Pass me the snow shovel

I saw this saying hanging on someone's wall when I was a kid. I remember being amused but now I really get it. I actually think a snow shovel would be a handy piece of equipment to have when picking up around my house. So here's a printable, free as always. You can edit the frame part out if you don't like it and put it your own frame. 

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Enjoy.

Read to a Child!

You may have noticed the new button at the top of my right hand column. If you haven't already, you should absolutely check it out! It's a link to a free online magazine that features a new story to read to your kids every single day!

"knowonder!" magazine was founded by Phillip Chipping a few years ago and he just started it back up again last month. The site is full of awesome resources for kids and parents alike. And guess who's helping him lead the charge...?

My mom! (Check out the "Our Team" page)

The woman who read to me and made up stories so I could star in my very own fairy tales. I'm so excited for this new project and I'm hoping to be involved as much as possible with getting "knowonder!" off the ground for real. So go check it out! For me, for my mom, sure, sure; but mostly for YOU! Read to your kids! Submit your own writing! Get your child's stories published!

Move it people! Get that imagination going!

Father's Day Ties

I wanted to share this post from my family updates blog. For Christmas I made Kevin's dad and my dad ties with their grandkids hand prints ironed on them. I used this pattern from Purl Bee and followed the instructions for making a wider tie. I actually added more than the 3/8 inch that they said, but I'm not even sure of the exact measurements because I basically just guessed.

This is what the front of my dad's tie looked like.
*Edit* - Before I just had the digital file I printed on the transfer paper but I called my sister and had her take a picture of the actual tie so I could swap it out - TaDa!

I got my kids' hand prints (a two person job for the 5 month old, mind you) using Crayola Washable Kids Paint. I let the paint dry and then I scanned them into the computer. I had my sister do the same with her son and then email me the file. Then I threw them all on a page in Photoshop and changed them to black and white and upped the contrast a little. (You could make the hands any color you want but as you can see the fabric I had was bright blue and black was the only thing that looked right with it.)  I measured the tie and worked up the layout I wanted. I rotated the whole image diagonally so it could fit on one sheet of transfer paper. In the end though, I didn't like the way the extra iron-on material looked around the hand prints so I cut them apart and trimmed each one separately as close as I could, so setting up the layout for the printing part didn't really matter. Kevin's dad's tie had 6 hand prints on it so I sized the hands down just a smidge to get them to actually fit on the tie. I did them all proportionally, though, so they still looked right lined up together.

For the Iron-On part I used HP Iron-On Transfers and just followed the package instructions. I used Transfers for "light fabrics" for all the black and white stuff, the only thing I used Transfers for "dark fabrics" for was the flower on Bill's tie (check my original post to see what I'm talking about.)

The ties weren't hard to make, even with all my do-overs. So check out my post and Purl Bee's pattern and whip one up for an awesome Fathers' Day gift.

Leave me a comment if you have any questions!

Mothers' Day Song

My husband has a long time good friend who, every Mothers' Day since I met him 5 years ago, never fails to mention his frustration at the hymns chosen for church that day.

It's not that he dislikes the songs that are chosen, he just gets a little irritated that one particular song is not chosen.

I think that most likely the title itself takes it out of the running for any chorister who maybe doesn't know the lyrics. However, he firmly believes there is no better song to sing on Mothers' Day because it is the one and only hymn that mentions Heavenly Mother.

So, to perhaps put his mind at ease (probably not though) for this one Mothers' Day, the hymn -

O My Father

O my Father, thou that dwellest
In the high and glorious place,
When shall I regain thy presence
And again behold thy face?
In thy holy habitation,
Did my spirit once reside?
In my first primeval childhood
Was I nurtured near thy side?

For a wise and glorious purpose
Thou hast placed me here on earth
And withheld the recollection
Of my former friends and birth;
Yet ofttimes a secret something
Whispered, "You're a stranger here,"
And I felt that I had wandered
From a more exalted sphere.

I had learned to call thee Father,
Thru thy Spirit from on high,
But, until the key of knowledge
Was restored, I knew not why.
In the heav'ns are parents single?
No, the thought makes reason stare!
Truth is reason; truth eternal
Tells me I've a mother there.

When I leave this frail existence,
When I lay this mortal by,
Father, Mother, may I meet you
In your royal courts on high?
Then, at length, when I've completed
All you sent me forth to do,
With your mutual approbation
Let me come and dwell with you.

Text: Eliza R. Snow
(Emphasis added)

In Honor of Mother's Day

(I couldn't find a title or an author for this, it's been going around the web for years. If you know for sure who wrote it let me know, I'd love to give them credit.)

Untitled
Author Unknown

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family. "We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moments hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right. I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine.

That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of Independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself.

That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a ceasarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honour.

My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time.

I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.

"You'll never regret it," I finally say.

Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. The blessed gift of God - and that of being a Mother.


P.S. Yes, Kevin, I fall in love with you every time you reach for the baby powder. (So I love you a lot.) ~Amy

Another Form of Inspiration

It looks like most if not all of my readers are women so I would like to take this opportunity to share an awesome resource for both men and women alike.

The Art of Manliness

If you've never seen this site before, you HAVE to check it out. Start with the About page and you'll instantly see what I'm talking about. The site never fails to bring a smile to my face and inspire me to be more sophisticated myself. Read and then share with your favorite man. He'll love it.
 

Random Insightful Quote of the Day

When a child is born, a father is born. A mother is born, too of course, but at least for her it's a gradual process. Body and soul, she has nine months to get used to what's happening. She becomes what's happening. But for even the best-prepared father, it happens all at once. On the other side of a plate-glass window, a nurse is holding up something roughly the size of a loaf of bread for him to see for the first time. Even if he should decide to abandon it forever ten minutes later, the memory will nag him to the grave. He has seen the creation of the world. It has his mark on it. He has its mark on him. Both marks are, for better or for worse, indelible.
~ Frederick Buechner,'Whistling in the Dark'