Bebe Doux

A Blanket Apology

2011-05-11T14:11:00.000-05:00

I'm beginning to notice that most of the ideas I have for blog entries are much less crafty and much more, er, really less crafty. But such is life right now. Annie dropped her afternoon nap months ago, so there's narry a moment in time that isn't spent feeding her, entertaining her, feeding her, running errands, and feeding her. As any mom of tiny tots will tell you, you finally carve out a little down time around 9:00 pm...and then you realize you may as well go to sleep but someone will undoubtedly wake you up in three short hours.

So not much is getting done around here. I started a couple of dolls to accompany the one I made for Annie last Easter, and I've gotten as far as sewing and stuffing one head and torso. I actually discovered Annie laughing and pulling fiberfill out of the doll's head the other day, and I'm trying not to think too hard about what that may say about her psychological state.

I was totally enveloped by the paper piecing quilt project I started, until my hands started to hurt. When I noticed I was wringing my hands like a mawmaw and talking about feeling the bad weather in my joints, I knew it was time for a break. No project, aside from mothering, that makes you feel that old is worth the effort.

Now I want to pick it back up, though, mostly because we'll be settling into the new house soon. Annie will be moving out of a toddler bed into a bonafide "big girl" bed, and she'll need the proper accessories--namely a quilt draped beautifully on the end of her bed that makes the statement, "Look at the detail. My mommy loves me more than yours." Actually, in all honesty, she'll be lucky if she gets a decorative throw pillow tossed her way. Perhaps I should have realized: Quilts take a long, long time. Sorry, Annie, for your underaccessorized bedding. I hope you can find it in your little heart to forgive me.

But God Bless the little sweet pea, who stretched out on it one day and said, "Mommy, I just love my beauti-hul quilt!" Maybe I should just stop with what I have. She's only two, you know. She has no idea that there's no such thing as a decorative quilted bed runner, right?

Moving right along...

2011-05-10T14:15:00.000-05:00

If you need to know something about Jim and Jennifer, it's this: We love God, family, and friends above anything else. If you need to know something ridiculous about Jim and Jennifer, it's this: We will be celebrating our 8th wedding anniversary tomorrow, and, as of June, we will have lived in 6 different places. No, Jim's not in the military. No, we are not running from the law, although that does sound pretty exciting about now. Of course, there was a 5 year stretch where we stayed in one place. (Feel free to take a minute to run the numbers on all of that and let the magnitude of it sink in.) Once we move to our new house in June, we will have moved 3 times in one 12 month period.

So why all of this useless information you ask? In the spirit of our approaching anniversary, I'd like to use this information to speak to those unmarried souls who say, "I'll never get married, because married life is too boring." Bwah-hah-ha. The past 8 years have been a whirlwind, I tell you. The past 3 have been downright ridiculous. I keep waiting for the day when Jim and I will kick back in some unattractive, puffy chenille La-Z-Boy recliners, look at each other, and say things like "Momma, you done good" or "Daddy, you want more co-cola?"

But right now it's more excitement that I think any one person can handle...so thank goodness there are two of us.

Happy Anniversary, You.

For the birds

2011-02-24T13:47:00.000-06:00

Sometimes life gets a little crazy, and you realize that those best laid plans of mice and men are better left to the mice. They undoubtedly have better luck than I. (Just ask my pal, Sarah, who has one in her home that successfully defaced a Baby Einstein toy.)

2010 was a humdinger, to put it nicely, and now we've found ourselves back "home" in the town we left just 8 months ago. In 2010 we made a lot of plans...I mean, a lot. None of them worked out just as we'd hoped, but thankfully (and as always) they worked as just as He had.

So 2011 should be full of lots of fun things--buying another house (we hope), moving a few more boxes in the process, potty training, etc. etc. And, as always, there will be some arts and craps along the way.

Right now, thanks to my friend Kathleen who always introduces me to new sewing techniques, I'm hand quilting a blanket for Annie. (Positive note: Being a bedridden shut-in is the perfect opportunity for hand sewing! Yea!) I'll snap some pics soon. I'm currenly very proud of the callous on my finger that means repetetive, very purposeful sewing has been occuring around here.

We're heading to the store today for some ribbon for my first ever pillowcase-style dress, and I took a gander at the crap store's flyer to check on some deals. And since I love sharing odd pictures, I was thrilled to discover this:

At first I thought, "Wow, they've actually put a picture of a woman using a nursing cover on the front of a sales flyer. Way to promote breastfeeding, nationally recognized craft and fabric store!" Then I realized, no, it's just a very strange women draping a very unattractive quilt across her person. She's not curled up on the couch...just kind of standing there, clutching her bird quilt for dear life, but nonetheless trying to smile though her pain.

Perhaps 2010 was a little rough on her too.

"Have you seen my centerpiece? It's terrifying."

2010-11-05T10:00:00.016-05:00

The Pottery Barn December 2010 catalog arrived. For me it brings the same level of excitement that looking at the Sears Christmas catalog did as a child, except that there's no risk that I'll stumble upon a picture of men wearing creepy NFL long johns. (Was it absolutely necessary to have the men's underwear section of that catalog that close to the toy section?)

Well, I've made my "must have" list, and I'm definitely buying these as quickly as possible. Because I know there will be nothing finer than the moment when the wax of their little cute heads inevitably melts and it looks like there are four headless woodland creatures, fluffy stumps afire, threatening the peace and tranquility of your holiday tablescape.

Happy Friday!

I Swear I Both Aced Speech Class and Received an English Degree from an Accredited University

2010-11-04T14:04:00.048-05:00

Being a mom means that your brain seems to rest firmly in your bottom sometimes, because often that feels like where your thoughts emerge. More times than not I open to mouth to only, seconds later, think, "I can't believe that just came out of my face."

And that's how it feels sometimes...like the ill-formed words are spewing out of my face, totally out of my control. I think the inner workings of my mom brain are not unlike the Anheiser Busch brewery bottling line I saw on a school trip to Busch Gardens. The bottles are trucking along just fine, and it all makes sense...until--ka-pam! That reject bottle comes along, and it gets kicked out faster than you can say "hasenfeffer incorporated." Well, some days it feels like every word out of my mouth is a reject bottle. Ka-pam indeed.

I try to write down the flat-out weird things Annie says, but I wonder sometimes if I shouldn't do the same for me. It's probably a good idea that I don't, because reading that drivel would likely lower my failing IQ by a good 50 points, which would throw me straight into the red.

But for the sake of fun, let's revisit some of my more profound statements, comments, bouts of verbal diarrhea, what-have-you, that I've experienced so far this week.

1. To a dear friend's (talking 'bout you, "E-bits"!) husband who stopped by to deliver a fantastic meal and who had clearly earned Annie's affection in a whopping 10 seconds: "Annie just loves men. She just goes crazy over all the men that come over to the house." That's right. "All the men." Oh, and I forgot to mention, I said this to a future pastor. At least he can pray for me.

2. To Annie, when putting her down for a nap: "Please try to get some rest, and don't poop yourself awake, please." I'm pretty sure that's the only time I've said that. At least I hope so.

3. To the sweet 20-something girl who lives upstairs who just got engaged: "Yeah, enjoy this time! The engagement, the wedding, those first few years....they're so much fun. And then when you're our age, that's when all the stupid stuff starts happening." Congratulations and best wishes!!

4. To the sales associate at Hancock Fabrics: "I'll talk half a yard, please!" Ok, that doesn't seem weird, but you haven't seen the fabric. It is so bad, so weird, she actually begged me to buy the rest of the bolt, which had been in the store for nearly 4 years. But it is soooo delicious in its tackiness, and it brings me much joy. I wish I could meet the kindred spirits who purchased the previous yards. I'd love to spend an afternoon with them chatting about sewing small appliance cozies and looking at their Tweety Bird tattoos.

That's all for now. I should stop, because my fingers are getting tired. And my self-esteem is plummeting. And there's also some very funky fabric begging to be fashioned into something even funkier.

CATastrophe!

2010-11-03T13:55:00.001-05:00

Poor Kitty. She made the terrible decision to fall ill as I fell ill earlier this year. So we didn't really notice she wasn't doing well. If laziness, apathy, and detachment present themselves in a cat, how can you begin to know these are signs that something isn't right? That's just standard operating procedure. But when Kitty started sounded like she had swallowed huge, funky ball of lint, we thought, "Hmm, wethinks Kitty is under the weather."

Some $400 and many mild heart attacks later (ours, not Kitty's), our vet told us she may or may not have lung cancer (I told her she shouldn't smoke!) or asthma or pneumonia. I resisted the urge to tell said vet that he may or may not have my continued business after $400 and no firm diagnosis.

Then we moved. And then some more unfortunate unfortunateness unfortunately fell our way. Again, Kitty was neglected. Not "call the ASPCA" neglected, just put on the back burner. (Yes, I realize that probably makes you think of our cat simmering stove top [sorry], but I couldn't think of any other phrase.) You know it's a rough time in your life when you have to say things like: "I really would like to stay alive, so you'll just need to hang on a few more months while we make that happen...so, um, don't die, ok? Good kitty."

Right now Kitty is on three different medications, two of which were custom flavored at the pharmacy. I'm hoping that one day I'll get an ailment that requires a liquid medication, so I can take it to the same pharmacy and answer the question "Would you like this flavored?" with "Yes, 'assorted dead fish,' please!" Kitty seems to like it, and we're happy for that. When you've spent money on cat medicine, you much prefer to see it in your cat rather than cat-spit spray painted all over your walls. I'm still finding little specks of her last medicine--a horrible tee-tee yellow color, which she spewed all over our vanilla walls. And if there's one thing I don't love, it's the appearance of someone having peed on my walls, so it seems like our current medicine situation is a win-win.

