In the Heart of my Home

She inspires me.

 

You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,

Love like you'll never be hurt,

Sing like there's nobody listening,

And live like it's heaven on earth.

~William W. Purkey

Cutest Birthday Card Ever

*Love you, Bee. You've turned me into a great speller and you've teached me lots of things. Love, Kari

On the Last Night of Being Five

Dear Sweet Karoline,

This night is fading into morning and soon it will be your birthday. You're curled up next to me and I watch you sleep. This is your "last night of being five." In the morning, it will be your sixth birthday. We'll go to tea together. Nicky will make you a four layer cake, exactly to your decorating specifications. Will that other front tooth come out? I think it might. 

But right now, in this moment, I want to capture you on the brink of tomorrow. Your sweet face, framed in curls, looks just enough like it did the day you were born that I can take myself back. Perfect baby. Every answered prayer in a sweet bundle with rosebud lips. You captivated everyone that day. We were forever changed. 

There is a collage of four black and white photographs of your newborn days that hangs at the top of the stairs. I stop, even if for only a moment, every. single. time. I never want to forget how I looked at you and knew that God had seen straight into my heart and smiled big when He handed you to me. 

For six years, you have danced your darling way through the life of our family. You are the first to soothe a hurt, whether it's a little sister with a stubbed toe or a big brother with a broken heart. You feel them all and you work your magic to make it all better. 

Ever generous with a hug and a smile, you exude genuine friendliness to every one you meet. You expect the best of people and you look for it so hard that you are rarely disappointed. Sarah Annie considers you her best friend. She is one really blessed little girl. There is no better friend.

You love creation and you love the Creator. You've never met a turtle or a bug or a bird or a bunny that you didn't want to adopt forever. Most nights, your pockets are full of acorns and pebbles and you are always Most Likely to Hide Sticks in the Car so you can bring them home. Sometimes Daddy tries to stop you. Usually those big blue eyes persuade him otherwise.

And God. Oh, how you love your Jesus! He is real and dear to you. You are our walking reminder on the ordinary days, in the ordinary moments, that God is near; God is here. Very matter-of-factly, you just beam it. And we believe it because everything about you says it's so.

Every night, you fall asleep with your feet touching mine. Usually, you start in your bed and then, sometime before morning, you and your kitty pillow find their way into the big bed in my room. You curl up in the middle, seeking Daddy's comfort, and you manage to stretch out across much more than half the mattress. And we don't mind. No, we don't mind at all.

Because we know how blessed we are to linger for a few moments in the loveliness of five and to awaken in the morning to the hope and promise and utter joy that is six.

 

 

Preparing for the Feast of St. Therese

~repost, because that's what we can do with traditions.

If you've ever been to my house, chances are excellent to 100% that you have seen one of these prayer cards laying around. I ordered them in bulk when Karoline Rose was born to include in her birth announcements. And I've ordered more every year since. The rose novena is most definitely how we begin to prepare for the feast of this saint, who is so, so dear to our family. Karoline's name, of course is a tribute to St. Therese's promise to shower roses upon the earth and Karoline tells everyone she knows that she is, indeed, a rose sent from heaven. Katie was baptized Kirsten Therese, so she, too, is named for St. Therese. And there is lots of evidence of her presence on this blog because there is lots of evidence of her presence in our lives as a family.

We will go to Mass, of course, to celebrate with the Universal Church. There will be roses. Michael is Katie's godfather and buys her miniature roses ("Little Flowers") on this day--just as long as I remind him;-). For this year, the girls are all abuzz about this pan, I purchased last summer. So, a rose-shaped cake. But I'm still not sure what the recipe will be. Any suggestions would be most welcomed in my inbox. Extra points if you have a grain freen recipe that works in a pan like this. It's a season for miracles, no?

One of Trish's candles (in that amazing St. Therese rose scent) will be lit before the icon. Mary Beth took Therese as her confirmation name and Patrick's godmother blessed her with this beautiful image.

 

I have learned over time that this is one feast I do not overplan, despite the fact that it is huge day in our family. St. Therese has a history of showering us with her love in most unexpected ways.

The novena begins September 23, to prepare for the October 1st feast.

