polka dot robot

Do. Want.
How awesome is this Monster Hoodie?
In fact, I love everything about this site.
These little bits of gorgeous fall firmly under the category of:
Hey!-I-could-make-that-oh-shit-I-can't-make-this-What-was-I-thinking?-Thank-god-I-can-just-order-this.

Yep.

(and another good find from Chuck. #Godilovethatshow)

itty bitty playlist

an itty bitty playlist
just for you
because it's what I'm listening to today...
for now.

*Get in the Car* may just be my new obsession...

Thank You Notes

Thank you Notes.

Because my mother raised me to write them and send them.
But, times being what they are, I don't often get around to writing thank you notes.
Nor do I, when it comes right down to it, remember to say thank you for the day-to-day kindnesses that are the hallmark of this little holiday I enjoy so much.
And so, in honor of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce everywhere, here are the who and what I'm thankful for this year:

To My Family of Origin~

You make me crazy.

This is a good thing, don't worry. I prefer crazy over normal any day. I learned early on, however, that stories of our...er...unique childhood adventures (cough::cough::christmas program::cough::cough) were best saved for holiday reminiscing than pulling out in public over drinks. Without your support over the past few years I don't know where I'd be. Family first. Always.

To My Girls~

If I could choose my family. It would be you.

So deeply ingrained in the fabric of my life; I can't imagine it without you. You are the rocks I break myself against time and time again. You are my support and my home. You are my first line of defense against the insanity in this world. And without our weekly emails, dinners, desserts, pitch-ins, Saturday adventures, V-day boycotts, day trips, brunches, pizza parties, etc. I would surely be a puddle of goo on the floor long long ago.

S~

Thank you for your steadfastness. I stand in awe, daily, at your strength and innate calm in the face of challenges. You have always been a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, arms to hug (and to deliver Flying Cupcakes with!). You are my small harbor in the face of a storm. I don't know what I'd do without you.

K~

Thank you for your laughter. I know that at any minute of any day, I can dial your number and be smiling within seconds. You have a unique viewpoint on life and constantly offer reassurance that things are never so dire as they might, at first, seem. You attack your job with a passion that puts mine to shame. You love and protect with a ferocity that I would never want to cross.

J~

Thank you for your smile. Nothing in this world can ever be so bad if you are around. You are one of my earliest childhood memories. You are a princess. You always saw the world for what it could be, for the good innate to it. You have always brought out the best in those around you, and it is what so draws people to you, for just a glimpse at what they could be...I like myself when I am around you.

B~
Miles and miles separate us these days, but it doesn't seem to matter. You were always the friend that, no matter the distance or time separating us, we could always pick right back up where we left off. Your enthusiasm for life and capacity to love have always humbled me. You have so much to give, and I am thankful both that I am on the receiving end of that, and that you remain so much in my life, even from Florida.

To The Munchkins~

I love you. Momma would, occasionally like to see the back of the bathroom door, or take a longer-than-5-minute shower before the small coup in the living room turns into all-out war. But overall you're good kids. You are, in point of fact, the best thing I've ever done.

Isabelle~

Your intelligence awes me. I forget sometimes that you are just a six-year-old. Your eyes hold the light of wisdom far beyond your years. And, while your mouth has recently caught up to this imagined age, I realize that your confidence in speaking your mind is what I want for you when you are 16, 21, 30, and yes, even six. I promise that if, in the future and the impending teenage years (because I know, sweet jesus I know they are coming) I seem harsh it is because I see in you a well of potential waiting to be tapped. And I want so many good things for you. So many.

Sebastian~
Your creativity stuns me daily. Whether you're painting, drawing, coloring, staging multi-toy-genre-battles in the living room or cooking up some scheme to get both your sisters in trouble, while looking like a perfect angel on the surface; you keep me on my toes. You are fiercely loyal to your sisters, and I have secretly witnessed your defense of them to others on more than one occasion. I could not ask for a better man of the house.

Sophia~

Your confidence....hm...yes...let's call it confidence, is astounding. At three you are ready to take on the world, and I want even a fraction of your bravery to carry over into my day-to-day. You are fearless. You are fiery. Some days I want to be three-years-old again just so you can by my best friend and we can have adventures.

D~

You are often my source of confidence and encouragement whether you know it or not. Your strength and honesty and innate goodness, no matter how much of an asshole you'd like to act on occasion, inspires hope in me that not all men are as horrible as I at one point thought. You are quietly kind and awkwardly supportive when I am a mess; which is often, much to my general chagrin. You love your son with a ferocity that dims everything else before it. You are protective of your friends and family in a way that I can only hope to imitate. You are generous to a fault. . You ground me. Your friendship and presence in my life this past year cannot be summed up in one paragraph, so I won't attempt it. But you are lazy Sunday mornings and breakfast sandwiches and comfort personified. You make my heart race, and you feel like home.