Our new vet, who I believe to be far superior to the last, is getting close to a diagnosis. I was hopeful that we were just dealing with asthma. I thought to myself, "Sure, I can manage that. Just some medicine or breathing treatments or something relatively easy, right?" Then I made the mistake of putting the Google in my computer, and I stumbled upon this:

WHAT?! Oh my gosh. I don't know if I'm more terrified of the hose or the cat. What kind of cat is that calm while having a hose of pressurized air shoved in its face? The kind that will suffocate you in your sleep probably. This will not be an option for Kitty. Although that's kind of a shame, because I, personally, would pay good money to watch what is unfolding in this picture. If it were happening in my own home, all the better.

But what if the soon-to-be-patented Nose Hose doesn't work?

No! Noooooooo!!! Man, oh, man. If her meds don't work, we're in trouble. Even that cat, who looked content just minutes ago with a tiny garden hose shoved against her nostril, seems a little perturbed. Just a little.

But here's something: Annie just walked in, looked at this picture, and said, "Aw, kitty's having a beeeeer!!" (Kinda makes you wonder about our beer drinking technique.) But there's an idea. Or maybe I should just have one. After all, I've spent nearly $50 on having the cat sedated for blood work and X-rays, and no one's has offered me the first thing. For crying out loud, the money we've spent, the early morning lugging the cat and kid to the vet's office by 7:30, the knowledge that there's more and more funky fish-scented medicine in our future, and the reality that I may be staring down the barrel of the Nose Hose any day now.... whew... It never stops.

Suddenly I'm having trouble breathing too.

My New Theme Song

2010-10-28T15:13:00.001-05:00

Last week I took advantage of afternoon nap time to work on some hand sewing projects. I stretched my legs out, poured a nice glass of iced tea, and turned on the TV for some background noise. You can imagine my joy when I stumbled upon an old episode of "Soul Train." Delightful!

You see, when I was a wee thing my sisters and I would often go to my grandmother's house for a Friday night spend-the-night party. The highlight of the night was getting to stay up late enough the watch "The Tonight Show" (you know, back when it was actually good). And if we were extra good--and if Mamaw got her second wind--we could talk her into letting us stay up a little later to watch "Soul Train." Now we were avid watchers of "American Bandstand" on Saturday mornings. That's where we got most of our moves. But "Soul Train" was an extra special treat. For three very white girls living in the suburbs, this was our glimpse into urban living...and we loved it.

So if I happen to catch "Soul Train" on, I have to stop what I'm going and hop on board. Toot! Toot! And sometimes, rather unsuccessfully, I have to fight urge to get a little funky. Let's be honest here: If I could have a dance party every day of my life, I would. I have years of material from old episodes of "Solid Gold," "American Bandstand," and "Soul Train" in my dance repertoire.

And don't even talk about "Dance Fever." I was once nearly rug burned beyond recognition when, after watching an episode, my older sister and I tried to orchestrate a lift and spin move of our own. We were fabulous.

You can imagine that when this song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgaZYgIEc6A) came on, I brought the funk. I had to have that funk. Now. And I assure you whatever dance moves you start busting out when you see this will look exactly like what I saw on "Soul Train." I learned a new dance that day, called "The Cracker Jack," from a fine young couple from New York. (He said he was in med school, and she was majoring in psychology. I would love to know how the funk propelled them to greatness in the medical field some 30 years later. I mean, I would pay double to be treated by anyone who created a signature dance called "The Cracker Jack.")

This dance and song have forever changed my outlook. Whenever I start feeling funky (like that), I try to pull myself up by my flared corduroys and get funky (like this). Who doesn't love a song called "Gotta Get Over the Hump" that features a hallelujah chorus? Granted, I'm sure some of lyrics are little less "30-something stay-at-home mom in suburban Jackson" and a little more "20-something oppressed urbanite living in Civil Rights era Chicago." Ok, a lot more. But I think Simtec and Wylie would agree: We all have our humps. But we'll get over them. (I think I want to dance.)

Haaaaal-le-lu-jah! Haaaal-le-lu-jah!

"I'll have a martini, please. Wait, make that three."

2010-10-27T13:23:00.000-05:00

Because I need to do some quality reading, I picked up the newest edition of Bed, Bath, and Beyond: The Circular. It's always a literary thrillride. Chapters like "As Seen on TV" and "Gadgets That Make You Wonder How Many IQ Points One Needs to Step Foot in a Kitchen, Because For Crying Out Loud Who Needs a Battery Operated Cupcake Froster?" keep me on the edge of my seat. I love it.

And what masterpiece would be complete without photographs? Thanks the heavens, this edition doesn't dissapoint. We have a woman dressed like a ninja with some weird cranberry skewer swords. There's my personal favorite, the Yankee Candle display of no less than 10 very large jar candles arranged at varying heights on a table next to a window. (I don't know about you, but that's how I burn 'em. It's like a makeshift memorial to days when I didn't have to worry that my house smelled like poop.) There's a picture of a woman using a super-handy multichopper, but, unfortunately, there's not the picture of her having to wash and dry all 500 components of aforementioned super-handy multichopper while cursing under her breath and wishing she'd just picked up a knife like a normal person.

There is one photo that flat out blew me away. It is fantastic in its awfulness, and I spent the next several minutes living in this gloroius photograph, imagining the dialogue as it unfolded:

Guy: "Hey, there, pretty lady. How about I buy you a drink?
Gal: "Um, no thanks. I already have two. And the bartender also left some extra, along with two large stacks of cocktail napkins, and a gigantic bowl of olives."
Guy: "Alright. Well, if you don't mind me saying, you have the most lovely eyes. I mean, I can only guess they're lovely, because you refuse to make eye contact with me, even though I'm practically sitting on your lap."
Gal: "Oh, sorry, I already forgot you were there. I'm getting pretty drunk on these superfluous martinis, and I've spent the past 5 minutes staring into space and trying to figure out how to cross my legs. I haven't figured it out yet. I'll just perch my feet all pigeontoed like on this stool, ok? Maybe it will help me keep my balance."
Guy: "Wow. You are so incredibly stupid. I love you."

I mean, who needs Pride and Prejudice when you have the Cigarbar Woman and Man and the 3-Piece Drop Leaf Counter Height Dining Set?

"Unemployed"

2010-10-26T14:00:00.000-05:00

At my request, the hospital provided me with a detailed bill. I just kind of felt like if I was going to write a big ole check (in fact, I feel like I need one of those gigantic game show checks for this one), at least I should see what I got for my money. Goodness knows we didn't get the prize we wanted.

After looking at the bill, it became quite obvious that I was admitted on what was quite possibly The Most Expensive Day for Medical Care Ever. My bill from the hospital pharmacy was over $1000, and I can't fathom why the little medicine they gave me was that expensive. Truly, if I had known what they were going to charge me for it, I probably could have directed them downtown where I suspect they could procure the same stuff for at least half price.

This billing breakdown was an insult to injury, of course. But the biggest slap in the face came when I looked at my patient information:

Age: 25 (You know, if you believe it, it's true.)
Sex: F (thought this was funny to have on a statement from a hospital called Woman's Hospital)
Occupation: Unemployed

"Unemployed??!!" I'll shout it again, with all caps and additional exclamation points. "UNEMPLOYED??!!!!"

On the contrary, dear hospital. I am quite employed. In fact, I'm employed at this moment and suspect I will be employed for the next 10, 15, 25, rest-of-my-life years.

And you know what? That statement--the nice reminder that, while you're working your patootie off most days, you're not bringing in a dime--is not something you want to see on a bill.

Well, I guess I got my feelings hurt. That's shocking. That never happens. (Ask Jim.)

Anyway, I'm responding by throwing myself into some sewing projects. I just finished my niece's b'day gift (will post pics soon), and I'm starting on another niece's one too (won't post pics, because I want her mom to be surprised). All of this is on the heels of having to complete a rush order for yet another niece. And by "rush order" I mean the order she called in last Friday and had sent to me as a written request that arrived by mail Monday. It was a 24-hour turnaround order. She's tough, that one, but I was happy to oblige.

I guess one can do all of this kind of stuff when she's "unemployed." So, anyone else out there unemployed? I'd love to hear about all you're not doing.

My New Obsession ("New" implying that there are many, many others...which is totally healthy, right?)

2010-10-25T13:48:00.009-05:00

Ok, I realize there's major demand out there for that Thunder on the Gulf footage. Like all 3 of you who are dying to see it. I have no idea where the cable is that hooks up the camera to the computer, so you'll just have to hold ye horses. At least this way your anticipation can build to such great heights that you're sure to be disappointed. Yes!

Last night I was washing and drying the, I don't know, 2300 plastic storage containers that we have taking up valuable real estate in my cabinets. They're taking over my life, and I don't even like them that much...not at all really. I told Jim I need to break free from the plastic that's likely leeching excessive amounts of chemicals, synthetic hormones, and bad ideas (got to blame something, and it's certainly not the bourbon) into my body. I can't stand washing these things, by hand or otherwise. They never even dry completely in the dishwasher, so I have to spend no less than 10 valuable minutes working the edge of my dishtowels into every nook and cranny of every lid and every container. And, quite frankly, constant care of a 2-year-old in diapers helps me reach my "nook and cranny maintenance" quota for the day. I don't need that business up in my kitchen.

It's time to make a change. It's time to go old school. I'm talking glass storage. It won't stain, hold terrible odors, or remain in one piece when I inevitably drop it on the kitchen floor. Sure, that last item may seem like a big fat negative, but I like to live on the edge.