 

*September 23 is the feast of our favorite Capuchin, St. Padre Pio. In our house, that means cappucino all around:-)

needle & thREAD

 

I'm finding my sewing rhythm again. I've picked out a few hours in the week that I can predictably sit in front of the sewing machine. That's a really good thing:-). This week, I made the Oliver + S Picnic Blouse in a Sandi Henderson floral from my stash. I made the 6 for Karoline. All her other Oliver + S clothes are 5s, but I wanted this one to fit until next summer. The sleeves are more like elbow-length sleeves on her than 3/4 length. Silly me, I should have had her try it on before I hemmed. Other than that, it's just as I'd hoped. It will work as a good layering shirt over a long-sleeved t-shirt or turtleneck when things turn cold. Karoline loves it and Sarah has already requested one. My sewing to-do list has grown quite long all of a sudden. Another needle &thREADer suggested that this pattern could easily be lengthened into a dress. I can see that in my near future.

At the suggestion of a friend to whom I confided my deep and earnest desire to live my life outside and turn my suburban half-acre into a farm, I have begun to read The Backyard Homestead. And the dreaming for spring begins anew:-). This time, those dreams will have concrete plans attached to them.

 

Does autumn call you into your sewing space? Are you thinking flannel pjs or cozy quilts? Or are you embroidering? Pulling a needle with thread through lovely fabric to make life more beautiful somehow? Would you share with us just a single photo (or more) and a brief description of what you're up to? Will you tell us about what you're reading, also? Would you talk sewing and books with us? I'd love that so much.

Make sure the link you submit is to the URL of your blog post or your specific Flickr photo and not your main blog URL or Flickr Photostream. Please be sure and link to your current needle and thREAD post below in the comments, and not a needle and thREAD post from a previous week. If you don't have a blog, please post a photo to the needle & thREAD group at Flickr. 

       Include a link back to this post in your blog post or on your flickr photo page so that others who may want to join the needle and thREAD fun can find us! Feel free to grab a button here (in one of several colors) so that you can use the button to link:-)

 

 

 

Moments Like These

On Thursday Night

Dear Karoline,

I sat in my studio this afternoon, catching up on paperwork and gridding a busy weekend into my planner. I could feel my shoulders rising to nearly touch my ears. I know my forehead creased with concern. Heavy thoughts. Creeping cold.

I heard the gathering storm downstairs. You, with all your creative ideas and grand plans for elaborate play. Your sister, with her own agenda. You kind of fell apart. You burst through my doors, earnest tears streaming down your face and big sobs sucking air from your lungs. Why did they not understand, you demanded. Why didn't they know that you saw this whole play scheme so clearly in your head? Whatever the reason, they didn't. 

I glanced at the flannel stacked neatly on the shelf and remembered that I'd promised to sew with you today. 

"Let's make something."

The clouds parted and your smile shone sunshine all over that room. You pinned intently. You sewed on the machine with utter glee. For the first time ever, you pressed the pedal all by yourself the whole time. And you filled your cozy with corn. 

Tonight, you are tucked up in my bed with the work of your hands, claiming that you want to share its warmth with me. 

We are both warmed.

Sweet dreams, sweet girl.

xo

mama

 

 

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual.  Photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Dear Child of My Heart

Not a day goes by that I don't look at you and remember. 

I remember how I begged and begged God for just one more. I remember how I just knew, deep down inside, that you were you and He was going to give us the great gift of this dear girl.

 

I remember how still I was while waiting for you, so sick I could barely move, the whole nine months, but so afraid, too, that this precious little one might not be mine to hold.

And I remember that glorious day when I did hold you. And hold you. And hold you. When all the world seemed utterly perfect. 

I remember your perfect rosebud lips and that delicious smell. I remember that your name, chosen weeks before your birthday, suited you the moment we first whispered it to you.

The day you were born might just be my Best Day Ever.

Except for all the days that have come in the five years since. 

All the times you have twirled and charmed and delighted and danced your way into my heart and made the whole world sparkle with joy.

All the times you have shown me how tenderly He loves me.

And I still hold you, golden hair against my cheek, your heart beating next to mine. This life we share? It's very sweet, indeed.

Happy Birthday, Karoline Rose.

