I only recently discovered the "alchemy" section on Etsy; it's a part of the website where you can post an idea and people bid on creating it for you. So I jumped on the bandwagon and ordered four things; one is a christmas present for Renee that I can't detail here yet (sorry, Nay!) and the other three are woven & embroidered bracelets detailing my, Davey & Renee's Sun, Moon & Ascendant signs. I just got word that they're finished and was so excited by the pictures that I had to post about them.
Here is the general idea: each bracelet (made by the marvelous Kerry over at Pookietown) is made up of stripes of three colors, and each color is associated with each of the signs in our respective "Big Three's." For example:
My Sun, Moon & Ascendant are in Aries, Capricorn and Gemini. My bracelet (below) has stripes in crimson (Aries), navy (Capricorn) and pale yellow (Gemini). Within the bracelet, the symbols for each sign are hand embroidered in the SECOND color associated with those same signs: white (Aries), charcoal (Capricorn) and pale blue (Gemini)! I was actually sort of shocked by how well the colors all looked together since they (like my chart) sounded like sort of a mismatched mess.
I knew that Davey's bracelet was going to be especially beautiful when I sent Kerry the colors; he is a Sagittarius Sun (royal blue & purple), Cancer Moon (white & silver), and Gemini Ascendant (pale yellow & pale blue).
Renee is a Taurus sun (russet & turquoise), Scorpio Moon (red & black), and Capricorn Ascendant (charcoal and navy blue). Her colors mesh together surprisingly well too!
Beautiful, aren't they? And each bracelet cost less than ten bucks! Amazing!
(I actually wrote this in June of '08, and forgot about it until today.)
The lady, the legend
Cyndi Lauper is one of those songwriters that never seems to get half as much credit as she deserves. I had the LP of "She's So Unusual" growing up and, mirroring the experiences of lots of girls my age, it had a big effect on me. Cyndi Lauper represented something to girls that seemed real and tangible, unlike Madonna who was so hyper-sexualized and over the top that it was impossible to relate to her. As a kid I loved Madonna's music but I LOVED Cyndi Lauper the person, everything about her. She was scrappy, slightly strange, and just seemed to have something about her for quirky working class girls everywhere to look up to. I don't know about you guys but, at least in my neighborhood, we loved her for it. I even owned a VHS copy of her movie Vibes as a kid because I loved her so damned much.
Think about it: once you got older, did your breakups more resemble Cyndi's "ambivalently leaving my loving, slightly dirty boyfriend behind in our meager shared digs with only my sack full of records and hair dye in hand because I JUST HAVE TO BE FREE" in the video for "Time After Time" or Madonna's "things were going great until he became threatened by my budding modeling career and left me! So I quit, and then he taught me how to play pool!" in the video for "Borderline?" Case rested.
More and more often I find that my exceptions to my "sacred artists to never be covered" rule (which includes Prince, Diane Cluck, and Joni Mitchell, to name a few) are always found in covers that seem to highlight the emotions behind the songs' lyrics moreso than even the originals do. I once heard a completely mind blowing live cover of Mazzy Star's "Fade Into You," for example, that slowly built tension before exploding at the end with an uncomfortably earnest, screaming vocal. While the original is a classic, I felt like the cover sounded like what the lyrics suggest, you know? I was comfortable with it because it made sense to me.
Because of it's upbeat sound, and being the theme to the Goonies movie, not too many people paid attention to the lyrics of "Good Enough." Neither did I, for a long time, but once I did I fell in appropriate love, with an all new kind of yearning. Maybe it was because I had to be older to really understand what the song talks about? Those are my dragons to slay, I suppose.
Either way, bravo to the Acorn for doing my girl right. I wonder what Cyndi thinks?
To celebrate it's 10th anniversary, Google is opening it's oldest available archives. Here's some of the atrociously bad 16 year old me poetry I found when I googled my old web persona.
SUMMER IS OVER
i can't lay here next to you wrapped in your jacket and your arms knowing right well the dead end we've become because of you and your needs.. I am unwilling to be the understudy to your hopes of finding another (newer, better, easier)
so take your gifts, love take the things i gave you and memorize them tomorrow things will be different and I won't let you pretend anymore. seeing the love that once filled your eyes turn to pity underneath my tears and pleading.
summer is over my virginity and your vulnerability.. over, love, like all the promises; all the hoping.. take your gifts, angel and never let my stoic face and rough edges deceive you.
i hope you reach your greener grass. i hope you touch your bluer skies. i hope she fixes things in you i always tried but never could. i hope your find yourself, love in the void your absence leaves in me.