So this morning I started thinking about glass storage solutions or, dare I say it, opportunities. I need to make this change in a way that's both aesthetically pleasing and functional.

(Really, can you even get a sense of how important this is?! )

While thinking very, very hard, I had a flashback. Picture it. I am a wee little child, opening my grandmother's gigantic Frigidaire. Inside are stacks and stacks of leftovers, never to be eaten. (In fact, they're probably still there today. My grandmother never throws anything away or out, apparently.) I don't know what's in these containers, but it must be special. Because these containers are bee-yootiful! They're a milky white and turquoise and there are roosters on them and these cool glass lids that have these waves in them and oh my gosh I just can't stand it (flashback ending, coming back to reality) I just love turquoise more than ever now because it reminds me of the old counter tops in our old house gosh I miss that house and must have these NOW!!!! AHH!!!!

Whew. That was exhausting. And if I could, I'd post all the pictures of all the glorious Pyrex Butterprint that's out there...the white with turquoise, the turquoise with white, the Amish farmer and his wife. It's a beautiful thing, you know.

My dear friend Kathleen likes turquoise and all things adorably vintage, and I suspect she may have some of this lying around. She's moving this week, so I'm tempted to go to her house, find the box labeled "My Beloved Pyrex," and swipe it. And if she doesn't have any, I feel pretty sure she's about to after reading this post. Tell me I'm wrong, Kathleen.

So that's my new obsession. I'm totally fine with it. The stuff is everywhere, it's reasonably priced, and, furthermore, totally legal. See, perfectly safe obsession, right?

Vacation...all I ever wanted?

2010-10-20T13:53:00.003-05:00

Wow. It's already October...and quite nearly November. I haven't posted anything since June. Where on earth does the time go? I'll tell you. It goes to what is quite possibly the most exhausting year of my life. Those of you who know me well know why it has been majorus crapius (that's Latin for "major crap") at times, and those of you who don't know why can just take my word for it.

When I look at the calendar, I almost allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief. "Ah, just 1 1/2 more months, and I can kiss 2010 goodbye!" This year is not going down the books as my Best Year Ever, and I'm living with this crazy false optimism that when the clock strikes 12:01 on January 1, 2011, fairies will descend from cotton candy clouds and frolic gleefully amid glitter and rainbow showers. It probably won't happen like that, but only because there's no such thing as a rainbow shower. Geez.

In our collective hope to salvage something downright fun out of 2010 (up to now anyway, because the holiday season promises major fun), we decided to vacate the premises. To head south. A few days at the beach to clear our heads amid the calm of the ocean, take some deep breaths of salty air, and enjoy a few sips of an adult beverage or twenty. We managed to get there sans oil spill or tropical disturbance, but we didn't escape craziness entirely.

Now indulge me, if you will, in a small aside here. You must know before I continue that Jim and I are vacation poison. When we leave the comforts of our home and head into the world, crazy things happen. Recent vacations have included: 1) a fall [not mine, surprisingly] down the grand staircase at Biltmore; 2) a bear encounter; and 3) allegedly haunted accommodations [did not read that detail in advertisement].

With that said, you can imagine my shock when I couldn't find one bad weather forecast for our trip. Making last minute accommodations went off without a major hitch. We closed a deal on a new family vehicle (aka: Swiss Army Car) that promised to bring mega fun to the road trip. All in all, we had this thing covered. Nary a disturbing blip on our radar. Until....

Thunder on the Gulf!!! RAHAHAHAH!!! (insert sound of crying marine life here)

That's all I'm going to say for now. No use in describing something when you have video footage you can upload and share with the world. And no use in describing something when words just...won't...do.

No lie, I set down the lid and saw this:

2010-06-01T13:27:00.003-05:00

Oh, chocolate ice cream, you make me so very happy too!

Jesse, This One's for You

2010-05-27T08:04:00.008-05:00

Ok, it's crunch time. T minus two weeks until Moving Day, and I decided to throw all caution to the wind today and start packing up what remains in the house.

(See, we've already packed and stored everything with had in our house that made it look cluttered [we're trying to sell here, folks], which was basically 95% of the house. But I'm pretty sure the remaining 5% has, against all physical possibilities, increased to a solid 80% at this point. You know what I'm talking about. In any move there's the minimum of 10 boxes that you'll be packing up as the moving van is pulling out of the driveway and that you'll, in your weariness and distress, simply label "c-r-a-p.")

Anyway, a neighbor told me about an outlet store in town that offers the moving box trifecta:

1) Wide boxes
2) Clean boxes
3) Boxes with handles

That's right. You heard me. And when I went to pick them up this afternoon, I nearly tee-teed in my finest Old Navy shorts when I saw that they had put back nearly 20 of these pristine boxes for me. And actually, my neighbor had only told me about the clean and wide part, so seeing those handles, totally unprepared, was almost too much for me.

Ok, maybe you think I'm making a big deal over this, but I can't stress to you how unfun it is to tote your baby in and out of every major store in town begging for boxes. Thanks to Doris and Regina at Burke's Outlet, I'm living the moving dream. Truly, I was so overwhelmed that my box quest had come to an end at the hands of these two women that I told them I'd say a special prayer for just for them, they had blessed me so much. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy, but that's ok.

Jesse, you'd better believe I will be breaking down these boxes post-move and putting them in a safe deposit box. I told Jim today, "These boxes are here to stay. For the future. Forever..." Oh, and Jesse, please tell your U-Haul boxes I said "hello." It's been a long time.

Duck, Duck, GEESE!!

2010-05-26T07:00:00.018-05:00

Last week I started to feel bad for Annie, since her funtime has been woefully neglected the past couple of months with all of the goings on around here.

(Yes, I know. You're thinking, "Hmm, it took you two months before you started to feel guilty?" And it's true, because I was so busy taking care of other things that I didn't even have time to add "feel guilty" to my to-do list. Maybe I should keep that up.)

So I decided that I'd embraced the unusually hot mornings and head to the lake so we could feed the ducks and geese. She'd only been out there once before, and we had to cut the trip short because she had a major tantrum when Jim refused to let her swim in the lake with the ducks and geese. I felt like she deserved a second chance.

First things first, we headed to our neighborhood Winn Dixie to pick up bread. I have no idea if this is actually good for the animals, but I see people doing that all of the time; therefore, it must be ok. (I will undoubtedly delete the previous line when Annie is old enough to read, because I can hear those words coming back to haunt me in about 15 years.) We picked out our bread, and Annie insisted on clutching it closely to her chest, like she would her stuffed animals. By the time we got home (yes, she held it like that all the way home), it looked like this:

DEEElicious!

The next morning we headed to the lake with bread disaster in tow. And let me say, I seriously underestimated the aggression of a party of ducks and geese. The minute they saw us and that bread, it was on. I actually got a little nervous at one point, and I started to feel the anxiety brought on by a flood of memories of getting attacked by my friend's rooster when I was 9. Ok, maybe "attacked" wasn't the right word, because I didn't end up in the hospital or anything. How about "aggressed." (I don't even think that's a real word, but it should be.) He may have been trying to mate with my leg...I don't know. I just know that after that altercation, the birds and I have been on the outs. (I think it's familial. My little sister was once struck by a wayward pigeon.) Anyway...I got a little nervous.

Once we finished dishing out the bread, which took a whopping 2 minutes, I quickly went into "Ok, now friend turns to foe" mode and began shooing the ducks and geese away. I kind of felt like I was breaking up with them: "Yes I know I said I really liked you, but now you're getting all weird and you're kind of freaking me out!" Because I was uncertain how they'd take the break up, we made a dash for the bench. I thought, "Get the baby to higher ground, because she's waaay plumper looking that I am and, therefore, more delicious looking." So here she is protected by the bench but still corresponding with the geese through the slats:

She kept saying, "Hi, duck. I see you!" And the goose replied with a lot of garble I didn't understand, but Annie seemed to enjoy the conversation. After things cooled down a bit with the bird aggression, I set Annie free to run wild. And there she goes:

I guess that goose had really told her some great things about being a goose, because she kept starting longingly at the lake. ("I bet they don't even have to take naps...")

The poor girl nearly ran herself ragged chasing them, so we took a much needed water break. I realized that Annie, like me, turns beet red when she gets the teeniest bit warm. It's a trait that comes in very handy when you don't feel like exerting much energy. "Really, I'd love to help you move that boulder, but does my face look really red to you? I feel kind of weird? Maybe I should go inside and rest." Lucky, lucky girl.

She enjoyed her drink lakeside:

Then she decided the geese needed some refreshment:

Not a single one would take her up on her offer, so she began being a bit aggressive. Can't help but think she picked that up from the geese.

We really enjoyed the short time we were there, and I was reminded of Annie's fearless nature and of her desire to be friends with everyone. I hope that never changes.

As we left, she waved over my shoulder, "Bye, duck! Bye, wah-wah! Bye, lake!" And they all collective replied, "Bye, Annie!" Ok, maybe that was just in my head, but that would have pretty awesome.

Perhaps I'm Biased Now

2010-05-25T07:45:00.000-05:00

Victory of victories, the project is done. Things I learned from this project:

1) When the instructions call for 1/2" wide bias tape, take the hint. 1/4" wide bias tape is unforgiving, and she'll taunt you and your inability to perfectly encase your raw edges within her teensy tininess. A few areas had to be sewn by hand, because my unsteady machine hand totally missed the mark.

