Laser Eyed Pigeon of Love Valentines Day Printable!

Picture it, dinnertime- chicken and toasted ravioli. Sure, it's not "healthy fare," but the kids were happy and that's what matters. Somehow the conversation swings around to light bulbs. Light bulbs? Yes, light bulbs, and the wasteful nature of the warmth and wholesome glow of incandescent bulbs and the wonderment that is the efficient and passive aggressive maverick way to light your home, the compact florescent. This reignites the age old debate of Tesla v. Edison. Here's a hint- we're Team Tesla in our household. All discussions of Tesla lead back around, eventually, to his laser eyed love pigeon. You wish I was joking, I wish I was joking, alas, I'm not. Tesla loved a pigeon, and at St. Valentine's Day, it's always good to honor those who embrace the adage, "Love as thou wilt." So, on a lark, I decided to throw together a Laser Eyed Pigeon of Love design for her to hand out for Valentine's Day. I mean, who doesn't want obscure geek references for their Valentines cards? Really, it worked out well, because writing Valentines in Circular Gallifreyan was proving to be a much more complex task than I'd originally thought it would be. 

I considered using a great Tesla quote:

“I have been feeding pigeons, thousands of them for years. But there was one, a beautiful bird, pure white with light grey tips on its wings; that one was different. It was a female. I had only to wish and call her and she would come flying to me.

I loved that pigeon as a man loves a women, and she loved me. As long as I had her, there was a purpose to my life.”

Long story short, that was too many words and we wanted something less... heartfelt. Since it's a fun and simple design, I thought I should share the printable geekery. Feel free to distribute to those who would get a kick out of it, just, you know, don't sell it. That'd be tacky.

Just fit-to-printable-area and print on standard 8.5x11" cardstock.

For more nerdy Valentines, check out the Standardized Test Valentine I made a couple years ago!

Wordless Wednesday: Tis a Gift to be Simple

Wordless Wednesday 

Blankie

When I was a kidlet, I had a blankie. It was a yellow thermal waffle knit blankie (the kind Gerber made back in the day which has square corners instead of rounded ones like they do now) with a thin silky yellow binding which my mom had sewn down with baby pink and kelly green thread. It had two rows of zig zag all the way around, and the corners were satin stitched. In one corner, she'd even satin stitched my initials.
It was love.
I took my blankie everywhere. I never slept without it. There are pictures of me hugging my blankie at Great America at 3 and at Disney when I was 4. I took it to overnights at friends' houses. I took it for show and tell in kindergarten where I proudly told the class. "This is my blankie. I like to hug it and I rub the binding between my fingers like this because it's smooth."
I liked the coolness of the binding and the way that the waffle knit left an imprint on my skin so that I could smile and remember cuddling my blankie.
I took my blankie to Girl Scout camp when I was seven. At eight my family had to drive over an hour out of our way on a long car trip because I had forgotten it at my aunt's house. My daddy made a U turn in front of the State Troopers' building, without complaint, the moment we realized it'd been lost, because my parents knew that I NEEDED my blankie. IIn fifth grade my mother replaced the binding, again with green and pink thread.
I took it to a camp focusing on organization and global thinking skills when I was 11. I took blankie to a different camp at 12 and 13, and to St. Louis on our 8th grade trip. I took my blankie on our big trip to England, and in high school I still slept, every night, blankie wrapped around my neck, or rolled beneath it.and with the ends shawl-like over my shoulders. I cried into my blankie when my friends were mean to me, I hugged it when excited. I'd drape it over my eyes when I had a headache, and the surest way to trick me into cleaning my room was to hide it, because no lurking corner was safe if I didn't know where blankie was.
Blankie and I were inseparable.
Since then I have found it strange that my daughter is a blankie-less child. Sure, she has blankets. She even has ones with soft and silky binding carefully sewn by her mother. She has small quilts I've made her, and blankets from her grandmother, crocheted blankets, woven blankets, blankets galore, but nonetheless, she never had a blankie.
Now, my son, some (almost) 11 months old, seems to be showing no amount of interest in a blankie. Most nights he doesn't even sleep with one.
I feel like she missed something. I feel like he's missing something.
It isn't that I want to encourage dependence on a blankie or an unhealthy attachment to a single object, but I can't imagine not having that one constant special something, the presence of which is so soothing.
His first birthday is coming up soon, so I bet you can guess what I'm planning to give him, right?

Blue Monday: Fatherhood

Fatherhood. That elusive creature so seldom caught on film, due to the fact that so often it is indeed the father documenting the moments from the wrong side of the aperture.
Yet today Spouse decided it was high time we spent some quality family time at a local pond with a lovely old mill house, and as Genesis is fond of saying, "it was good."
It was good to see Spouse take the time to breathe and just be a daddy.
It was good to see Snapdragon curious about all the green, and the sound of the water rushing over the dam.
It was good to see the two of them play and bond.
It was good.
Then the mosquitos came out, and we were good... and out of there.