Naturally Glamorous
dressed in distress naturally glamorous glass at my lips and pride on my tounge there is not much left for me to say as there is not much left for me to feel now that the bed- my life- and my head are empty as bone. your pictures on the wall your music in the stereo your clothes on the floor you're under my skin
Artists
i dreamed we were painters surrealists, cubists, minimalists seeing our memories spread out to canvas messy and finger-painted child like and messy a jumble of color a condensation of experiences never making sense because good art never does.
You are enjoying an exceptionally easy relation. Whatever the situations, you manage without trouble to lead quickly to a strong harmony, even when misunderstandings occur. That gives neither an intensity nor a particular quality to the communication between you, but in any case it is without any effort that you love each other! Your index of compatibility is remarkable, out-of-standard, your relationship is extremely harmonious."
It is without any effort that we love each other, people! Without ANY effort!
So I did backflips through flaming hula hoops securing tickets, babysitters and mons to see Au with Dodos in Northampton on October 1st. This was exciting news!; "Verbs" is the best kind of crazy and Dodos are going to be super famous soon with the hip youngin's, I'd bet money. The tickets came in the mail, all was calm, all was bright. And then...
Parenthetical Girls in Boston touring for Entanglements!? (Which I got three days ago on my pre-order; it will pleasantly surprise you) On the SAME DAY?
Around the end of the summer I first fell in love with Sufjan Stevens, my friend Matt and I went to a beer bar in Amherst called the Moan and Dove, a place that plays Bob Dylan on it's jukebox and serves various snooty beers from all over the world, typically populated by pretentious, bearded male grad students. At the time I was big into what I was calling "Social Engineering," which basically just meant I would create elaborate and false back-stories about myself and get to know strangers as that person, seeing how they reacted to whatever facade I'd adopted at any given time. I can't remember if we were pretending to be brother and sister or married at the time, but regardless Matt and I were deeply entrenched in one of my experiments when we started talking to these two guys sitting at the bar. One of them was a forgettable, plastered bro-dude who was hitting on anything that moved and was too drunk to really articulate. The other, his friend, was a ginormously tall and eerily soft spoken boy whose name I can't remember. He turned out to be one of several random, amazingly magical people I've brushed shoulders with in my life and, even though I can't remember his name, I've never forgotten him.
Bear with me; this story and how it eventually tied back in to my life is a long and sappy one, but it's worth telling. And I don't tell it enough.
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was just an incredibly open person, maybe he was making up stories just the way I was- but either way he opened up to me almost immediately. He told me a story about a time in his life, not too far in his past, where he'd been addicted to heroin for years and gotten his then-girlfriend pregnant. The two of them had nothing in common but drugs, he told me, and when he decided to get clean he had to make the difficult decision to leave both her and the child behind in order to do it. He lifted up his t-shirt and showed me a tattoo across his torso, his son's name in old English lettering. When it seemed like I was about to feel sorry for him, he waved his hand in the air and said that he'd started wandering, sleeping on couches, panhandling and hitchhiking. He was lonely, still going through withdrawals, and was overpowered by guilt about leaving his son behind when he thought he might give up and relapse. That was when he heard "Going to California" by Led Zeppelin on the radio in a mall and had a revelation at the words "find a queen without a king / they say she plays guitar and cries and sings." He told me he knew then that if he just kept moving eventually he would meet that girl in the song, and she would be the key to everything.
Now, I very, very rarely meet people who hear and regard music in the same way that I do- as having some mystical, universal property that can change anything at any given moment. Needless to say, I was intrigued. When I asked what happened, a light seemed to come across his face. "I found her here," he said. When he randomly and bizarrely ended up in Western Mass, he saw a girl playing her guitar on the street in Northampton, singing and crying. He brought her a cup of coffee from one of the nearby coffee shops and they started talking. After two months they moved in together, and he claimed to not have touched any drugs since. Once he was officially sober for a year, he told me, they planned to go back to get his son so they could raise him together.
So I did what anyone would do, I asked what she was like. But instead of telling me, he grabbed his drunk friends' cell phone and called her, right there in the middle of the bar. "Hi, baby, it's me," he said, "I was just thinking about you."
