Myself. Because today I get to call myself a paid writer. And that feels pretty awesome.
Please take a read, as well, and leave some comment love. It would make this whole thing even more awesome.
So for all you expecting mothers out there, the next time someone asks, “Are you getting an epidural?” think about responding, “I don’t know. I’m not in labor.” It’s as honest a response as you can give.
The Messy Ballerina Bun thanks to one of my favorite blogs, Pacing The Panic Room.
Whenever I don’t feel like washing my hair (which is often), I throw it up in this bad boy and call it a day.
And you can, too!
This weekend, Momar and Auntie Kimmy drove out for a visit. Momar came bearing gifts. As always. These gifts included dresses and clothing from not only my childhood, but hers. The sweater and booties pictured on Courtland were my uncle’s, my mom’s brother. Pretty crazy, huh? What’s even crazier is that when my uncle was Courtland’s age, my mom’s family was living in Indonesia. Which means that this little sweater made it back across the Pacific and into my Grammy and then mother’s attic to then be bestowed upon my second born over a half century later.
Courtland’s impressed. You should be, too.
I think that you can all see where my knitting obsession originates. This is the work of my Grammy, the woman who taught me to knit as a child. It’s genetic.
The knit cowboy booties are particularly nausea-inducing in their cuteness. Giddy up!
Photos: Courtesy of Ashley Weeks Cart