Patchwork Twirly Skirts and thoughts on some other stuff

When I was twelve, I had my first babysitting job. I absolutely fell in love with an 18-month-old named Andrew. He called me Yay-yay. We were pretty inseparable. Looking back, his mom went out a lot. I babysat for 75 cents an hour and I saved my money to make my first purchase: a patchwork quilt from the Sears catalog. It was $48. I remember it in vivid color. I wanted this quilt in particular because the patchwork was made of actually pieced squares, not screen printed squares. I am still that girl in love with patchwork. 

I loved every minute of making these skirts.

Mary Beth got me started. She had long been eyeing the project in the Stitch by Stitch book. While she had to be persuaded to do all the other projects, for this one, she had persuaded me to buy the Amy Butler charm squares weeks ahead of time. When I told her we were going to hold off on the curtain project and the pillow projects that precede this one, because I wanted to make some fabric decisions for both later, she was all too happy to forge ahead into the patchwork skirt for Sarah. She did all the layout and the sewing on her own. The only time I stepped in was when she wasn't pressing her seams. Mary Beth noted that there were no specific instructions to do so. I emailed the author for clarification and Deborah affirmed that pressing is preferred. Mary Beth made this whole project look effortless. 

 Sarah Annie was so thrilled with her skirt and her sister.

You all have already seen a good bit of this skirt. That's because it has quickly become what we refer to in this family as a "That Shirt."  When Michael was two, every morning he insisted on wearing "That Shirt," an ugly red, black and blue striped shirt that lives today in my hope chest to remind me how over-indulged my eldest was. And here I am again. Sarah insists on This Skirt every day. Furthermore, she will only sleep with the quilt Katie made. Perhaps she's not overindulged. Perhaps she is the rare toddler who appreciates the real value of handmade. {Here I confess that I have already ordered some stacks of newly-released Delighted to make Sarah a second skirt. As I recall, That Shirt had a companion-- "The Other One Shirt"--that allowed us to launder the first choice on occasion.}

About patchwork, if I'd any idea back when I was 12 how much fun, how completely satisfying, how peaceful it is to move squares of pretty fabric around until it looks just right, I have no doubt I would have saved babysitting money for a sewing machine and quilt camp. Oh my, I mentally composed thank you notes to Kate Spain, designer of the Terrain fabric I used on Katie's skirt and Bonnie and her darling daughter Camille, who designed the Ruby fabric I used for Karoline.

I think all the time about how we are called to use our talents to bless others, how the right turn of phrase can bring peace to someone who is looking to put feelings into words. I think about how music moves us; how dance and drama transport and even transform us. But fabric? Well, yeah. Fabric. This is art--color, texture, design. And it can fill our senses. There is beauty in those cotton squares and beauty moves. It does.

Karoline helped me sort squares by color and pattern, an exercise we will surely repeat again. She loved guiding me as I layed out the rows, first on the dining room table and then again later on the living room floor, to get it just right before I put the strips together. I actually made Kari's skirt after Katie's and the notes I'd made as I learned with Katie's made Karoline's a snap to sew.

Katie helped me to lay out her squares and she sewed them all into strips under my hovering supervision. There was no pattern for her size in the book, so I added a tier and tweaked the math (Yes, Dad, you read that right. I tweaked the math.) to make her a bigger skirt than the ones in the book. I used every square in 3 charm packs, so I was careful not to let Katie make an irreversible mistake. But she did do all the sewing of squares into strips. I took over from there, gathering ruffles into tier after tier and loving the process. It took me much, much longer than it did Mary Beth.

I think that as I age, I am becoming more conscious of the peace in the process of things. When my friend Cari first tried to teach me to sew in my mid-twenties, I was only too happy to have her do the mundane pressing or careful snipping of threads. I just wanted to get on with it already. Now, I am happy to press and every single thread is meticulously snipped. I'm sure this is about much more than making a patchwork skirt. It's an entire lifestyle shift. I'm holding onto the moments, measuring them and remembering to smile as they happen.

Skills we learned:

patchwork

gathers

casings and elastic

hemming

matching side seams

* *This project is a thread gobbler. Make sure you have a new spool and wind your bobbin as full as you can before you start. You'll still need a new bobbin to finish.* *

Stitch-by-Stitch projects so far:

My very favorite jeans and a quilted belt or two.

An Eye Mask and a Whole Wardrobe of Aprons

Reversible Totes

See our knitting needle cases and Kindle case here

See our Fancy Napkins here.