Yes, that really happened. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I was there, and it happened.
Years and thousands of miles later, I was on a plane flying back to Massachusetts from Oregon. I was in an especially frantic rush to leave for reasons I won't mention, and so ended up on a last minute flight (that my grandmother paid for) where I flew for 5 straight hours in the middle seat, between two strangers, without enough elbow room to write, read a book, or do anything other than sit there bone straight listening to music. I was completely bankrupt, financially and emotionally, and hadn't realized until I was on the plane that I didn't even have batteries for my walkman. The only options left for me were the various in-flight radio stations, most of which, oddly, were talk radio and christian music. I compromised on a classic rock station and settled in.
I feel weird saying that it was one of the worst days of my life; I know it sounds lamely melodramatic, but it really was. I was a basketcase, and totally lost. I was about to turn 25 and had absolutely nothing to show for it but a trail of fuck ups, stupid decisions and failures. I was ashamed, and it killed me to go home knowing what was in store for me there. Aside from hearing "I told you so" from everyone I'd left behind, I was moving back in with my parents because all of my money was gone. I knew that if I was lucky enough to find a job at all, I'd need to have my folks drive me to and from, since I'd sold my car before I moved. I felt unlovable and totally unremarkable, in ways I never had before. It wasn't at all where I imagined I'd be at 25, which is an understatement, and any changes I could possibly make seemed so far away from me then that something in me just broke. It's heavy to say so now, but I was seriously considering suicide at the time. I was suddenly so afraid of everything. I went so deeply inside my own head that, if I were going to be honest, I'd have to admit I haven't totally come out yet. Maybe I never will. Maybe that was the point.
You know where this is going, I'm sure. Somewhere over those mountains in Wyoming that go on for hours and hours, "Going To California" came on the station I was listening to. I really, really listened to it for the first time and this feeling of deja vu washed over me.
"I spent my days with a woman unkind, who smoked my stuff and drank all my wine. I made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there's a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair. So I took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same.
The sea was red and the sky was grey, I wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today. The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake as the children of the sun began to awake.
It seems like the wrath of the Gods got a punch on the nose and it's starting to flow; I think I might be sinking. Throw me a line, if I reach it in time I'll meet you up there where the path runs straight and high
to find a queen without a king, they say she plays guitar and cries and sings. I ride a white mare to the footsteps of dawn Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born. Standing on a hill on my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems."
I thought about that boy in the bar, and how he'd chosen to take the words to the song as some kind of prophecy during the darkest time in his life. I can't compare what happened to me with heroin addiction, obviously, but I still suddenly so related to the song that I decided to do exactly what he had done. I told myself I needed to keep moving until I found that person who was the last piece of my puzzle, until something made sense again. Laugh, whatever. It was the only thing that got me off that plane that day.
I did what I had to do, and it was just as difficult as I feared it would be. I was a ghost in my parent's house; just going back and forth to a crappy $10 an hour temp job, smoking a lot of pot, and never leaving my room. Once Renee finally convinced me to re-present myself to the outside world, she and her friend David came and picked me up from my parents house. The three of us just drove all day. With one incredibly ill-advised exception (which I also won't mention), it was literally the first time I'd left my room to do anything but work since my plane had landed. These are all pictures from that beautiful day.
I didn't know it, but that day I met the key to my new everything, the future father of my son, who plays guitar and cries and sings. Four months later we moved in together, and today I'm on the other side of all that darkness, living in love with my awesome little family. I hope that mysterious boy from the bar is too, somewhere.
Yes, I've gotten way off track blogging lately, for various reasons. But I was struck by all the negativity in my last few posts; not that awful music isn't funny (it is) but I don't think complaining about what's bad really gets across how much I love the things I love. So I'm going to start periodically writing about my honest to goodness, hands down, top 25 favorite songs of all songs, one at a time. Because I want to, and because it's so, so easy for me to be passionate about them.
The summer of 2005 was an interesting one for me. My grandfather had died at the end of May, which left me in a complete emotional tailspin. So I was (as usual?) mid-self revolution, only instead of the relentless crashes and booms I was used to accompanying change in my life, everything seemed to be falling away and evolving remarkably peacefully. I'd ended a relationship that I'd long been unhappy in, moved into a sublet off of Main Street in Amherst, and was having myself a (badly needed) charmingly carefree summer on the outside of the struggling I was doing underneath it.
