Winsome?

When I finished sewing these, this word came to mind: winsome. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but upon looking it up, I felt it characterized these baby booties pretty well.

winsome: (adj) generally pleasing and engaging often because of a childlike charm and innocence

Okay, I don't know if these are innocent, but I do find them charming. And since my sister-in-law already had her baby, I decided I could cheat and post about them since I doubt she is following my blog while she's managing a two-year-old, a c-section, and a new baby.

They were challenging to make, but not too terrible (I rate my frustrations on the number of times I had to take out seams with my seam ripper--only once for this project). My favorite type of project is the one that I can do in a short period of time--a couple of hours or less.

I used this pattern, and there's also a fun collection of other people's baby shoe creations here.

I made these bibs combining two patterns--one from a book a borrowed from a very crafty friend and then combined it with this one. I could pretend and say that I combined the two because I just wasn't satisfied with either and had to make them better . . . but what actually happened is I messed up and was lazy to fix it so I switched patterns partway through.

The problem with crafty blogs is they make me see things that are so cute that I think I could make, but then I ask myself, "Do I really want to make that? Do I need that? Is it worth the time, effort, and expense to make it?"

I'm good at talking myself out of doing anything that requires work.

Call me crazy . . .

. . . but there's something endearing about a child padding out in the morning in flannel pajamas with crazy hair, bad breath, and vestiges of last night's Crystal Light fruit punch mustache.

I think having the same genes might be a requirement for this to be considered endearing, however.

Waking up

I'm talking about my sweet child.

Little by little, we notice small changes. Less rigidity when it comes to transitions. Less disobedience and defiance. More running. And jumping. And GALLOPING, for goodness' sake. A little more pretending. A little more interaction and better responses to questions.

More joy. For all of us.

It's like we can almost see the synapses connecting . . . Michael and I were talking about it and we realized that she seems just more awake. There are still lots of challenges and issues and will be for a long time, but we revel in the little things.


On another note, Clara has been very into the sounds of letters recently. Two choice examples:

CLARA: "Wuh-wuh-wolf. That starts with duh-duh-double-u ("W")."


CLARA: "Cuh-cuh-Clara starts with Suh-suh-see ("C").


I may have a degree in Linguistics, but I can't seem to think of a good way to explain the delightful rules of our mysterious language.

But it's fun in the meantime.

Kiss me, I really am Irish

Okay, I'm only one-sixteenth Irish. And Clara's one-thirtysecond. But it still counts!

Last year I complained to my mom about how silly it was that we celebrate St. Patrick's Day, particularly because we're not Catholic. Since she reminded me that I do have Irish ancestry (who probably were Catholic), I have felt much more willing to use the day as an opportunity to remember my heritage. And it was pretty cool that St. Patrick was a Christian missionary to the people of Ireland, even though he'd been enslaved by them when he was younger.

Enjoying green pancakes. What, the Irish don't eat those? Okay, we also had Irish soda bread and potato soup for dinner. Sorry, no corned beef or cabbage, Mom.

My great-great-great grandfather and grandmother were both born in Derry, Ireland and then emigrated during the great potato famine. It fills me with a rather peculiar sense of pride knowing that my ancestors survived and made a new and (hopefully) better life for themselves in the States.

There's something entirely satisfying about getting back to one's roots. I'm glad some of mine are anchored in the Emerald Isle.

A women's retreat: Windows of the Heart

This past weekend, I dropped Clara off at my super-fabulous in-laws and took a plane to Utah with my mom for a Dunford (my dad's family) women's retreat. They have one every year, and I haven't been able to attend in five years.

A different aunt and her family (my dad has eight siblings) is in charge each year, and they pick a theme and organize the entire weekend. Different families provide meals and everyone helps out. This year, the theme was Windows of the Heart.

They made us each these cute aprons--complete with recipes in the pocket--and left them on our beds as night-time surprises.

Our family was in charge of dinner that night. Here are some of my cousins and aunts--about 40 attended overall.

They provided each of us with a water bottle with our name on it (!) and a glass canister which we put the quotes in that we had all brought to share.

Excuse the poor lighting--here's the group all eating together.

Me and my sister and two of my sisters-in-law: Wendi, Emily, and Heather. Dang, I love these girls.

The morning view from the back of the house.

The retreat was a wonderful, uplifting experience--we felt the Spirit, participated in a humanitarian aid project, listened to workshops, and socialized ourselves silly. And of course we, well, at least I, ate obscene amounts of heavenly food.

What could be better than that?

Good mom bad mom

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you cut the crusts off your child's sandwich?


Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you let your child brush his or her own teeth?

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you let your child walk outside of the shopping cart when you go to the grocery store or elsewhere?

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you don't force your four-year-old make her own bed?

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you let your child wash her own hands even though she's rubbed the soap together approximately .015 seconds?


Just deep, eternally significant questions I've been pondering.

Simple pleasures: a Clara perspective

Hi, it's me, Clara. Just thought I'd introduce you to a few of my favorite things.

Umbrellas are my friend. I will even make them out of sticks and play-doh. When Nana gave me a real one, I decided I'm pretty much set for life.

Grandparents rock. Especially if they let you play with their cell phone occasionally.

Uh, Mom? I'm not sure if taking my first carousel ride counts as a "simple pleasure." Of course, I was really brave. And I liked it when I was done.

'Sup, Mom. Dude, this swing thing is so easy. Why did I freak out on them a few months ago?

Nice try, Mom, but riding a tricycle is no joy ride for me. More like torture. But I'll humor you and smile for the photo op . . . just because I love you.

Yeah, I think koalas are pretty spiffy. I sometimes ask my dad to show me koala videos on Youtube. My dad's one of my favorite things, too.

Sharing the love

I am a big fan of other people doing all the legwork so I can save money.

Wow. Reading that makes me feel really lame, but it's true.

So for all you Southerners (capital S or lowercase? Where's a Chicago Manual of Style Guide?!), I'd like to make sure you know about Southern Savers. It is a FABULOUS resource for saving money, particularly here in the South. She has tabs for grocery store chains that are in this region and compiles the ad as well as what coupons (available in your Sunday newspaper) can make the deals even better. Kroger is my friend.

I could spend a lot of time talking about CVS and how you can save money on household items by shopping there (I didn't believe it either, but it's true), but that's a post for another day. Or not at all. Southern Savers does include deals for CVS, though, as well.

And if you don't live in the South, check out Money Saving Mom. She also has great stuff (freebies, coupons, etc.) for everyone.

Just thought I'd share the love.