2) Anything made with fabric that features pink stripes and rosebuds is doggone adorable. I mean, at any moment I expected Laura Ingalls to just POOF! materialize in my sewing room and say, "That sure is pretty, Ma!" And then she and I and her freckles would frolic gleefully around the room.

3) You shouldn't really write a list of things you learned about a project when you only really learned two things, because it's kind of pointless.

4) Sorry about that.

I think my niece will be pleased. And I'm thinking maybe I could fashion one of these for myself. Maybe I'll make mine from oilcloth so I can put an icy cold adult beverage in there. Cheers, Ma!

Bias Tape Is Fun!! (not really)

2010-05-24T16:12:00.004-05:00

Bias tape. It looks absolutely spectacular in its neat little package, but it is not wanting to be my BFF. I had a feeling we'd get off to a rocky start, seeing that I'm not at all a fan of Bias Tape's renegade cousin, Piping.

Sadly this temperamental sewing notion is crucial to a project I'm making for my niece's upcoming 7th birthday. (Excuse me while I take a moment to wipe away the tears that are filling my eyes as I think of my teeny baby niece now 1/3 on her way to adulthood...sigh.) I found this nifty pattern for a bedside organizer that slips in between the mattress and box springs and holds books, magazines, etc., and it's the perfect thing for a girl who spends most nights pouring over her Little House books. I assure you, whatever picture is in your head is, in fact, that adorable.

Birthday gifts are, in my sister's words, my niece's love language. And I don't think it's so much that she likes getting the stuff (which she probably does), but she likes that people are thinking of her. Often when I call her, I'll say, "I was thinking of you today!" and she'll answer with the sweetest, "You were??!!" Like, "Little 'ole me??!! You were thinking of me??!!"

I'm really enjoying sewing this project, because I'm imagining all of those Little House books--and maybe a teeny flashlight--tucked into those pockets. But I must say that sewing for this 6-year-old craft connoisseur is stressing me out just a wee bit. Whereas I'm pretty confident that most people wouldn't inspect my seams, I'm not so sure here. After the gift gets in her hands, I'll be anxiously awaiting the phone call where she tells me how cool it is and then says, "But Jennifer, I noticed it looks kind of crazy in some places."

Thanks for nothing, bias tape. But I will conquer you. Oh, yes.

And I was thinking that since my niece just lost her first top tooth, at least I'll be able to come back to her criticism with, "Maybe so, but you look kind of crazy in some places too." :)

All the Better to See You With

2010-05-18T23:01:00.004-05:00

2010 has been a challenge for our little family.

First, we had a new little addition to our family that we lost at 8 weeks, and it was the truly the saddest thing we've ever experienced. But in all of that sadness came amazing reminders of God's love and providence, and I'm so thankful for the family and friends surrounding us who helped us focus on that.

Second, Jim got a new job, and in all of that excitement came a lot of anxiety about what was and is ahead of him with something completely new. But our pastor's series on Philippians kept us focused on the joy, joy, joy, among other things.

And third (there has to be a third, because as Dr. Bob once said, "You know we Presbyterians like things in threes"), there's the uprooting of our family...the moving out of our comfort zone to a new place (even though family is close by) where we'll feel the need to carve out a little space for us and where we'll undoubtedly miss and long for the comforts of the place where we've spent our entire married life and met some of the most loving and gracious people we've ever known. But...

What a blessing to be reminded of the opportunities God grants us to glorify Him! Tonight I was watching that TLC show about the Duggar family, which I'm so thankful has a place on TV, and I heard something that I hope I'll hold fast to for a long time. When speaking of her preemie baby's health issues, Michelle Duggar said, "When situations are difficult, we can choose to be bitter or better." And her words struck a chord with me.

Amid all the tumult of this year, at every turn, we've had to make the decision to be bitter or better. And I will admit that there were times when mourning the loss of our baby that I asked God, "Why?? What did I do to you?" And, truthfully, He could easily have answered, "Plenty." But He didn't. And through His grace and love He allowed me to see Him with new eyes.

Things really have been a challenge thus far, and I know they will continue to be. My prayer is that I'll be better for it all...that I'll open the eyes of my heart and allow God to work in me and through me and accept every circumstance through which He chooses to do that. And not to my glory, of course, but to His.

Sew Distracted (har har)

2010-04-23T11:13:00.005-05:00

I finished Annie's rag doll just in time by Easter, and you'll be happy to know it was well received. And by "well received" I mean that she grabbed it, threw it on the floor, shook her head, and said, "No."

But that's ok. It turned out pretty cute, I think, for my foray into doll making. Nevermind the dress is too small, so it's gaping open in between the hook and eye closures. Kind of like a fancy hospital gown. At least I know I can do it.

I followed the pattern, but she didn't turn out just like the photo on the pattern. Nothing ever does, I think. The more I look at her, the more I wonder if those eyes are too far apart. As I told my dear friend, Kathleen, the poor girl looks like E.T. and Bjork's love child.

Aside from dollmaking, we've have some craziness at the homestead over the past several weeks (hence my bloggy absence), which now includes a new job for Jim and a move for all of us. My house is full of liquor boxes (for the move, of course, not because I've been drinking a lot...but maybe that would help??), I'm constantly wondering why we need 10-15 boxes of books that we never read, and I'm working furiously to get the house spiffied up and on the market.

Ok, maybe I stretched the truth a little on the last one. I'm actually making some Mother's Day gifts and a new crib skirt for A.'s new room. That's right. I'm doing everything that is absolutely necessary to do under these circumstances. Don't you think?

P.S. So sorry for that pun-alicious title. I truly, truly dislike the use of the word "sew" for "so" in an attempt to be clever. Because it's not. Which is precisely why I used it, because I've not a clever thought in my sleepy brain right now.

My Raisons (and Raisin) d'Etre

2010-03-30T14:09:00.005-05:00

As noted by the fact that my last post was on March 15, it almost goes without saying that the past couple of weeks have been craziness and, at times, craptacular. And I'm ok with that, because that's how things go sometimes, I suppose. But these past two weeks have made me realize that I have a lot of things in my life for which I'm enormously grateful. These things bring my joy:

1. The Lord. That's right, I'm doing this all "Oscar" style and thanking the Big Man first for the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart (Where?!) that He brings.

2. My husband and baby girl. I mean, they're wonderfully ridiculous, and I can't believe I get to spend every day laughing with (and at) them.

3. The rest of my family. You know who you are. And some other people also know who you are, and I like you so much that I'll even admit, "Yes, you are correct, other people. Those people are my family."

4. My friends. May as well be family. They truly do spectacular things, and they make me laugh--and sometimes cry when they're not looking--and laugh again.

5. Crafts! I firmly believe that cotton, like the commercial suggests, is the fabric of our lives. And, thankfully, I get to experience the joy of making things (sometimes quite shoddily) with my own two hands. I love it when a plan comes together, and sometimes, as life has reminded me lately, that only happens in Craft World.

6. Ok, this doesn't hold a candle to the Lord...or my family...or my friends, but let me just say this about of one of my greatest joys: Raisin Bran Crunch is a cereal far superior to other cereals in its ability to lift me from a funk. It's crunchy, sweet deliciousness is like the nectar of the breakfast gods (if nectar could be crunchy, which admittedly would be kind of weird...but whatever). Actually, I just go for the Winn Dixie version, because it's two bucks cheaper. It's called "Crunchy Granola Raisin Bran," and I actually think I love it more than the Kellogg's stuff. I really have a soft spot for store brands, because they bypass a catchy product name for the obvious. You really know what you're getting. Like, instead of "Cheerios" you get "Toasted Oat Cereal" or instead of "Kraft Macaroni and Cheese" you get "Tube-Shaped Noodles with Cheese Powder Add Milk Sauce." Anyway, I just love it. Love it all. I'm going to have some cereal right now.

So I'll be posting more soon. I'm working on a super cute (at least in the pattern pictures) doll for A.'s Easter basket, and I can't wait to see how it turns out. It really could go either way--super cute or really freaky. Such is the nature of dolls. I'll post pictures and we can take a poll. Get excited. !!!

Love, joy, and crunch-crunch!

Thanks Goodness for Date Stamping

2010-03-15T13:57:00.004-05:00

Since A. is 19 months old now, I figured it was about time to finish her baby book. As I started working through it, I was reminded how uncool I am. When I reached the "Popular Musicians" and "Popular Movies" section, I was completely clueless. Thank goodness I found an online resource that helped immensely; however, I've decided that I'll refrain from writing "Lil Wayne" and "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" in her sweet baby book. That would just be, ew.

As uncool as I am, A. is equally unconventional. When I got to the section of "Firsts," I was stumped. She has never done anything according to anyone's schedule or style but her own. She took her first steps long before she pulled up on her own, she opted to not say "mama" until the past few months (and then she went for the less conventional "meee") etc., etc. It made recording these milestones a little frustrating at times. So sometimes I chose not to, because I couldn't figure out what to do.

Then we have the section of the book that's divided into months...and it's perfectly blank after about month 4. I know somewhere in this house is a spiral-bound notebook where I jotted things down at least until month 8, but I have no idea where it's hiding. Again, 1600 square feet = black hole.

After spending a whopping 30 minutes on this project and starting to feel defeated, I remembered that J. and I have the annoying habit of documenting every little milestone in A.'s life. "Look! There's a Cheerio on her nose! Get the camera!" or "Those are the cutest blue jeans! Get the camera!" or "She just made the funniest face 5 minutes ago, and I'm sure she'll do it again any second now. Get the camera!" It's so bad that she calls the camera and video camera by her own name, because that's all she's ever seen on either one.