That burst of creativity that inevitably follows a week of insomnia~

I simultaneously give thanks for, and loathe you from my very core. I would not be so productive without you, but often I wish creativity could follow swiftly on the heels of a good nap instead.

IndyMojo.com~

Where or where would I be without you? You were this shining beacon of societal acceptance that arrived on the scene just when I thought I might go mad. You allowed my to be myself when I desperately needed to be. You offered a glimpse of family. A dysfunctional, pass the gravy and guilt-trip at Thanksgiving sort of family...but a family nonetheless. And I wouldn't have it any other way. You fill a niche that no one else can in this city. You are a social networking site that is truly social. You allow me to foster new friendships and build on old ones. You allow me to try my hand at charity and sports and art and music. You give and give and so often I forget to say thank you. So, Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. The friendships that I have won through you are some of my most treasured. IndyMojo is home to artists, athletes, writers, students, professionals, hippies and right-wingers, movie lovers and musicians. It has something for everyone. To each and every one of you that call IndyMojo a part of your life in some way, shape, or form, thank you too. You make the site what it is today, a living, breathing thing capable of bringing joy into someone's life. Please don't lose sight of that.

Naps~

I miss you. I am thankful for the once- or twice-a-month occasions we get to visit... We should do that again more often. Please?

Gez~

Absence, heart, fonder, etc. Thank you for being there even when neither of us can really be there at all lately. True friends are rare. And I am grateful to have you in my life for these past years. I expect this presence to continue on indefinitely, just so you know. You are an amazing father. You are a talented writer. You are a good friend. You do not, in my opinion, give yourself enough credit for the good you do.

B & A~

Falling right on the fence between new friend and friendcrush you both personify the best of the best. The creme de la creme if you will. They say that you surround yourself with those people who you respect and who you would like to imitate in life. Nowhere is this more true than with you two of late. B: I am constantly awed by your creativity and strength. I have been where you are, and it can be a terrifying place. You seem to come through every day with grace, a smile, and a better cocktail recipe than me. A: You never fail to make me smile. Your friendships speak volumes about your character, and the hordes of people lucky enough to count you as a friend speak for themselves. You bring a sparkle (pun totes intended) to the lives of those around you. And you exhibit the outward (if not always inner, much to my consternation) confidence that is the mark of a true beauty. I am grateful for our burgeoning friendships. More than I may let on...

Pie~

You are warm. You are gooey. You are perfection in ready-slice portions. I love your pumpkin, creme, chocolate, merangue, banana, cherry... I love you with ice cream. I love you with whipped cream. I love you with a slice of warmed over sharp cheddar when you are apple.

Sometimes, I hover, unsure of myself

What a great tune. Love the Temper Trap. Love them.

I'm Screwed

Everyone have a good sophmoric little chuckle over that title?

I sure did.

However, It's true.

By my count there are only 38 days until Christmas.

eep!

And my intention WAS, nay, STILL IS! to craft at least 75% of my gifts this year.
I've been planning for nearly a month now, and even have a few items (which I obviously cannot post up about yet, lest the gift recipient spy said post & ruin the surprise) completed.

However. With "The Big Move" looming closer, my late night crafting hours have been impinged on by late night packing hours.
I'm no more rested or closer to finished gifts than I was two and a half weeks ago!
Argh!

And, because as much as I'd dearly love to include the following in my gift giving repertoire this year, these projects are going back into the hopper for future efforts.

Oh, they'll get made. Just not before we wave a hearty farewell to 2010.
Enjoy these linkity-links as my little early present to you.
And, if you're feeling stitchy, there's links to all the tutes below each picture.
You're welcome!

(runner's armband pouch)

(table cloth skirt)

(pleated apron w/ built in hotpads)

(lunch money cuff)

(snowglobe soap!)

(gathered/zippered clutch)

(mooshy belly baby bunny)

Impossibly Cool

my favorite man.

my favorite movie.
*sigh*

Dibs

So...I'm cleaning out ye olde inbox at work today and came across the following from my friend Mark. I believe it came about originally in response to my calling "dibs" on something over lunch. Which then jump started a conversation in which Mark may or may not have divulged that he & his friends play "dibs" when they go out.

Dibs.

This sort of stuff needs to be shared. It's awesomeness in its purest form.

Rules for Dibs
1. If you call more than 10 dibs in a single venue in one night you become obligated to talk to one of them. If you leave and comeback to the same venue on the same night they still count.

2. If they are later found to be smoking and you don't like smokers it can be an annulment of the dib by your choice. Option of.

3. No MASS dibs, 1 or 2 max and you have to see them.

4. Limited time dibs, properly called with a reasonable view or within moments.  You don’t get all night to decide.  

5. No annulment of a dib without the reason stated in #2

6. If the said dib turns out to be a tranny, you will forever be banned from the game of dibs for giving it a bad name.

7. You can trade dibs if both parties agree on the trade, otherwise you have to stick to your dib unless rule #2 applies.