At Quabbin, Summer '05
Renee and I had only just begun our legendary friendship the spring prior, and spent most of our time together drinking jugs of Berkshire Brewery beer, listening to bluegrass, and going on lots of long, aimless drives through all the old hill towns and farms. I had only just acquired my marvelous Betsy from the Hampshire Bike Exchange and rode her down to the center of town almost every day. The lot of us who stayed behind that summer when all the students went back home would creep into the woods near Hampshire College late at night and skinny dip in the lake there. When we weren't playing late night Scrabble, my roommates and I would have parties that almost always ended with everyone on the playground behind our apartment, playing Hide And Seek and running around like children, followed by a morning after breakfast at the Lone Wolf. I was lazily "seeing" an old friend of mine from early teenage-hood who had grown up to be a touring slam poet, and he'd take me to drag shows and hipster beer bars from time to time. He was a decent kisser and a heavenly hugger. Everything was beautiful and nothing was serious- an environment I badly needed in order to cope with my grandfather's death. And it was during this time that I really got into Sufjan Stevens' music, and first fell in love with "Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, IL."
"Come On Feel the Illinoise" isn't my favorite Sufjan album by far, but this song stuck out to me immediately and has effectively nested itself in my heart forever. Not only because of the memories surrounding the particular time in my life where this song took a front seat, but also because it's beautifully crafted and downright genius. The Philip Glass-y piano throughout is mystical, sparce and beautiful, but it's the lyrics (as usual) that really took me over.
"When the revenant came down we couldn't imagine what it was. In the spirit of three stars, the alien thing that took its form. Then to Lebanon, oh God! The flashing at night, the sirens grow and grow. Oh, history involved itself! Mysterious shade that took its form... or what it was, incarnation? Three stars delivering signs and dusting from their eyes."
There's a passage in the Bible that talks about an incarnation sent from God that will come down from the sky as a sign to the faithful, surrounded by three stars and the faces of lions, and I've always assumed that Sufjan was invoking that with this song. The idea that what contemporary humans regard as alien (UFO's, moving lights in the sky) could actually be an incarnation of faith meant for a faithless world is mind blowing and something I could think about for hours. How many times have we explained away our miracles as science fiction, in our heated rush to seem intellectual and impossible to fool? Is the price of seeming gullible and simple to the world worth the gifts that faith can give?
That summer, underneath all the easy, child-like days and the warm, simple nights, I wrestled with the loss of my grandfather every single moment. His faith was the current that kept him moving and alive his entire life. Every night I looked to the sky and hoped I'd see him; in the spirit of three stars or in any way he'd come back to me.
This is much, much easier than narrowing down my favorites, and given these honorable positions based on amount of outrage I feel at their existence when I hear them in the grocery store/mall/car.
I really am the sort of person who tries to find at least one thing to like about everything and everyone. But there is literally nothing appealing about Smash Mouth, is there? If there is, let me know, because I haven't found it yet.
Nevermind that this song has absolutely no soul to speak of, or that it reminds me of the years I worked at CVS in high school and it always came on and ruined my day while I was pricing Tylenol or therapeutic shoe insoles, but is anyone else COMPLETELY creeped out by all the weird flower opening/white gloves/virginity/vagina/sex innuendo in this video? Grossssssss.
I'm pretty sure this song would be on everybody's list, everywhere, except for maybe a few drunk townies from my hometown, sitting down at Maximum Capacity getting all fuzzy inside thinking about when they were the man in high school and constantly quoted the American Pie movies.
Fuck this song, fuck Cher, fuck her vocoder, fuck the trend she started in mainstream music where no one has a human voice anymore, and lastly just fuck. Ugh. Fuck.
Again we go back to the "no soul" issue. Is it really that hard to write a song that actually means something to you? Or to anyone? I'd rather listening to a recording of her signing all of her many, many checks- at least that'd feel a little bit more honest.
This is, hands down, my least favorite song of all time. I find something to throw every time it somehow leaks it's way into my atmosphere. No song is worse than Margaritaville, period. This is not open for debate. As a matter of fact, as I was looking for this video on youtube and played it, the baby woke up and immediately started crying. I hope someone closes Jimmy Buffett inside a steel drum and tosses him overboard somewhere in the Caribbean.