So with the 20,000 jpegs taking up massive storage space on my hard drive comes the one thing that will save me--file date stamping. That's right. Now I can "remember" the first time she crawled or took several small steps or ate spaghetti (we have at least 200 pictures of that activity alone). And one day A. will look at the exhaustive detail in her baby book and say, "Aw, Mom. It's so apparent how much you love me, and I will forever be indebted to your thoughtfulness. You are the best mom in the world, and to thank you I will send you on an all-inclusive Caribbean vacation and clean your house." Yep. It's going to happen exactly like that.

Anyone have any great baby-documenting victories to share? Any tips that may help me through this process? Anyone need to confess, "My daughter is 42, and the baby book is still blank." Don't worry: If that's the case, I won't judge you. You have your own daughter for that.

Someone on the Other Side of the World Thinks I'm a Dork

2010-03-08T14:38:00.003-06:00

Before I begin, allow me to say that I'm very, very certain that plenty of people on this side of the world think I'm a dork too. I have at least 5 exchanges a day with strangers and friends alike where I'm pretty confident my rating on their nerd scales soars. But today I had a customer service experience with [insert pretty Indian name here that I can't spell] of Earthlink that made me feel like the Ugliest American in the history of Ugly Americans.

I called because our fickle internet service wasn't working. After answering the obligatory questions one would ask a monkey, like "Is your internet turned on, ma'am?" and "Are all the lights blinking on your modem, ma'am?", we got to business.

And I am so ashamed to admit that I couldn't get past the CSR's accent. It was lovely, but I just couldn't follow her. And usually I'm really, really good with accents. It's only fair that I would be, because I personally sound like a hillperson. As a result, I sounded more and more like an idiot at every turn. I figured, though, that she and I were in it for the long haul, and I decided I'd fill those empty pauses while I waited for my internet to work with a little international chit chat. I was going to break down this language barrier, dangit.

Me: "You know, I didn't even ask you how you are doing today. Are you having a good day?"
(keep in mind...seconds upon seconds of awkward silence was my only option)

Her: silence...silence...a small giggle that sounded totally like she was looking at her co-worker and making some face at me...then "I am good, ma'am."

Me: "Great! Ok, I think it may be working. Can you wait one second so I can be sure?"

Her: "I will be happy to wait as long as you need me to, ma'am."
(By the way, every time this woman said "ma'am" it sounded like an insult. It was like I had jumped into the future and was talking to my teenage daughter..."Yes, ma'am, I'll be home by 10:00. geez.")

Me: "Thank you. I really appreciate all of your help."
(See, now I was starting to feel awkward and weird, so I began to dish out unnecessary compliments to the CSR at the company who I'm paying for a service that's not working. I stopped just short of "It's not you, it's me!"

Me: "So, where am I calling you?"
(I had no need to ask, but, again, small talk.)

Her: "India, ma'am."

Me: "Wow!"

Her: "Oh, is it working now, ma'am?"

Me: "Um, no, I just said 'Wow!' because you're in India and I'm on the other side of the world and I just think it's neat that we're sitting here talking on the phone together when we're in totally different places and I hear India is beautiful."

(And that's when I got verbal diarrhea and realized I was so poorly representing my nation that I just needed to go sit in the shower and cry. "I hear India is beautiful." Have I ever heard anyone say that? No. I'm sure parts of it are quite spectacular. Truly, I could have just said something equally as brilliant like, "So, are there a lot of people in India?" or "I heard 'Slumdog Millionaire' is a great movie." Oh, and I did hear that.)

Her: "Ok, ma'am. So is your internet working now?

Me: "Um, yes, it seems to be doing fine now. I guess that will be all. But thank you, thank you so much for your help today. I really, really appreciate it."

It felt so tremendously awkward at that point...as if it had felt like a dream up to that point. Anyway, I was making a fool out of myself. I just had visions of her hanging up, pulling off her headset, and heading out to happy hour at Chili's New Dehli where she'd make fun of me.

So right now I'm fighting the very strong urge to call AT&T for no good reason, because I seem to always get someone at a call center in the Midwest or Southeast, and their gentle, kind demeanor makes me regain all hope in humanity. Really, when I hear someone there say, "Yes, ma'am," I just imagine him or her tipping his hat or nodding her head before inviting me and mine over for Sunday dinner.

I don't think my new friend will be inviting me over for dinner. In fact, I think my exchange today may have set back U.S./India relations at least 50 years.

So, does anyone else have a customer service experience that rivals mine in awkwardness??

Cinematic Adventures

2010-03-01T14:12:00.009-06:00

J. and I haven't rented a movie in a long, long time. It's probably been months. We haven't been to the movies in years. Truly, I think it was sometime in 2004. We're just lazy, cheap, and easily disappointed. Those three glowing personality traits are the reason we just haven't made an effort when it comes to watching movies (or when it comes to doing many things, honestly).

Recently I discovered Redbox, the DVD vending machine. You pay $1 to have a movie for one night. Finally, an idea I can stand by...literally. (har har)

I had long grown weary of video store staff, and they were part of the reason I stayed away. I remember once in college asking a clerk at a particular store, "Do you have 'Raging Bull?'" She replied, "Umm, who's in that?" I realized the error of my ways and stopped short of asking about the foreign film section. No need to lose all faith in cultural literacy. (And, yes, I'm very aware of how greaaaaat I sound.)

So, the idea of having to speak to no human who may or may not love movies and to pay very little to view a movie I may or may not love was very appealling. I joined the world of the well entertained last weekend, and we rented...get ready for it...four movies. That's right. I spent $4. And you know what? I learned that spending $1 on a movie you don't love is just as disappointing as spending $5 or $10.

For the sake of all of you who are thinking, "Whatever did you watch, and how were you disappointed? Please share so that we may refrain from making terrible decisions and save the generations of future movie viewers!"....ok.

First, we watched "Funny People." I thought, "Hey, it's full of comedians, and it's about a guy who thinks he's dying. What could be funnier?" Well, it turns out, everything. Everything could be funnier. It was 2 1/2 hours long, and it could have been 45 minutes shorter if they'd omitted the queen mother of all dirty words. And considering this movie already took up 2 1/2 hours of my life that I'll never get back, that's all I'll have to say about it. (And, yes, I'm not dim enough to believe that it was supposed to be a riproaring comedy, but c'mon. Give me something, people.)

Second, I opted for "Julie and Julia." I thought, "Hmm, sounds heartwarming, relatively interesting...ok." It turned out ok. Really, it just made me feel bad about myself, as I watched these women preparing glorious meals in Le Crueset cookware and copper pots that I'll never own...and that I'm convinced are what make food actually taste good. (that's my defense anyway) It just struck an uncomfortable and sad chord with me, and I caught myself thinking, "Sure, I could cook great meals, but I'd blow my weekly grocery budget on just one of those recipes. I don't know why that girl thinks she needs control of her ho-hum life. What a whiner." Yep, it struck a chord. There were also a couple of scenes where some characters were talking to the TV, and nothing annoys me more than that. So, truly, extravagant recipes + TV commentary dialogue = lackluster for me. And at the beginning J. said of Julia Child's voice, "She sounds like she's running out of breath, and it's making me tired." So I spent most of the movie also thinking about oxygen deprivation. By the end I felt like I'd run a marathon, as if I have any idea what that feels like.

Third, I threw all caution to the wind and rented "Gran Torino." How could I go wrong with Clint Eastwood? Well, the only thing I learned from this movie is, in spite of everything I've ever witnessed in my short life, you can take a 75-year-old racist curmudgeon and turn him around in just over 2 hours. Truly heartwarming in a "this could never possibly happen anywhere but in the movies" sort of way. Like the other two, I could have lived the rest of my life, quite happily, without seeing this movie. But it is worth watching to hear the song at the end that Clint Eastwood is singing, because that's hilarious. (If for some strange reason you're feeling the indescribable urge to pee your pants right now [who isn't, right?], here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MItMDkc343M.)

So there were my three strikes. Determined to salvage something, I gave it one more shot and selected "Role Models." (For those of you keeping up, we're now up to that astounding $4, but I did earn a free movie rental.) I have grown confident in the comedic talents of Paul Rudd, my secret boyfriend, and I knew he wouldn't let me down. And I was right. Sure, I had to endure a couple of boobie shots that made me briefly contemplate plastic surgery, and I probably picked up a few new vocabulary words. But I laughed out loud. And I saw the funniest thing I think I'll ever see in my entire life. A little kid in KISS makeup:

Now what to do with my free movie rental? Anyone have any suggestions? Remember, I'm obviously very easy to please.

Congratulations to "The Creepiest Children's Book Ever"

2010-02-25T14:06:00.016-06:00

I've discovered in the short amount of time that I've been reading children's books that, many times, it takes very little talent, skill, ability, what-have-you to write and to publish a children's book. Stories seem to take unusual turns for no good reason, characters act like little jerks to their parents and it's supposed to be endearing, and pictures are marginally good at best. Of course, there are exceptions...many of them in fact. But the bad ones, the really bad ones, just ruin it for the rest of the class.

I've also noticed a lot of weird moral direction in children's books as well--lessons like "Remember not to give anything to people who didn't help you when you needed them" or "Remember that you have to do something for someone before they'll help you." In fact, we've taken to changing the end of the classic folk tale The Little Red Hen to the following: "And, A., the lesson here is that you should should be generous to others even when they aren't generous to you." I can't help but feel sorry for that hen too. She made her bread and ate it all by herself, and the last page of that book shows her going to bed...alone.

