your child's favorite

Monsters and squirrels and brooms, oh my!


If I had a little kid, these are the kinds of toys I'd want him or her to have. Handmade, fun. Funny. Beautiful. Sweet.


Parents are under a lot of pressure to provide kids with the toys all their friends have.


Grandparents, on the other hand...

AlyshellsCraftShack 

applenamos

sleepyking

BilberryWood

sandymastroni

deelind

BROOMCHICK

bumblebird

fuish

IsabellasArt

Fairyfolk

MamaWestWind

Neafus

harlequinlove

NiklynDesigns

WereRabbit2006

(all via etsy) 

You will always be your child's favorite toy. 

~ Vicki Lansky 

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

The World Needs More Zelda

It's easy, so long removed from childhood - my own, and my now-grown children's - to forget what enormous weight our simplest words and actions might carry for the child who is watching us. 


A simple teasing remark, "She almost named you Zelda!", takes on a life of its own, dropped like a seed into the fertile imagination of a sweet shy girl with a stash of crayons and glitter, and the next thing you know, a new child is born from that verdant ground, and Zelda herself emerges upon her glittery-maned unicorn, Summer.


Welcome, little one! Bring that Fairy Princess power on. The world needs more Zelda.

"Zelda's Story"

Summer, Zelda's unicorn pony

Love (heart), Zelda

Great niece Zelda, formerly known as Morgan

If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside

 over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift

 to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible

 that it would last throughout life. 

~ Rachel Carson

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

the plentiful imagery of the world

You want to see this 3 year old child recite this poem; it will fill you with wonder and hope and some unnameable thing that feels like watching the stars careen across the heavens, or the scent of heather on the moors:


Litany
by Billy Collins


You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.


Please, click through to watch if you haven't already. You'll be so pleased, and refreshed, and renewed. 


I promise.


http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

the world so sweet

I was a child in another age. I am not so foolish to think it was all, by default, a better time, but that it was less complicated is a simple fact. 

me

In grade school, we stood each morning - hands over hearts - faced the front of the room, and solemnly pledged our allegiance to flag and country. 

We learned to read with Dick and Jane (and Mother, Father, and Sally, and Spot and Puff), practiced our penmanship in Big Chief notebooks, and played tether-ball, four-square, kickball, or jumped rope during morning and afternoon recess. 

blueq.com

At lunchtime, we all lined up with our lunch-boxes or lunch money, and just before we walked through the door to file down the hall to the cafeteria, we sang, together, this song of gratitude:

Thank you for the world so sweet,

Thank you for the food we eat. 

Thank you for the birds that sing,

Thank you God for everything.

I welcomed any excuse to sing, and so would have loved this daily ritual for that alone. But I also loved the idea of the world so sweet, and the notion that there was so much to be thankful for that the only way to encompass it all was say thank you for everything. Ev-'ry-thing.


Since I wasn't raised in a church my idea of God was somewhat nebulous, but I was a smart little girl, and so deduced that God was responsible for the goodness of everything, and because I was also a polite and grateful little girl, I was happy to say Thank you every day.

imgfave.com

In many ways I haven't changed a bit.

So, again I say, from the bottom of my heart:

Thank you for the world so sweet,

Thank you for the food we eat. 

Thank you for the birds that sing,

Thank you God for everything.

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/