8. It is recommended to carry a brown paper bag or have one on hand that at least fits over your head incase a mishap on dib #10 in which it turns out to be a bad call.

9. If a girl calls dibs on you, it becomes one of your dibs, only counts towards your 10 if you are approached by her.

10. If you exchange numbers or she steals the number out of your phone with a said dibs, she becomes yours no matter what due to being able to contact that person at all times.

Tainted Love

Did you ever notice how it can be painful to see a couple look at each other?

When it's so obvious that they've transcended that 'we just fell in love' stage but have not yet gotten to that 'i look at you every day but couldn't really describe what you look like anymore' plateau? When they still seem enthralled with each other?

It's uncomfortable, but I can't look away. How can I simultaneously be so entranced and yet so terrified of something?

Want to feel that catholic-school-scapula warm & fuzzy too?

Check out this video:

Postcards From Italy from ForYouLoveMe on Vimeo.

and for that matter this entire site:
http://foryouloveme.com/

inspiration creeps along

When I was in college I took a handful of poetry workshop classes my freshman and sophomore year. My junior year I was neck to nuts buried in my journalism classes, and that creative outlet trickled into some arts & ethics classes in the J-School. But there was always something about those poetry workshops that drew me...and so my senior year I waitlisted a few more, but never got back in.

The prof that shepherded these workshops was brilliant. He was old and white haired and mustachioed, and he wore old cableknit fishermen's sweaters with patches on the shoulders and elbows. And he was too tall and angular, but not bent. Not yet. And so he towered over us. And his voice...and the cadence of it...was hypnotic.

I forget from time to time that poetry is meant to be read aloud. That if you don't read your own work aloud from time to time, it winds up lacking.

Take the following poem for example:

It's "The Hurt Locker" by Brian Turner.

Turner's poetry is mostly military in nature... and this one actually had a hand in inspiring the recent-ish movie of the same name.

Read the poem quietly to yourself.

Not bad, right?

Now listen to it via this link: From the Fishouse

Note the catches in Turners voice. The rumble. The cadence.

Suddenly this poem has life and grit.

And this one poem that I stumbled upon via a brief mention in a NYTimes.com article... This one poem that was written years ago by someone I never met and will never meet... It makes me want to write.

Sometimes inspiration comes in the smallest and oddest corners of life.

When you're least expecting it.

*edit* I found him! The poetry prof - he still teaches down at IU's English Dept. [insert deep-seated sigh of relief here]

Monkey gets a Haircut

So The Monkey has been telling me she wanted her hair cut for months now... and I'd successfully put it off as long as humanly possible because I was completely and totally in love with her Rapunzel locks. But she'd reached the end of her patience. And so yesterday her dad took her to get it all cut off.

:(






She looks so old!
But it IS pretty cute.


(Before)



(After)

coffee vs. you... an epic battle

Crazy Tights

There's just something about knee-high suede boots, bright yellow tights, a muted floral skirt & a purple sweater on a random Wednesday morning that brings a smile to my face.

or maybe that was just the other warm body in bed with me when I woke up...

Fences - Girls with Accents

oh goodness. this one too. I'm in love with this guy.

Fences - Girls With Accents from Christian Sorensen Hansen on Vimeo.

Cliffs Along the Sea

gorgeous.

Cliffs Along The Sea from Christian Sorensen Hansen on Vimeo.

And they did it all in one long take, too.

The Packing Has Begun (and a musical treat)

Sometimes, music says what we can't..or won't..
And it almost always does a better job than we ever could.

Dead Hearts -- Stars
How gorgeous is this little song?
Chuck (seriously an awesome show. always) never fails to surprise & delight me with their soundtrack choices...

My weekend was productive. I began the packing process. And with packing comes every form of procrastination known to man...

Saturday morning I packed up the kitchen. well, all except the food...and the fridge... and the crock pot, which is just too big to fit in a box. And my coffeemaker and stand mixer, which I use pretty much every day. But other than that? Kitchen is packed and we're eating off paper plates & plastic ware, which is lovely in that the only dishes I'm doing are the one pot & one skillet I also didn't pack. oh. and my foreman grill. I didn't pack that either. Wait. What IS in those six boxes of kitchen miscellany in my foyer?

Saturday night packing entailed rifling through junk drawers and cleaning off bookshelves. I officially no longer have a drawer that I can't even open because it's filled to bursting with8 cap-less pens, broken pencils, random flower-shaped erasers, broken birthday candles, half-used packs of matches, old batteries, expired tylenol, packets of soy sauce, pennies, melted starlight mints, hair ties & barrettes (do I really need to go on here? I think not.) It was cathartic & empowering and represented such a small surface area that it doesn't hardly even count as packing. But it's done nonetheless.