 

 

A Pleasant Way to Spend the Afternoon

 

Intentional Weekend: The Free Balloon at the Grocery Store

~magic~

    

Thank God for Little Girls

Counting feminine blessings, today.

~Sweet, giggly sleepyheads ever so excited about strawberries, cream, scones and tea and a chance to watch a real live princess walk down the aisle to her prince.

 

~Sighing and smiling and countless requests to watch it again on Youtube.

~A full day of playing wedding, each of them taking turns being the princess bride.

~An evening spent with Mama's and Daddy's wedding album: Mommy looks like a princess, too. And see how Daddy is smiling at her? That's because they love each other.

~Her insistence that they show the album to Daddy when he gets home and that they make him sing all the songs from his wedding.

~Fifteen hand-painted notes for him, stacked on the office desk, awaiting his return.

~The way they refer to themselves as "the girlies." 

~And the way the littlest one refers to the others as "my girlies."

~About a million hair bows.

~The way her hair makes tight ringlets in the rain.

~The way the others love her curls (and wish they had them, too).

~Laundry separated into lights, darks, and pinks.

~Monday ballet afternoons and the outrageous noise level of fifteen giggling, dancing girls.

~And the three little ones all want to grow up to be just like the big sister.

~All five of us knitting together--and teaching Gracie and Mel to knit, too. That way, as Gracie so aptly put it, "We'll all have something to do when we're old."

~Utter delight in the first meal of the season taken out of doors.

~Them begging to go back to  the bluebells.

~Littlest one reaching over all the other pretend cupcakes so that she can have the chocolate pretend cupcake.

~An afternoon of dressing up, posing for the camera, and somehow blurring the line between props and real life, so that they are sure they just had a fancy tea party in the woods.

~The tender care they take of their rather large family of baby dolls.

~The way they don't play "House" (as I did), but they play "Babies" and the favorite game of all, "Babies and Friend Moms."

~Sweet smelling bathtimes, pink fingernails and toenails, rub-rub after the tub.

~Long, curly eyelashes on barely pink cheeks in the glow of the hall light when I kiss them goodnight one more time.

~My heart filled to the brim with my sweet girlies.

{all photos courtesy of the amazing Lori Fowlkes}

 

 

Celebrating Papa

~Because this letter, written four years ago, is on my heart as we look towards Sunday's beatification. Of course, there was a baby after this one, too. God's generosity exceeds our most fervent prayers.~

 

April 1, 2007

Dear Papa,

I had planned to write a long column this weekend, in time for tomorrow. But the baby was sick and my hands were full, so all the writing I did was in my head.  I planned to write about that sobbing prayer two years ago, when I begged you to intercede for me. And then I'd write about all the little miracles strewn like roses in the days and weeks and months that followed.

Instead, I stayed up all night, dancing with my daughter.  She was feeling poorly and whimpering to be held. I gathered her up out of my bed and swayed with her in the darkness. For hours.  I sang my full repertoire of musicals.  I moved on to old Raffi tunes. I added a little Glory and Praise. And then, I switched to "You Light up my Life."  Her tears ceased and mine fell freely. I settled into the big chair, her head heavy against my chest and I remembered.

I remembered a time two years ago that was dark and sad. I was struggling with depression and so was Mike. Together, we were fumbling in confusion. Recovery from childbirth had been difficult. Recovery from a miscarriage more difficult. A year of infertility following that miscarriage was a year of pain like none I'd ever known. No light. Only darkness.  And on that Friday night, I held an eerie vigil in front of the muted television.

Please God, I don't know what I'll do without my Papa. And yet I know, I know that he is yours; he always was. Morning dawned and the day moved forward and then you were gone. And as naturally as the sobs escaped my throat, my soul begged your intercession. Tell Him, Papa! Please tell Him how sad I am, how much I want a baby, how much Mike needs him. Tell Him, Papa--I know you can.

And you did. Within an hour of that prayer, the answers began to become so clear.  You led us to a different parish. You put people in my path who would insist that I get to know the Little Flower you loved so well, the dear Saint you called a Doctor and by whom you trusted that the fullness of faith could be taught. She and you taught me about Love--Love incarnate, a good and gentle God who understood my pain and stooped to bind my wounds. I re-read all your letters to me. I read her words. Light dawned, love flickered.