But amid all of the questionably descent books on our bookshelves, I came across one that we got secondhand that totally baffles me. I find it to be one of the most disturbing books I've seen in a long time, which may explain why there's a rubber stamp imprint, "DISCARD," inside the front cover of this one-time library book. Actually an "AVERT YOUR EYES BECAUSE YOU MAY SOON SEE SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE YOU WANT TO HOLD YOUR CHILDREN EVEN TIGHTER AT NIGHT" stamp would have seemed more appropriate. I just had to share this with all of you, to make sure I'm not completely crazy in my assessment.

The book is called Quiet, Noisy, and, as the title suggests, it's all about opposites. Great idea. I love books like that. The excellent Lisa Patricelli books come to mind. But this one may as well be called Creepy, Creepier. And here's why:

J. to me: "Is that dog licking blood off the ground?"
You know, he very well may be, because he looks like a rabid beast of the apocalypse.

I can't possibly say enough about clowns. If my older sister actually sees this picture, it's likely she may not sleep again for years. Not only is this the saddest clown ever, he is the most distant, aloof, emotionally dead clown I've ever seen. And you know what that amounts to to me? Crazy psycho killer clown. I mean, he's not even making eye contact with the children. He can't, because he's having to concentrate to listen to the voices in his head.

At the end of this children's classic, there are some suggestions about games that you can play to experience quiet things and loud things. Here's a game called "Dead Lions," but I've renamed it "The Wrong Game to Play When You're a 40-Year-Old Man with a Creepy Beard in a Room Full of Children."

So, my question for all of you is as follows: "What is your absolute favorite children's book, and which one do you think would look better atop a pile of burning tires than on your bookshelf?

No "World's Best Mom" Prize Here

2010-02-24T09:58:00.002-06:00

I think it's officially time to stop being sick when you look in the mirror and think, "Oh, boy" and when every other word out of your 18-month-old's mouth is "Elmo?" The poor thing has been watching entirely too much PBS. (She just walked in holding an ultrasound picture of herself and said, "Elmo?") Really, this is, as Super Why would say, a super big problem. Maybe I've been watching too much. Hmm.

Does this top match my glow stick?

2010-02-18T13:50:00.004-06:00

Something about feeling crummy makes me completely unable to sleep at night. And I don't know why, because I'm utterly exhausted by the time 10:00 rolls around. (That's right. I said 10:00. I'm a rock star. I know.) But I just lie there feeling poorly and thinking about completely random things...like the new dance party CD my little sister made for A.

This CD is fantastic, and the fact that my sister burned not one, but two, CDs for me makes me confident that she really likes me. You know what I'm talking about. Not just any Suzie Somebody gets a mixed tape.

After listening to this CD on several occasions, I've come to the conclusion that as much as I typically don't like to listen to dance music (as in "Let's go to club Friday" [boo-cha! boo-cha!] dance music), it strikes a very dangerous retail chord in me. I can't tell you how many Old Navy t-shirts and pairs of Gap jeans have been purchased while I've been on a dance music high. In that environment, it does something to me.

I think that hearing it takes me back to a very special place. Maybe Metro Center Mall in 1983. Ah, yes, and the Merry Go Round store. They were having a party up in that store. And, you know, that party wouldn't be complete without you and your bad hair busting up in there to make some really bad clothing choices. And everything I would have hope and dreamed I could have seen in that store would be realized the next Saturday morning while I watched "American Bandstand" with my sisters. (Note: I never once set foot in that store. I was pretty confident they didn't carry Gloria Vanderbilt jeans in a size 6x.)

Those stores were magical, mysterious places. Kind of like Abercrombie is now, I guess. I don't know what goes on in there, but it smells really musky when you walk by. Is it a store or a brothel? I just don't know.

I figure if I keep listening to the CD, I'll eventually get those new jeans I've been eyeing at the Gap. (boo-cha! boo-cha! boo-cha!) And maybe I'll dance myself into looking really good in them.

Exposed!

2010-02-16T14:33:00.003-06:00

You know, I may as well post a picture of myself sans my Mary Kay concealer or of the overflowing baskets of laundry cluttering my floor. Both would be just about as painful to share with the public eye.

So there you have it, World. The reason why I now remember why I can't act (or be) sick. Because when that happens, this happens. Palmolive take me away....

Gotta Have That Funk, Now

2010-02-15T16:05:00.003-06:00

I knew my luck would run out, and, alas, it has. I'm officially sick, and, as always, it's happening during a week when I have lots o' things to do...and sadly they're really fun things. Like "getting together with grown-up women and talking about things not related to children" fun things.

For the record (let's make this official), this has been the sickliest winter I have ever witnessed. Sickly in the sense that I feel like Ken Burns will inevitably make a 20-part documentary about it. (insert woeful fiddle playing here)

There was a time when being sick was a special treat. You got to wear your pajamas all day without being judged, you ate yummy food that someone else prepared for you, you had people petting your forehead and feeling sorry for you, and, if you really had it made, every beverage brought to you had a straw in it. And if it was one of those crazy curly straws...perfection. May as well stay sick forever, because it couldn't possibly get any better than that.

Now I don't get much sympathy. When, after a couple of days, I make a comment about no one feeling sorry for me for being sick (truly, it's the only circumstance that allows you to say things that selfish without sounding like a total toot), I get the response, "But you're not acting sick." Hmm.

So tonight I think I'm going to have to act sick. I'll still deliver my dessert to the meeting I'm missing, and I'll pray that the Cool Whip won't be harboring any of my germs. But I'm promptly returning home for a date with the most unattractive pajamas I can find (and I'm sure I'll be judged for them, but that's ok), that awesome sippy cup I got from the hospital (those are the best, and totally worth the $250 I'm sure hospital charged us for it), and some serious rest.

With all of that said, what ailments are you all battling? Let's feel sorry for ourselves together.

I'm Dreaming of a White...Valentine's Day??

2010-02-12T20:47:00.002-06:00

We had Mississippi snow today, which means that people basically wiped out the stock at Winn Dixie and ran like crazed mobs through the streets...preparing for the inevitable winter armageddon. "They say would could have 5-8 inches!!!" And when I'd see these people in their frenzy, I couldn't help but hear my poor pregnant friend who has been held prisoner in her D.C. apartment with one husband and three small children laughing maniacally...like the total lunatic she probably is at this point.

Although we laughed at everyone getting so excited, you have to know that we were out there with our video camera, documenting every flake that fell on the camellias, the dogwoods, the pine trees, each singular blade of grass, the street, our roof, etc. ("Isn't it bee-yootiful?") And we also had to document A.'s first foray into snow...or, as she calls it, "No!" She loved to walk around in it, but she hated to touch it. I tried to engage her in a snowball fight, and it really just amounted to me gently chucking a snowball into the super-insulated belly of a one-year-old girl. I'm sure my dear 77-year-old neighbor watched in horror as we so openly abused our child with the cold. (Really, every time I leave the house to go for a stroll with A., I have to make sure that she's properly dressed not so much for the cold, but for the scrutiny of our aged neighbors. "Don't you know that baby needs a hat? It's 70 degrees out!")

Anyway, we got this picture when I plopped A. into the snow, and hubby made some bootprints to compare. See if you can figure out whose prints belong to whom.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

2010-02-10T22:08:00.004-06:00

Our house is about 1600 square feet. Not mammoth by any stretch of the imagination or measuring tape. But somehow a one-year-old baby has discovered within it hidden rooms, secret passageways, tunnels, etc. where she puts everything we own. Currently there exists (I suspect) a very magical place that holds three of the five brushes from my Mary Kay brush collection (look forward to seeing me wearing only blush and eyelid crease shadow), saline spray, the tray that goes inside our toaster oven, and no less than 9 baby socks. And my sanity. I think it's in there too.

The Sunshine State

2010-02-10T13:57:00.005-06:00

We had a wonderful visit in sunny FL. And by "sunny FL" I mean "not at all sunny FL." Our big plans to go the park were squashed by cool temperatures, but we managed to eek out some big fun.

Sunday night we watched in amazement as the Saints not only won a football game, but won the football game. (Yes, we'd been watching them all season, but it just hasn't seemed real.) We were both elated and stunned, and I was actually surprised to learn that it's a little difficult to watch football in the company of five children under age 6. Who knew?

Oh, and Sunday I also watched in amazement as a 6-year-old girl and 5-year-old boy tried to pull together a surprise party for my little sister. My nephew, when fussed at by his sister for nearly spilling the beans: "I didn't say the surprise! All I said was 'cake!'" And then my niece: "Mom, don't forget we need to go to the store and get the you-know-what for you-know-who!" Yep. Sister will never crack this case.

Our visit was a little chaotic sometimes, as we tried to keep up with the many kids, a dog, one husband, and ourselves. There wasn't much opportunity for one-on-one time, so I missed some of the serious conversations that my niece and I usually have. At one point I said to her, "C., with all of these kids around, we just don't get to spend as much time talking like we used to." She replied was a sad, "Yep, I know." (Funny, it seems like I have that same exchange with almost everyone I know.) My nephew's answer to that problem is that I just need to call him more often, and he provided me with two numbers where he can be reached.

The kids had so much fun together. I can't believe we actually got that photo (see above). If you're wondering why the two wee ones are staring to their right, that's where my sister was standing shaking a bag of Goldfish at them like they were stage dogs. "Here, puppy puppy..."

So no one had a major meltdown (except on the Chick Fil A playground, in the minivan, over the birthday balloons, etc.), no one got hurt (except for about 10 head bonks and toddler smacks), and no one argued (except over who loved who more...awww).

Words to Live By, Etc.

