. Lovely things.

Some things I learned the hard way--the expensive way. Like the time I learned that my need for the super-duper deluxe candy thermometer from Michael's at $15 dollars (give or take) could have been satiated by a reasonably nice copy at my local grocer's for $8. Or even better--the generic for $3!

I also learned that the Fanny Farmer petit fours frosting recipe (which called for the use of said thermometer) doesn't give the coverage we wanted. It was more...translucent. Rolled fondant is better and easier. It was a little like playing with Play-doh, and I can do that!

I learned that chocolate dipping needs refrigeration to set nicely.

So does the store-bought creamy frosting I used to make the roses and starbursts.

And that all of these things are subject to melt in the South Texas heat of mid-June.

I learned that for everything you must have for the table, there is likely a cheaper alternative somewhere if you have time to look for it.

I learned that while brides all over this country are asking for fine china table settings from fancy department stores for as much as $100 dollars a pop, you can get a pretty enough service for 7 at a resale shop for the same price!

I learned that Fifi knows how to fold a white linen napkin.

I learned that necessity really is the mother of invention: a plastic pair of children's looped chopsticks, cut short, make a nice delivery utensil for the sugar cubes.

I learned that tea parties need about 2 weeks to prepare for. Not two days. And that I crack under pressure. And that the Lord is faithful and proves Himself strong in my weakness.

And I learned that Fifi is pretty handy with an iron, to which all the table and chair linens did attest.


And I learned that at 39-years-old, I can still pull an all-nighter!

I learned that brand new table linens, packaged as a combo deal, can be comparable in price to the resale stuff in the antique store down the road. Only, it's brand new. Without anybody else's stains! Nice.

I learned that slip covers for chairs change everything. And that they sell retail cheaper than I can sew them.

I learned that $2 will buy a square of accent fabric, and 15 minutes will hem it nicely. There is no good reason to buy another tablecloth to lay kitty-corner or donkey-jonkered or whatever it's called.

I learned that all that pretty balled melon won't be eaten.

And that the tea in Tea Party is more than ornamental; those girls drank a lot of tea!


I learned to ask for help. It blesses others to have something to offer: an extra teapot, a lace buffet cover, a couple of extra table settings.

I learned that a little bit of pre-event coaching helps a 12-year-old host her first party with guests who don't already know one another.


I learned to stay on the service side of the dining room doors as much as possible and simply enjoy the giggling.

I learned that charades is a fun party game, even without teams.

And that for a group of girls who probably, and thankfully aren't "hip" to the culture, familiar Proverbs from the Scriptures work every bit as well.


I learned that young ladies-in-the-making should to be nurtured and guided toward feminine nobility, strength, virtue and grace in this beautiful stage of life-- before the tendency towards such attributes is stifled and snuffed out completely.

But it is hard work. And it is worth every bit of effort it takes.

If You Build It, They Will Come

Countdown to Fifi's "Afternoon Tea for Young Ladies," to celebrate her 12th birthday. And then I will fall in a heap on the ground. But it will have been worth it. She will have been worth it.

Minimalists Ought Not Host High Tea

But I'm going to do it anyway.

My royalty-watching, doily-crocheting, lace curtain-loving, elegant, feminine, trapped-in-a-Quaker-furniture-style-family Fifi is about to turn 12 years old. Most years lately she's chosen to mark the day with a quiet family celebration or maybe a sleep over with her very best friend. I usually throw on a pot of spaghetti and pull out the ceramic dishes instead of paper for the occasion. This year I offered to host a Tea in her honor.

What?!

In what was surely a momentary lapse of reason, I think I offered to host a Tea. My thinking was that we'd shop for a few cups and saucers, a tea pot, some tea bags and chop the crusts of some white-bread triangle sandwiches.

And then we set out to find service for 8. Apparently the best place to find the real thing (and by the real thing I mean something that will hold more than 2 tablespoons of Earl Gray) is an antique store, and since there is a fairly new one down the street that Fifi has been anxious to visit for a week or fifty, I dared to drive over. With the puppies.

Now this is going to be a fun time.

Actually, I must give them credit. When we walked in and found the winding, 18-inch-wide aisle littered with booby traps and a sign that warned "You break it, you buy it!" we made it a first priority to find them a cozy ottoman to sit upon. And they did. For more than 20 minutes. And even though their giggling caused me the occasional anxiety check (because surely there is nothing to giggle at if you're SITTING PERFECTLY STILL WITH YOUR HANDS FOLDED IN YOUR LAP!) they managed to break nothing and thereby cost me nothing and so, earned themselves a ride home.

But back to the shopping. We found ourselves a true Southern Paula Dean/Martha Stewart/Barb-type to help us open the cabinets and price the items because...well, because I suffer a debilitating imagination and could see myself pulling hundreds of dollars of china down upon thousands of dollars in lamps and crystal when the curio that held them tipped as I pulled on the door.

And that turned out to be the beginning of a wonderful retail relationship.

As we priced the items and discussed what and how many we needed, and which set had, and what that set lacked, I humbled myself a half-dozen times and told this pretty Midland, Texas transplant that, "I have no idea what you're talking about -- seeing as I'm from Arizona and grew up on Tab and Swanson's T.V. dinners and all; fancy for me meant peeling the foil from the brownie before putting it in oven."

And for whatever reason, that admission drew this next question from her:

"Did y'all have debutants?"

I almost busted a gut at the very thought, but held it together enough to acknowledge that maybe they did in Scottsdale.

"Oh, I like Scottsdale."

Yeah, well. Who wouldn't? But back to the fun...

Her first pointed question to help me do this right was about napkins.

"How about napkins?"

Right here, behind my blank stare I'm searching for the right answer amongst the few words given in the question and am about to remember the 20-count pack of elegant paper napkins that are waiting for a reason in my pantry when she saved me the humiliation by elaborating,

"Do you have linen napkins? You must use linen. And it must be white. Or ecru."

Here, Fifi interjected the news of last fall's acquisition of burnt orange linen napkins for Thanksgiving. Dressing the table. It was a first for us.

But Pretty Midland, Texas Transplant sweetly assured us that we would not be using orange. Then she asked if we had a proper tier for serving petit fours?

Huh?

It took a second for Fifi and me to get a good giggle over how we've been saying it wrong all these years. We've been calling them petite fours. Oh well.

Then Pretty, Midland, Texas Transplant Who Moved-Here-To-Live-Two-Doors-Down-From-Her-Grandchildren advised me that we'd need a passavah to serve them.

A what?

After a few tries, I deciphered in her Texas twang that she was saying I would need a pie server. Once I got around to repeating the phrase in normal American, we both laughed because, "I wasn't understanding what the Passover had to do with Fifi's Tea!"

And she had mercy on me, and showed great compassion toward me as she spent the last 30 minutes before closing time questioning me about, and showing me what I would need to do this Tea right. And then she and I spent the next 30 minutes after closing time bubble-wrapping my new stuff fine china.

And now I'm more sure than ever that I am not up to the task. But I'm going to do it anyway. And I'm open to suggestions. No twang necessary.

(To see how it all turns out, look here and especially here.)