In the midst of packing the bookshelves up I came across a treasure trove of baby books and old photo albums from awkward life stages, and ticket stubs and old playbills. And so, all restless energy spent earlier on the junk drawer (and perhaps on singing & dancing in my pajamas to David Bowie & Labyrinth) I spent the wee insomniatic hours of Sunday Morning with warm cups of coffee and memory lane. It was an indulgence I rarely allow myself. And more than a few tears were shed over the detritus of life that seems to reside in scrap books and photo albums.

This a big move for the Munchkins & I. We've been in the same house for over six years.

This house saw me through the birth of two of my three children, a marriage, a divorce, six Christmas mornings, six Halloween nights. First haircuts, first days of school, first lost teeth. And I get overly maudlin about this sort of thing anyway... so despite the fact that this, too, did not exactly count as packing, I feel like in cleaning out the bookshelves I paid a bit of tribute to the old house, the old life. And this too, is an important step in packing. It's funny how clearing out old things can open up so much more room in your life for the new.

Typography

I forget sometimes, that less can be more.
I'd like to think that my decorating style is sparsely cool, but that's all in my head...stored up for the day The Munchkins leave the nest. For now my decorating style is more 'Thoughtful Clutter" Accentuated by "Day Old Laundry Pile" and "Toys with Sharp Corners Waiting to be Stepped on"

Maybe after the move, I can work on this.
Or at least introduce a few spare & lovely pieces like these typography prints:
Or the neato little framed & accented silhouettes below.



Also, I'm kind of nuts for these giant bus route prints I found here on etsy.com



You can even personalize your own with locations and routes specific to you & your shady past.
Awesome.

Accidentally...

I should never be allowed to wander off, unattended, with $15 burning a hole in my pocket.

Because then I end up accidentally purchasing things like new undies (that say I [heart] nerds all over them) and larges of the most sinfully amazing dark hot chocolate on the planet courtesy of the South Bend Chocolate Company on the Circle... Who pays $6 for hot chocolate? Oh. That's right. I do. ohdear.

They say money can't buy happiness...but I'm not entirely sure about that. Which is why I'm pretty sure I have a shopping problem, and that it's a darn good thing I'm not rich, with lots and lots of disposable income.

Also, I witnessed the singularly most sexy thing this afternoon while strolling by au bon pain en route (i mean...er...accidentally en route...) to the mall. A young couple sat outside on the patio under those giant yellow umbrellas that look like they belong on a turn-of-the-century Italian advertising poster. And the guy just randomly reached across the table and tucked a stray lock of the girl's hair behind her ear. So she grabs his wrist, turns her head, smiles, and drops a little kiss into the palm of his hand.

It was one of those acts that they've probably done dozens of times. Without thought. An automatic. And it's these actions that hold such appeal sometimes. I'm a voyeur at heart. I've never argued this fact. But I couldn't help it. I stared. Hard. I couldn't turn away. Give me a 'stache and call me Creepy McCreeperson, but the guy wasn't even MY lunch date and I wanted to vault over the cheaply erected barricade and tackle him to the ground.

It was innocent and sweet. It was sexy without meaning to be. It made me want.

If I could bottle that feeling...that spasm of muscles clenching in the vicinity of my heart at spying that little interaction...and sell it? I'd be a millionaire in a heartbeat.

And then I could afford LOTS of new pairs of quirky underwear and fancy hot chocolate...

\\

Found: One Doll Pattern. And the Christmas Gift Making has Begun...

This doll officially qualifies as the most adorable thing I have ever made.

Seriously.

And the possibilities for personalization? They're endless
I've already dreamed up about three dozen different outfits, aprons, buttons, pinafores, barrettes, bows, gee-gaws, etc. that I can accessorize these babies with.



Should I have ironed her face before stitching her together? Okay...probably. But she was my test doll. And you all know about my lack of patience with the iron...

I found the original pattern HERE

and then got lost in the artist's etsy.com store HERE
*le sigh*

And the best part? Finished the doll in about an hour & a half!
And that includes embroidering the eyes & mouth!
It's a Sunday afternoon nap time sort of project extraordinaire.



The girls are getting a couple of these for Christmas for sure.
AND I've already combed through the scrap basket for pieces that I can use to turn a couple of them into nursery rhyme dolls for The Monkey... and maybe super heroes for the Baz-Man. I figure I could easily do Spiderman, Superman, Batman/Robin, and maybe The Hulk with the same pattern...


I'm off to sketch up a few more!!!

some days all I want is to be able to fall apart when I feel broken..and have someone there to say "okay, go ahead, I've got this" and then be there to pick up the pieces when I'm done...

thank you, for just letting me do that sometimes and not trying to fix it

Cy