2010-02-08T21:24:00.002-06:00

As my younger sister and I were driving around town today, we had the pleasure of having my six-year-old niece as a passenger. My sister and niece were discussing the ins and outs of ponytaildom, and my niece said the following:

"When my ponytail looks good, I feel good."

We've heard plenty of great one-liners during our short visit, and hopefully I'll be able to remember some once we get home. But right now I'm going to enjoy the view from this sofa--my baby sister sitting on the floor, my niece (cuddling her via piggyback), and my nephew in his Christmas pjs piled up on them both.

I Almost Killed the Messenger

2010-02-05T15:16:00.006-06:00

I'm in the last minute preparations stage for our travel adventure. I'm trying to not pack up everything in the house. Like before most trips, I overestimate the trunk capacity of my super sweet 2000 Toyota Corolla. I've vowed this time to not have stuff piled on either side of A. I hate to look like the Clampetts have rolled into The Sunshine State. But I'm starting to look at my large duffel and pile of things to bring, and I'm beginning to think it's unavoidable.

I'm bringing lots of goods for my sister and family, because that's how we like to do things. It goes both ways, though. I know for a fact that my six-year-old niece has fashioned some hand-crafted goodness for my little sister (who's barreling across this great nation of ours as I type this...wheee!!).

I decided that I needed to sew something for the kiddos, because my niece thinks handmade goods are just grand. (She once commissioned me to sew embroidered pillowcases for her birthday sleepover, and her project management was brutal. She'd ask me every chance she got how things were progressing, and she made sure I was well aware of her party/my deadline date. At one point I said to her, "Hey, I'm not a sewing machine." She replied, "You're my sewing machine." ouch.) Keeping in mind that the one thing my sister needs less of in her house is useless stuff, I asked her if bags would be useful. Turns out they could use some for their Bibles on Sunday morning and for library books, so I put together these messenger bags from a new pattern I have.

As with all of my sewing projects, there was the inevitable moment in the construction process where I sat looking at my pieces and my instructions and wondered if my brain would ever comprehend where this was supposed to go. I can count about 30 minutes total where I sat on my sewing room floor thinking, "Ok, if this goes like this, and if this goes like this, and if by 'inside the lining' they mean 'all of the pieces inside the lining' then maybe this time my straps won't be sewn into the lining. Maybe?" And I have to say that my seam ripper and I got very close during this process. There was a time when I thought, "If I never see the instructions for this child's messenger bag again in this life, that will be fine with me." I also thought, "I can't believe I have a B.A. in English, and my reading comprehension is this bad." Then I remembered all of times that I had teachers tell me that I didn't read directions thoroughly. All of these things conspired to make me feel kind of bad...to the point that I almost rid myself of this project completely.

But then I thought of those blonde-headed babies toting these bags to Sunday school, and I chose to stand by the child's messenger bag. And I even made one for myself with the remnant of fabric I found for $4.50 at the craft store. (Can I just say how elated I was to find a remnant of fabric that I had actually wanted? Has that ever happened, ever?) It's now my favorite bag, I think.

Like so many things, I'm glad I stuck with it and didn't stop the production dead in its tracks. I had to snap a photo of mine, my nephew's, and my niece's, just to be able to later appreciate the perseverence required to complete these bags. (Yes, I realize that I said only about 30 minutes were spent in crazed frustation, but it was a long 30 minutes. And I persevered, didn't I.)

Happy trails! (or trials, because it would be nice if all of those ended up happy too...like mine with these bags)

The Eye of the Beholder

2010-02-04T14:44:00.002-06:00

A.'s interpretation of her favorite "Twilight Zone" episode.

Jungle Love

2010-02-03T12:09:00.007-06:00

We're getting ready to head to sunny FL to visit big sister, her family, and their new baby boy. I've been preparing for this visit for a few weeks with a little bit of sewing and a whole lot of checklist-ing. These visits are monumental, and I don't want to miss a thing.

I don't see big sis many times throughout the year. In fact, I don't see little sis much either, and I try not to dwell on the travesty of it all. We should all live in the same town, where we could steal away after all the kids were asleep and have fun late-night adventures. You know, thrilling adventures like trips to Target where we could--dare I say it--peruse. We could go out for coffee and actually enjoy a cup without having to say, "Don't touch! Hot! Hot!" so many times that by the time we stop to drink it, it's nowhere near "Hot! Hot!" But back to the trip...

I've been going through our house getting together outgrown hand-me-downs, loaned baby gear, and a toy or two that my sister's kids have left on prior visits to our home. Yesterday I found my four-year-old nephew's monkey, tucked away in one of A.'s toy boxes. He's been camped out at our house since last summer, and I can't say that he's had too much fun. I had big plans to photograph him as he joined us on special family outings, trips to the grocery store, etc. I was going to mail my nephew postcards from our hometown, signed by the monkey. It would have been so exciting. Instead, he just hung around (pardon the pun) in A.'s room all year. For crying out loud, I didn't even include him in a Christmas photo. I was even going to fashion him some nice pajamas, but then I remembered that I don't make doll (or monkey) clothes. So, all in all, total project failure.

When I was pregnant with A., my sisters gave her a monkey just like my nephew's. When I picked his up the other day, hers was closeby and provided quite a contrast. My nephew's monkey looks like it has been attacked, repeatedly, by a rabid dog or a three-year-old boy (same difference). He's also missing his smile...now just a brown thread hanging from his chin. His head is misshapen from numerous washings, and there's a dark Band-Aid adhesive residue permanently imprinted on it. The monkey looks rough, really rough. Like "I'm going to attack you in an alley and give you the crazy mutated virus that caused me to look like this" rough. A.'s monkey, by contrast, looks like it's fresh off the shelf (see pic).

So at first I felt bad for that monkey, with all of his...how do I say....issues. But then I realized his wear and tear came out of love. Big love.

And then I remembered a girls' night with my ladies where we were looking at our wedding albums, and I remembered conversations about how our children have aged us. "I mean, look how fine I looked, and that was just 5 years ago! I look 15!" And the subject has come up in conversation many times since then. We talk about how the wrinkles have multiplied exponentially and how we look on most days like we're way beyond our years. But with pimples, all of a sudden. (?) Just much older, but none the wiser as to why it happened so quickly.

I thought to myself, "I bet it's a Mary Kay problem. I stopped using the Day Solution with SPF 15 and the Night Solution with Microbeadymiracles, and my skin gave up on me. It's rebelling against my drugstore facewash. But I'm still using the Mary Kay foundation, and that should count for something, right? I know I don't drink enough water, but I forget about water. Even though I feel like I spend all day in or around it, I don't drink it. And my eyebrows are out of control, so that makes my whole face look crazy..." And on and on.

But here's my new, monkey-inspired theory: I look like I do now, because since A.'s arrival I've been loved on in ways I never could have dreamed. My skin breaks out because she rubs her greasy Goldfish fingers all over my face as she points out my facial features and names every one. I have more wrinkles because I smile so much more, like when we sing our songs together ("Ooh, baby ba-by...") or do our dance routines. My hair is often matted together in places by the day's end, but I know it's because she's been rubbing her snotty nose with it while she gives me kisses.

There are plenty of days when, like that monkey, my smile is hanging by a thread, but I think I'm ok with that. And it's nothing a little needle, thread, and greasy Goldfish fingers can't fix.

Mother's Little Helper

2010-02-01T14:05:00.005-06:00

If you want to see a little baby's eyes light up in our house, you just have to mutter one magic word. "Goldfish?" No. "Elmo?" No. It's far greater than anything you can imagine. It is...."dishwasher." Our Fridgidaire dishwasher is the end all, be all in A.'s world, and the promise of helping load or unload it whips that baby into a high-steppin' frenzy. She will literally dance her way into the kitchen when it's time to clean up.

(I know, I have no idea where she gets this, because goodness knows I've never danced my way into a kitchen. I have danced my way out of the kitchen. Honestly, after completing a marathon dishwashing session, I've been know to bust out a celebratory Roger Rabbit while singing Montell's Jordan classic "This Is How We Do It." It's a family favorite--a guilty pleasure. Which reminds me, I'm overdue for a post about my guilty pleasures. Maybe Friday?)

A. is a silverware master. She says "nice" for "knife," which is hilarious. And I'm sure some parents would be concerned about their toddler having access to butter knives (for the record, I hand wash the sharp knives), but I feel confident that she likes me enough to not cut me. (Yet.) She puts everything in the one drawer that I open for her, and she does it with flair (see photo). She chucks it up over the edge and then busts out her dance. Very impressive.

My hope is that by letting her help, she'll be more likely to help as she gets older. But who am I kidding? I used to play house with my sisters when I was little, and never once do I now have any afternoon where I rejoice at the thought of tidying up or tackling anything on my chore list. "Laundry?! Thank you, lucky star, for an afternoon of pre-treating baked bean stains!" But speaking of my bad attitude and speaking of stars:

"Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may becomes blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life--in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing." Philippians 2:14-16

Our pastor has been preaching through Philippians, and his sermon on these verses, he said, received quite a large response. And I certainly see why. They're about to put me in my place.

A. tackles her "chores" with enthusiasm. They make her happy. And who knows why? But the reasons have to be simple. Maybe she feels like she's a big help, and I certainly tell her she is. Maybe she wants to do what I do. Or maybe she just thinks shiny silverware is fun. But when she gets excited to help, she makes me realize that I grumble...a lot. I find joy in just getting the task done, not in actually doing the task. This baby actually cries when I close the dishwasher door and say, "We're all done!" How humbling to say that a one-year-old's actions, illuminated by Scripture, put me in my place just now. Thank you, A., and thank you, Lord. (Remind me, Lord, that my work--no matter how routine or monotonous it may feel at times--is for your glory.)

