Lyrical.

{my life to music vol II}

I always wanted to be the face in front of me.

I really love Mates of State. This song is from the album Re-arrange Us.

I'm not a musician. I wish I could be. The way certain songs make me feel, I wish I could bang out those feelings on a piano or at least a lavender Casio. Where did my Casio go, anyway....

My kids end up loving these songs, too, and I think they're just picking up my vibes. I get so happy and feel so energized, they are receiving all that electric boogy-woogy I'm throwing around, and we're all in for a good day.

Brother.

I always wanted a brother. Here is why:

Stitch.

{Attempts at embroidery. Not so bad!}

I had to sew a lot in college. I mean, a lot. Thense, I do not enjoy it now. Kind of like how my big jobs as a kid were folding socks and emptying the dishwasher - now I just ignore that they're there and wait for Mark to do it, or convince the kids it's a very exciting game. Just like Mom did, the clever creature.

I have so much appreciation for hand-stitched soft-goods. I see them at craft fairs and on etsy and am almost sick with adoration. When I had the shop I stocked it with some beautiful hand-embroidered bibs, and I thought I might give embroidery a try. A friend who masters everything she ever thinks about trying and therefore is very very good at embroidery (and made some beautiful bibs that inspired me) gave me a very simple beginner's kit for Christmas a few years back. I kept it on the bookshelf, waiting to get up the gusto to try it out. Welp, I finally cracked it open.

It wasn't so bad!

 I did okay! I made Esmé some bibs.

 If you haven't tried embroidery but are interested, I highly recommend the kit linked above. It's simple to use and a complete kit. So you don't have to worry about buying all the bits and pieces. Also, the designs are super-cute and there is something for everyone. You can make the mister a tie, your  mom a tea towel, or a hand-towel for yourself.

The only thing I cannot seem to do is a french knot. This is not surprising. Usually, with everything I try to attempt to have as a hobby, there is that one thing I just cannot do. But this time I won't give up! I'm going to keep trying! (this is new to me... persistence.)

Postscript:

It should be noted that I started these bibs when I was about 4 months pregnant with Esmé, and she is now 7 months old.... so..... there's the ugly truth about my persistence.

Bee-loved.

{I Know I Am, But What Are You? by Samantha Bee}

Have you read this book yet?    I Know I Am, But What Are You?

Buy it. Now. And read it, you'll laugh your ass off.

Here is an excerpt, as posted online: 

looking a gift horse in the mouth

Now, my father knows how to accept a gift. He knows how to accept one mainly because he wrote his wish list in blood on the dining room wall and has been practicing his acceptance speech ever since. It doesn’t really bother me, except that every year the gifts keep getting more and more expensive. It makes me feel weird that my own father asks me for stuff he would never have contemplated getting for me while I was growing up. The man who once gave me a budget of $13 a week for groceries in college—that’s $52 a month for food—is now asking me for things like laptop computers and Gucci loafers. One year, I got him an iPod, which he loved and was moved by. I wasn’t making so much money that it was an inconsequential expense, but I could afford it with a little stretching. I knew it would mean a lot to him. Two months later, the whole transaction was forgotten. It was all, “This iPod stinks. It only has six hours of battery life! I hate it.”

I was like, “Six hours? Who can listen to that much Bruce Hornsby in a single day anyway? I mean, maybe if the Range was still in the picture . . . but a solo effort? Don’t you need to give your ears time to stop bleeding before you firethat bad boy up again?” “Bite me. It’s a lot better than the Smiths, so get over yourself.” He always liked to remind me that I went through a very serious love affair with the music of the Smiths and that he thought it was terrible and depressing. I liked to remind him that Billy Joel was a much more interesting songwriter when he was suffering from depression and doing things like drinking furniture polish, not making songs like “Uptown Girl,” which was, coincidentally, my father’s favorite.

I laughed out loud in a melodious honk on a number of occasions, surely looking ultra-attractive to dear Mark. Almost as good as when I was ogling John Stamos on Glee the other night. Have Mercy!

But that's neither here nor there.

Read this and come back here and let me know what you think!