None the less, this reminded me of how vital it is to take time out of your busy day, and drive out to somewhere pretty, even if the cell reception there is spotty at best, and just be.
Maybe you don't even talk. Maybe you listen to the water falling aginst the rocks. Maybe you listen to the wind through the prairie grasses or trees. But get out. Be a family in nature.
And don't forget to take a picture.





For more Blue Monday, wander on over to Smiling Sally, or follow the Bird.

Maybe it's the Moon Talking: Blessed and Bless-ed

As I was leaving my mother's house tonight after a grueling day of babysitting my nephews, and believe me, grueling is a gentle way of putting it, I happened to glance at her calendar long enough to read that this is the Blessing Moon.
It got me to thinking on my long drive home. Okay, it's like 20 minutes and most of it straight up I-90, but that's under construction so it feels long. But I'm thinking, Blessing Moon.
Is that like from White Christmas when Bing Crosby is singing to his lovely love interest, "When I'm worried and I can't sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I fall asleep counting my blessings." If you couldn't hear the music in that, go rent it, because everyone needs a little White Christmas in July or any other month for that matter.
So are we supposed to count our Blessings? Or maybe we're supposed to bless things.
That's the problem, like love or even Love, capital L and all, blessing can be a noun or a verb. It can be the act of gifting well wishes, random acts of kindness done or received, a prayer for a friend in need, something fairies do to babies according to all my favorite bedtime stories, or even swearing- a lot.
I'm going to rule out swearing. I have never particularily attributed potty-mouth to the man on the moon, and I most certainly don't think that the intent is to swear like a sailor, although my youngest nephew did whisper a few invectives tonight which just made me giggle on the inside while feigning shock.
So that again brings me back to this fuzzy verb v noun dilemma. Am I supposed to be thankful for blessings received or actively seek to bless others?
Surely by now, seeing as you're probably a little smarter than me, you see where this is going.
It's both.
Blessing is like love. Vital and alive. Organic. You bless me, I am greatful and joyful and through recieving blessings my capacity to give is broadened because I want to share that joy. Perhaps I find a way to bless you back, perhaps I bless someone else, but blessing has a way to grow like a living thing. Just as if I love you it brightens your spirit and makes you want to spread the love, blessing is organic.
Blessing is like a mother's milk and the more it is used, the greater the stores. Blessing isn't a zero sum gain. Like the mother nursing her baby, which is in itself blessing both given and gotten, the more the baby drinks, the more there will be for it to drink. Her breasts do not dry up for over suckling but rather refill according to their usage. Blessing is like that. Each time you are blessed or bless someone, there is a greater amount of blessing to be had. Blessing is not a commodity that can be used up, leaving you bereft of blessings. Blessing is not a glass filled halfway that for each drop lost or gained, that much air is lost or gained. Blessing is the water, and then the air, and the cup and the table it sits on and each awareness of blessing expands it even further. Just as having a second child doesn't lessen the amount of love you can feel for your first because your ability to love grows and expands through its use, so does blessing.
So yes, count your blessings. Remember each and every one of them. Enumerate them like a quiet prayer. It doesn't have to be private if you're bolder than I am, but count them. I am, and this day I have many. Count them. Acknowledge them and their power to transform you into someone a little closer to the person you want to be. Conut them, and then spread them.
Be both bless-ed and bless-or.
Bright Blessings on you and yours this night.

Babywearing is Love

Babywearing is Love.
It is sweetbaby held over my heart, a kiss away.
It is him so close he feels like he never left me, even though my skin's between us now.
It is private glances exchanged with trust filled eyes that have not worried or feared abandonment.
It is knowing that mama is there, only another layer of fabric away.
It is warmth.
It is cuddles although mama has things to do.
It is security.
It is peace of mind.
It is milky smiles without prying eyes.
It is nursing in the park without covering up.
It is hands free to hold baby or do the things baby needs, still with all the closeness of a hug.
Babywearing is love.


It is knowing he's safe because I can feel him.
It is reassurance.
Its silent joy that I am with him.
Its secret pride that he's content.
It is intuitively knowing the other's disposition because it is tactile, our body language not so visible, but communicated across our skin.
Its soothing swaying when he's weary.
It is a better view when he's awake.
It is protecting him from passersby.
It is protecting me from absent grief.
Its little fingers in my hair.
It is dozing forheads gently kissed in line at the post office.
It is doing what I have to do without giving up what I need to do.
Babywearing is love.



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