How many people do you think chose this song as their wedding song the year it came out? The year after that? THIS year? You'd think it would have gone away by now, but oh no- it's the new "Celebrate."
For the first time in a long, long time I'm starting to get ideas again. It seems really plain, the idea of idea-having, but honestly it's been so long since I've had any ideas, good or bad, that I feel kind of like a little girl right now.
When I was much younger, I had this electric green 80's psychedelic binder (the kind that came empty and with big metal rings, that you filled with paper yourself as needed) that I kept all my writing in. The first half was a journal, the second half was for my poetry, and the third half was reserved entirely for IDEAS. I had so many, for poetry, novels, clubs, games, that I needed to devote an entire section for them in my binder so that I wouldn't forget them later. Isn't that wonderful? I'm so in love with Little Me, when I look back. I wish I'd loved Little Me as much back then as I do now. Who knows what I could have accomplished with a bit more self love?
Anyways, my first order of business is trying to work out a better, less blogger-like space for my writing/blogging/etc etc. Does anyone know of any good hosts? Any good scripts for passcoding/privatizing sections of websites? I'm serious about this, too; blogger makes me feel weird and I can't organize topics in any way that I like at all. I'm going to be working on and around this for the a good chunk of the near future future; in the meantime, I'm link dumping on tumblr, at least for a little while.
Here are some other ideas I've been kicking around:
X Starting a small, self-run press in which I'd bind all the books by hand as they're ordered. I've been tossing this possibility around in my head for almost ten* years now and I don't see any reason why it hasn't been done**.
X Starting a webmagazine to coincide with aforementioned self-run physical press. It would thrill me to no end to be able to reject all the masturbatory, blowhard poetry that so many webmags constantly publish and actually put GOOD*** stuff out there.
X A children's book, the plot of which I don't want to reveal yet.
X A Young Adult book series, the plot of which I don't want to reveal yet. (I am STUPID excited about this)
So yes, I will be busy. I'll keep you guys updated on the progress of my busy-ness. Love!
*Yes, I'm really that old. **Except that I'm lazy, flighty and creepy. ***Good to me
Then it was off to 1960, which is abundant in both sweet glasses' frames and Kennedy's.
I don't remember much about 1966, actually; acid tests and all that.
Since you all know the only reason I went ahead and invented time travel at all was to sleep with Stevie Nicks and Mick Fleetwood, 1978 was all in all it pretty fulfilling.
I wanted to stop by 1982 to see how the world was the year I was born. I booked it out pretty quickly, though; there's just way too much John Cougar Mellencamp in 1982 for my liking.
Last stop, 1994! Although I'm not sure why I bothered, since I actually did have this haircut in 1994, and it was just as terrifying and time consuming then as it was the second time around.
The other night David and I both made a list of five people that we could each make out with without punishment, in the unlikely event that the opportunity ever arises. Doesn't every couple have a list like this or are Davey and I just bizarre? Predictably, my list is also contingent upon my creating the technology for time travel.
Well, I received my package from her the other day and thusly wanted to update you all on the current status of my opinion of humanity. (Hint: It has much improved)
If you can't make out the note, here's what it says:
"Caitlin- Here you go! One more piece in your puzzle. As promised, I've included a few frimps: Dove's Heart (To help put the past in the past), #20 Love Oil (for any future possibilities! wink, wink!) and a few others just for the halibut. Very best of luck to you! Cheers! Jennifer"
Needless to say, my nose has been firmly and blissfully buried in my new bottle of Beltane '06 since the moment I unwrapped it. I'm also now the proud owner of two bags of tea and 5 other BPAL imps. Jennifer from Rockford, if you're out there somewhere- thank you, thank you, thank you!
If you need me, I'll be having a nice warm cup of chai spice black tea courtesy of loving, compassionate strangers everywhere.
For the past week or so, every few times I go outside to have a cigarette (yes, I'm smoking again- sort of. Let's not talk about it.), there's been a bunny on our front lawn. I'm not sure where s/he's living and have yet to see any other rabbits, but s/he pops up fairly frequently and seems to enjoy scarfing the out of control crab grass that's slowly strangling what used to be my grandmother's lawn.
Little Buddy
I never try to get too close to it or hold it or anything, obviously- I don't want it to stop coming around. If I'm outside smoking in the first place, chances are I'm having a pretty rough time inside (what up colic, holla), so seeing the bunny is like a surprise joy supplement exactly when I need it.