Looking back, I should not be surprised that in the months following your death, I pushed by forces greater than me to travel. You were never afraid to travel. I had not been on an airplane in fifteen years. But I flew three times that year. The first time, I went Chicago and visited the shrine of St. Therese and left my petitions there. The last time, I went to Florida at my husband's insistence. We were there for an art gallery opening but we took a day trip to St. Augustine and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche.  I had a long talk with Our Lady that day. She already knew.I'm sure you told her.

One night, nine months after you died, my husband lit a candle in a church where you once celebrated Mass, in the presence of your relics. And then, our wait for a baby was over and yet it had begun. For nine more months, I was still, love growing inside of me.  I learned to love your favorite prayer and I prayed the rosary with St. Therese, sometimes twenty decades a day, including the five new decades that were your gift to me. All the time, I was almost afraid to believe, almost afraid to think that the light had returned and darkness was dispelled.

Then she was here.  A glorious, beautiful, darling little girl. We call her Karoline Rose. She is a shower of roses, a basket of blessings. She is sweetness and she is light.  As she grows, I will tell her.  I will tell her about her Papa. She will know you and she will be grateful to share your name.

 

But now, she calls again. Enough remembering. I am living in the present, embracing every moment. I know you're here. I know you see her dear, dimpled chin. I know you watch me kiss her fat little cheeks and I know you smile.

Thank you!

How does He love me? Let me count the ways...

I sat with Karoline in the early morning light, cuddled up together, candle lit, for our beloved "story time." Karoline has learned that if she forces her eyes awake as soon as she hears me stirring in the morning, she will have me all to herself. And I will read and read and read any book of her very own choosing. Often, almost every day, one of those books is Abraham's Search for God, a book from our family collection of Old Testament picture books.

The story is a legend of young Abraham, who instinctively knows that the idols and statues worshipped by his ancestors are not the true God. So, he looks to sun and moon, to thunder and rainbow, and finds them all lacking. Finally, the little boy Abraham recognizes the one true God in the beauty of the created world around him. He doesn't worship creation, but Creator.

On that morning not long ago, I asked Karoline if she could see God in her world. Could she search like Abraham did? Where was He? She eagerly shared that He was on nature walks, in knitting lessons, in the atrium (the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd), in her little sister, and on Skype with her brother. She chattered on and on, naming and listing with all the sincerity and enthusiasm a four-year-old can muster. I remembered some magnetic list paper I'd recently grabbed from the dollar bin at the craft store. And I began to record her list.

When she took a breath, I said to her, "You know you are really good at seeing God in your everyday life. Look at all these things! These things are the way He tells you that He loves you."

Karoline glowed at the thought.

"And when we make this list, we can think harder about these things and about God and we can stop and thank Him for every one of them."

And she did. She kept searching. I kept writing for her.

I let the idea bubble in my brain for a few days. Each of my children brings a different temperament and personality to his or her relationship with God and then I bring yet another to my own. I wondered if we couldn't all encourage one another to be aware of the gifts. Katie noticed Karoline's list hanging on the refrigerator and wanted one of her own. So I helped her begin. Sarah noticed both lists and crawled up on the counter, drew on them and tore the front page away from the pad. Sigh. Need a new plan.

Could I dare my children--all of them--and inspire them to count the gifts? Could we begin right now, at the start of Lent, and count together as a family, gathering all that awareness into individual books of praise to be filled by Easter morning? I don't know. Maybe. It was worth a try. I gathered them all in one place (something very rare in and of itself) and I told them the plan. I tried to explain the concept of One Thousand Gifts in a way that made sense to them. And then I gave them each a blank book and a dare: Can you count one thousand ways God loves you?

With one exception, they have all taken eagerly to the challenge. Their notebooks are private, but a few glances I've had when they've shared their thoughts have been amazing insights into their souls. And an interesting aside: their lists very much reflect their love languages. It's remarkable how God speaks differently to each them.

For myself, I have a journal on the kitchen counter and another in the diaper bag. Still, I find myself noticng gifts without pen and paper at hand-- at ballgames, at the park, at the grocery store. Sunday morning, as I was leaving home for church, I saw a robin in the rain. I need to remember to write "robin in the rain." I tell myself these things, but often, I do forget. I recalled that Patrick had sent a text to my phone, from my phone, back when my phone wasn't working. Could I text my gratitude notes to myself and then record them later? I almost always have my phone with me. I could and I did.  That phone still isn't working well. Sometimes it takes hours, even days, to receive texts. So, when my phone chimed twenty minutes later and I read, "robins in the rain" I smiled at the unepected joy of it. God messages on my cell phone!

