My goal was to finish the roof today, but it looks like I won’t quite make it. Still, pretty good progress.

There is not a bobble on that door, just some light that got caught on a stitch and it decided to go Ta daah! for the camera.

Barbara Walker’s version has a chimney. Only a few minutes ago did I suddenly realize that, oops, mine does not. Well then but it’s new construction, right? And California has outlawed building chimneys in new housing: something about live embers going up them that the state just somehow thinks is less than desirable a possibility these days.

That house…

Okay, when I was twelve we visited a childhood friend of my mom’s, and the friend’s kid my age had a pixie cut. All the rage. Her mom had done it and I thought she looked adorable and I wanted that haircut.

The friend wasn’t about to touch someone else’s kid and Mom said that that was not something she’d ever done.

I insisted she could. (She was Mom, she could do everything!)

She resisted.

She gave in because I was so sure I wanted this, she did the best she could–and I hated it. HATED it. All she did was make everything really short! (Well, duh, kid, she did not say, what do you think a pixie cut is. It probably helped that I was her fourth kid and she’d had serious teenager-mothering practice by then.)

Mom had been cutting my hair and my bangs all my life and I never let her touch it again and grew it out from there to two years of high school, scruffy bangs at the half-point and all. The back even reached my waist if you brushed the curls straight while it was wet–just don’t let go.

That house is twelve-year-old me staring back at me.

Well, hey, the baby is due October 31st. So a haunted house is just the thing. Right?