And wouldn't it make even more sense to sing "This Is How We Do It" while we're actually doing something. I think so. Now time to do some pre-dinner kitchen prep work....with joy. "Whatever it is, the party's underway..."

Friday!

2010-01-29T14:46:00.004-06:00

Thinking about:
1. How having month-old polish on your toenails makes you feel a little trashy...like you're one Tweety Bird tattoo away from ending up on an episode of "Cops."
2. Will A. ever kick these colds? You know it's definitely been too long when your one-year-old starts trying to put the nasal aspirator in her nose all by herself.
3. I want to have a vacation home outside of the U.S. (thank you, "House Hunters International," for making me dream too big)
4. Why doesn't TBS or TNT or TCM air "Shawshank Redemption" any more? It used to come on all the time, and I watched it every time, I think. I think we can strong arm them into putting it back into maximum rotation. It won't be too hard to do it. All it takes is pressure...and time.
5. White tile with white grout is possibly the worst bathroom flooring choice ever. I didn't make that choice, but I'm having to live with the repercussions. Ah, the sins of the contractor...

Loving on:
1. The new children's messenger bags that I'm making for my nieces and nephew to take when I visit them shortly. Hopefully my seams will be somewhat straight, and hopefully they'll withstand the kind of hurt only small children can place on something. (I'll post pictures soon.)
2. Food Network shows that you find yourself watching for no good reason at 9:30 at night and that make you want to leave your home immediately in search of something battered and deep fried, and then battered and deep fried again.
3. A. saying "A-me" at the end of bedtime prayers.
4. A. in her stuffiness calling "Elmo," "Elbow."
5. J. heading to a men's rally with most of the men of our church, even though he feels crummy today and even though the weather is terrible for driving. He does a spectacular job of leading this family.
6. ShooShoos! I love these shoes. They're the only kind that A. likes to wear, and they're having a great sale right now.

Happy Friday!

Just You and Me, Punk Rock Girl

2010-01-28T14:37:00.007-06:00

Many of you are familiar with my concern's about A.'s hair. (I should probably spend more time worrying about mine than hers, considering mine hasn't been cut in nearly 8 months. My head is like one giant split end...in so many ways.) She's been rockin' a pretty righteous mullet for a while now, so we've (ok, just I) been waiting with baited breath for some beautiful locks to spout out of the top of her head. Every time I'd look at her, I'd have visions of finding some magic lever in her back that I'd pump up and down and hair would just starting spewing out...like with those Play Doh barber shop men.

Well, I don't know what happened, but it's all finally coming together now. Slowly but surely she's moving away from The Achy Breaky and heading straight for The Heartbreaker. But for me, it's really less about her looking like a little girl and more about being able to fashion some really great shampoo 'dos in the bathtub. There's something so wonderful about being able to make your baby look like she's about to put a diaper pin through her little nose, start spewing milk at you, and begin chanting, "London Bridge is falling down!! Oi! Oi! Oi!"

But with all the happiness that comes with making your one-year-old baby look like Sid Vicious comes the startling realization of how much soap scum a camera flash can illuminate on your yellow bathroom tile. I really, really missed some spots. Looking at these bathtime photos made me feel like I was in one of the 20/20 exposes where they take black lights into hotel rooms and show you the many reasons why I now travel with Lysol, my own pillows, and a prayer. I guess it's time to reevaulate my cleaning techniques...a comment to which I fear my dearly beloved will reply, "What cleaning techniques?" I wonder if J. ever comes home to our unkempt home, which I quit my day job to kempt, and hears a little voice inside his head, "Do you ever get the feeling you've been cheated???" To which punk rock baby and I reply:

Oi! Oi! Oi!

Pillow Talk

2010-01-27T14:33:00.005-06:00

Last week I finished this pillow, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I found the design in the book One Yard Wonders, which has totally transformed my sewing life by the way. (Well, that book and Dritz pearlized sewing pins [thanks, K, you were right].) It's both smocked and tufted, and it's nothing short of a miracle that it's now sitting on our bed as opposed to the trash can. Let's just say the pillow and I had our disagreements at times.

But again, I have mixed emotions about this pillow. I think it's cute and different, but it's also quite puffy. Like a tuffet. J. said it looks like a giant pill box, to which I replied, "I should be so lucky." Truly, I longed to be highly medicated after the tufting portion of this project. But in its tuffet-ness, it's kind of like having a tiny ottoman on your bed, and that's been sort of nice. A tuffetman. Hmm, that's not right. Tuffotto. Yep, much better. And sounds Italian. But then "tuff" part of that Olive Garden inspired made-up Italian word makes me think of those brands that use "tuff" rather than "tough" on their packaging, and such substitutions really bother me. That makes me...dare I say it...krazy.

Anyway, possa il tuffotto vivere per sempre!

Simply the Best

2010-01-26T14:34:00.004-06:00

A., in her one-year-old wonder, has begun to string together all sorts of words and sounds to make sentences that she's very confident mean something important. Very important. She waves her hands around and furrows her brow to really drive home a point. For instance, "Ah glah buh lah sauce!" is "It would be in your best interest to get me more applesauce--and right now--because this is very, very serious." But every once in a while she puts aside her commands in favor of lovely little baby exaltations like "Day-dee!" (that's "Daddy") and "Day-dee!" (that's "Mommy" too), and it makes for a wonderfully enthusiastic day.

Just two days ago, she unleashed one so powerful that I think it will forever change me. Whatever she says sounds just like, "It's the best day!!!" And she smiles her adorably chubby-cheeked smile, and I think, "You know, A., this is the best day!" Which brings me to:

"This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it."
Psalm 118:24

My friend S. brought up this verse in Bible study this morning. It's lovely when it all comes together, isn't it?

I hope you're all having the best day!

P.S. And I had to use that title for this entry, because it's impossible to read that without getting that Tina Turner song stuck in your head for at least an afternoon. And I'm not sorry for doing that to you, because having that as your afternoon soundtrack is bound to be moderately uplifting. "Oooooh....you're the BEST!"

My Armetale a Story

2010-01-25T13:34:00.006-06:00

Some of you may see this photo and ask, "Jen, did you just get your forearm tribal tattoo removed?" No I did not. And no I do not have a tribal tattoo on my forearm. But if I did it would probably be the ancient Chinese symbol for "Ok." Really. "Passion" or "wish" or "longevity" are all too much. On a really, really good day, I aim for "ok." Now back to the photo...

The other some of you may see this photo and ask, "Jen, is that the unmistakable pattern 'Flutes and Pearls' by fine pewter maker Wilton Armetale?" Why, yes, it is. Now, I'm not sure how much Southern belle street cred I get for actually having my serving piece design detail branded on my forearm, but my guess is a lot. (My friend E. has the same pattern, and I'm pretty sure she'll be pretty jealous when she sees my new arm art.)

And there's a valuable lesson to learn from this photo: When you take a pewter serving bowl out of a 400 degree oven, it's safe to assume that the aforementioned bowl is actually close to 400 degrees in its super hotness. And you may want to keep that in mind when reaching across the bowl to remove hot items from it. Just a suggestion.

My question to all of you: What is your absolute favorite pattern of china or serving piece and why? (Think about it. Your absolute favorite. As in, "Oh, dear, I just branded myself with this, but at least it's a pattern that's my absolute favorite.")

Friday!

2010-01-22T14:18:00.003-06:00

Every Friday I've decided that I'll share a list of some of the very random thoughts and loves that have floated in and out of my mind this week. Doing this will be much easier than trying to be creative on a Friday. It's kind of like in junior high when your teacher wheeled that TV in on Friday and announced you'd be watching after-school specials during class time.

Thinking of:
1) A week when I won't cook a single one of my go-to meals. It's getting difficult to make chicken pot pie sound like a special treat.
2) Is it too late to plant the daffodils I bought two months ago?
3) Is there a natural way to shrink belly skin? I think so, and I think a Brazilian woman knows the answer. (Please advise.)
4) Why, NBC? Why?
5) Speaking of NBC, "The Office" jumped the shark with the flashback episode last night. How long will it be before they start introducing really cute kids into the plot to make up for a lack of writing? (Wait, Pam is pregnant...)

Loving:
1) My new sewing book
2) The Amy Butler fabric sitting in my new sewing room
3) And yes! My new sewing room. A room. For me. And sewing. And the cat litter box. (But let's not talk about that.) And I love my husband for being proud of what I've done with the space and for being happy that I have a space of my very own. (Nevermind that I found him playing guitar in there the other night. He's lucky he's so cute. Hi, J.)
4) My friends' kids. (Yes, I love my own child too.) I was thinking today, though, how nice it is that I just love all of my friends' kids. They're really cool and fun and remind me of why I love their parents too. We are blessed.
5) Edam cheese, thank you MSU

With all of that said, I'm off to stare at those daffodil bulbs. In the meantime, maybe someone will tell me I've simply waited too long, and I should spend my day sewing new throw pillows instead. (Wait, what's that, Voice Inside My Head?)

We've only just begun...

2010-01-21T14:12:00.006-06:00

Here's hoping that my random daily thoughts find a nice home here. They're taking up way too much real estate in my mom brain right now. And my little sis told me to do this, so I can anticipate at least one reader who may be entertained. And my mom will undoubtedly read it, because she is like the stage mom of the internet, and I love it. ("Your Facebook status was so funny! And I just love that picture you posted!")

So let's delve into my world of low-budget living and crafting (insert image here of falling coupon confetti and me clinging to my beloved embroidery floss and spinning around in it all).