The “Sunday Bib”

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A common complaint from moms all over the place is that at dinner time, their babies are nice and covered with bibs all except for their arms. No problem, unless they are wearing long sleeves. Now they still need to change because they have apple sauce on their elbows. To these moms–I say…Meet the “Sunday Bib.

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It’s nearly a smock but without so much back—and again, it’s made from a disguarded T-shirt and a cute new washcloth. Sorry, couldn’t help the Halloween colors. It must have been the moon…

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We cut the bottom of the shirt off about 2 inches below the sleeves.  Then, just put the washcloth where you want it and pin it in place–to just one side of the shirt.

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Be sure to keep the back side fabric out of the way–and sew the washcloth onto the shirt a few inches below the neck ribbing.

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You may want to take in a bit of the sleeve if the shirt is really huge. Just trim off the excess.

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Slit up the back side of the shirt. You can fold in and sew all the raw edges if you’d like to, but that’s the beauty of using T-shirt fabric–it doesn’t fray, so you don’t HAVE to unless you want to.

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Sew a tie of ribbon or soft string at the neck top, on each side. I used the shiny cord from old gift bags. It’s the perfect length and it comes in every color of the rainbow. Hey, you were throwing it out anyway!

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And there you have it my darlings. It’s quick and simple and every mom that sees it says, “Ohhhh, yeaaaah. That’s what we need!”

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And…poof!

Like magic.

It’s yours.

A Special Something…

about the glossy ads…

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when you think no one is looking…

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and you’re completely free to check out the bargains…

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or nibble on them.

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It’s just so hard to be patient and wait for all those sales…

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especially when you’re really hungry right now…

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and you still think no one is watching.

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But Baby Chompy…here’s something you need to know.

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Your good mama is always watching.

Happy Daddy’s Day…

…and everything that it means to you.

I have a lovely, sweet daughter that sees this day just a tiny bit differently—after many years of being raised by a single-mom.

She’s just a cute little reminder to me that whether you are—climbing mountains or sliding down them,  realizing reasons to rejoice or to mourn, lying in the warm sunshine or splashing in the rain—this life is what you make it–every step of the way.

We are determined to make it good.

 

 

A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery while on a detour.
~Author Unknown

Blink~The Graduate

I suppose I’ve been driving this route for some time now.

Ooooh-whoo. Seven fifteen a.m. every morning for the past one hundred years.

Perhaps I exaggerate just a tad–but you get the point.

I’ve taken this road in the pouring rain…

thick and spooky fog……

and slippery, blinding, icy snow.

Driven it before daylight savings time when it was so dark outside the streetlights were still on.

With all the windows down in the summer when the cooler wouldn’t work.

In the winter with blankets wrapped around our shoulders and heads and feet because the heater wouldn’t kick in.

Attended every football game, track event, and choir concert humanly possible.

Grumbled now and then about the caffeine-induced erratic drivers or teenage pedestrians with a “you-know-you-won’t-hit-me” death wish, and the ridiculous youngsters that really shouldn’t have a license in the first place—as we all converged here in this very parking lot—before any decent human being should even be out of bed.

Sat, crocheting in this holding space for hours at a time, doing that mama thing we call waiting, sometimes alone and sometimes while my beloved cargo spent some needed time…with their mom.

Sat, idling along with the car, staring at this tinted glass door–that far away one between the cars–looking for any sign of Daney boy, or the bald kid.

Oh, the laughing and talking and listening and teasing and  heartbreaks and secrets and real earth life we’ve had at this place.

All to end up here. One. Very. Last. Time.

The bald kid thinks that I’ll be so glad to sleep in. He thinks that I’ll be relieved to save so much gas in the car. He’s sure I’m happy to see it all be finally–after 24 years and 5 kids—over.

I’m afraid he’s very…

very….

wrong.

And when that alarm clock doesn’t go off at 6:30 am any more, it won’t matter…

because I’ll already be awake…

wishing that it would…

just one more time.

Off to school—1996

 

 

Week 11 Food storage prompt:

10 lbs. sugar, 1 lb salt

Someone Please…

tell me…

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What is it with boys and guns anyway?

Have you ever noticed that you don’t have to actually hand them a play gun, because everything–EVERYTHING magically has the ability to become one? Rakes…tripods…cd cases…balloons…bread.

Whatever.

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In their mind, every inanimate object within their reach, has the innate ability to maim. This is a skill that only boys have–or, I might add, want.

From birth.

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Of course, this skill puts everyone in their rifle scope every waking moment. We wouldn’t want to waste precious practice time, would we? Consequently, no one is safe.

In fact, I remember helping 3 year old Daney boy get dressed one day and his little thumb-and-finger-gun kept being loaded and fired too dang close to my head for me to like it.

Finally, after having my ears and chin and both eyes taken out by Hop-along’s imaginary bullets and a bit weary of his gun hand waving in my face, I held on to his arm and said, “Hey! You know, it isn’t very nice for boys to shoot at their mommas.”

His eyes immediately filled up with tears and he collapsed in a heap in front of me.

“I wasn’t shooting my momma.” Oh, he was wailing now.

“Reeeeally?” I said.

And I’m Mother Goose.

He pulled himself up and wiped at his nose with his sweatshirt sleeve. To the washer with that one.

“I was killing the bad guys….

so…

they don’t…

get….

…you.”

dun..dun..dun.

sigh.

The “Mother of the Year” title  just flew past me…

…again.

Rats.