The acoustics in our church are not good and I often have trouble hearing. Given my morning, perhaps it's no surprise that, just an hour later,  I heard our priest say  "May God bless and text you" instead of "May God bless and protect you." Yes, I giggled a little, please, God, keep texting me.

a list:

~robins in the rain

~all nine children home for a grace-filled, peaceful week

~basketball

~hard rain

~safe flights

~a good cry

~late night emails

~yarn that doesn't untwist

~people who will spin such yarn for me

~pay cuts

~child who cleans without being asked

~the man who cooks dinner on an afternoon that begs me to write and write and write, steady rain as my rhythm

~stacks of freshly folded laundry

~old friends

~the boy whose eyes light up when he recognizes grace and he suddenly runs to find his gratitude journal

~the Facebook wall of an old friend and neighbor on the day her father dies--it's like a block party on a summer evening in my childhood; they're all there, all remembering, all loving her.

~four versions of the Bible strewn about my bed and three of us searching, looking for meaning, for Him

The Magic Hairbrush and Other Tales

Once upon a time a fair young maiden received a package in the mail. It had lots of special stamps on it and it came all the way across the water from merry old England. The fair maiden was so excited as she unwrapped that packaging.

Nestled inside was a hairbrush. Beautifully made of wood, this hairbrush had her name painted on it in pink.

Karoline

Karoline looked upon the brush with wonder. And not a little trepidation. This young maiden distrusted hairbrushes mightily. In her vast experience, they hurt. Those fair, fine curls tangled upon each other when she slept and created such a muddled mess that hairbrushes were feared more than dragons in the maiden's household.

But look at this hairbrush! It came all the way from England! And upon it is inscribed:

BY APPOINTMENT TO HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN

Oh my! Be still small heart! And she shouts, "Katie, the Queen of England sent me a magic hairbrush!"

We brushed. It was, indeed, a quite remarkable hairbrush. And it did make the dreaded chore  more pleasant. But soon it was resolved that perhaps taking a few inches off the long and lovely mane of hair would help keep it from tangling so.

And we did.

Very carefully, following all the Curly Girl rules.

We trimmed.

It looked lovely really.

The fair maiden was quite pleased.

The wee littlest maiden thought that she, too, would like a wee haircut. Her Mama put her in the chair and made scissors sounds close to her ear. But nary a snip fell.

No, the Mama was not yet ready to part with the baby wisps.

She thought ahead to the enchanted tea party planned. She wanted a picture of this littlest dear with that littlest dear, two darling heads with hair that looked like the gnomes were making mischief in there while they slept. No, the haircut should wait. "After the tea party,"  she told the curly maiden, "we'll give the Wee One a proper trim."

Alas, the young maiden with golden curls fell ill on the day of the enchanted tea party. There was much weeping. And there were no photos.

There was no haircut.

Three days later, the fair maiden was overcome with horror at the sight of Wee One's tangles. Her Mama was wrapping packages nearby. Fair child quietly came up behind her and took the shiny scissors from the table.

"Shhh, " she said to Wee One, "Be very quiet. I will give you curly hair."

The Wee One very much wanted curly hair.

Fair Maiden then cut off every single tangle. And every bit of bang. And then she swept all those golden wisps into the trash.

The Mama gasped.

And laughed.

And cried.

And then she dearly wished that the hairbrush from merry England were indeed, magic.

If only.

Family Litany of Saints

My children surprised me with this video last week. They decided to offer our litany this month to our family's special saints. This one's a keeper--those dear voices do me in every time. (Apparently, even Karoline's favorite doll has a patron saint.)

Blessed Feast to you all!

 

And I thought we were finished with all of that

After weeks of laundry and buckets and dealing with the virus-from-hell Williamsburg, I thought we were in the clear. Apparently not. This is how I found Felicity yesterday. Poor dear.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

How a 3-year-old leaves her work

by Mary Beth

Messy Mudpie Mornings

Many thanks to Ginny for reminding us how much we love mudpies:-)

by Mary Beth