This week's POTW is brought to you by my pesky exalted Venus in H10 Pisces.
"Sometimes what you remember is their voices again, coming on inside you like strung lights in your blood, certain words they'd tongue differently from anyone else, or your own name and its surprisingly infinite nuances. And sometimes you remember their hands, not touching you but draped over a steering wheel or cupped briefly around a cigarette, anywhere you could watch them in their life apart from you, knowing how they'd find you later, blind but sure, and come to rest where you needed them. You remember the hardness of their bellies, the soft line of hair that swirls down toward the cock, the look of each one that entered you and then withdrew, or lay quietly inside awhile longer before slipping away like a girl sneaking out in the middle of the night, high heels dangling from one hand as her stockinged feet drew sparks from the rug. Sometimes you wander the house all day, the fog outside stalled at the tops of trees, refusing to rise higher and reveal the world you hope is still there, the one in which you're still a woman some beautiful man might helplessly move toward. And you remember how one looked at you the first time you undressed, how another didn't mind that you cried. Sometimes it's enough just to say their names like a rosary, ordinary names linked by nothing but the fact that they belong to men who loved you. And finally you depend on that, you pray it's enough to last, if it has to, the rest of your life."
Can you tell we're having a relatively quiet day in the Lord/Morrow household? Also I'm in a much better mood today than I have been in.. oh, 6 months?
Some of you might remember that a little bit before the baby was born Davey and I got tickets to All Tomorrow's Parties NY, which seems destined to be one of the most memorable experiences of my life. They've been periodically adding more and more artists/bands to each days' lineup, and I just took a peek at the current list for the first time in a while and I am SO JAZZED!!!!!!!!!!!!! (This isn't all the bands- just the ones I'm most excited for; the full lineup is here)
When he first started having lots of colic problems, I read online that "bicyciling" Quinn's legs might help to ease his stomach. When we finally tried it, though, we quickly found out that it's basically his favorite thing ever. He smiles and laughs every time we do it, especially when I sing Queen's "Bicycle Race" while I do it. I've been meaning to catch one of our races on video for a while, and I finally got a good one this morning. Sorry for my voice and my ugly mug interfering with the music- I'd just do anything to make this little dude laugh!
A totally amazing stranger is giving up a limited edition Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab oil she just won in an Ebay auction for me, so that I can add it to my list of things I've replaced after they were stolen from me by an especially douche-y ex. I sent her a short but heartfelt email explaining my situation, figuring my chances were slim to virtually none (considering the rarity of the oil), but she wrote back and said she'd be happy to sell it to me for just as much as she paid for it (even though I offered double)!
"hey, no need to apologize. i've got to respect someone willing to take a little risk. =) anyway, hearing your story, i'd be the last person to deny someone such a little thing to reclaim themselves from a selfish and inconsiderate ex. i would be happy to sell it for the same price i paid, but i've never put anything up on ebay before? what would work best for you? i can figure it out, i'm sure. let me know! cheers!"
I'm so ridiculously pumped; Beltane '06 was a limited edition BPAL scent that they only sold for three days two years ago, that ended up being my favorite. Possibly my favorite scent of all time? I thought it smelled like childhood, sort of like bug spray and fresh air and grass. I'd mostly given up hope of ever replacing it, since I'd regularly trolled Ebay for it all year and it'd never come up. The auction in question popped up while I was in the hospital with Quinn (figures), so when I got home and saw that it had come and gone my heart sank. But apparently I'm cashing in some good karma, and I sent my new friend a paypal payment this morning (!!).
My question is: I'd like to send her a little something as a thank you, since it means so much to me that she did what she did. Do any of you have any suggestions for something small but wonderful that I could send her way? I thought about baking some awesome cupcakes, but I'm not sure how well they'd ship in all this heat. I appreciate it!
Thank you for Elizabeth Mitchell, and every single one of her albums of folk songs for children. They're a virtual guaranteed savior when Quinn is otherwise too colic-y to sleep (especially "You Are My Sunshine"). His colic is ROUGH, and I seriously don't think I'd have my sanity right now if it weren't for these magical, magical records.
I've lost track of the amount of times I've sung "The Ladybug Picnic" (his favorite) this past week. The songs are all beautiful, but even if they weren't- whatever calms his little heart is a-okay by me.
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