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Posts tagged ‘motherhood’

Oct 21

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Motherhood, writing, and nature

website-image-launchComing in January 2010: The Motherhood Muse, a new blog and literary magazine that you will definitely want to read. You might also be inspired to submit your own work. Check it out:

The Motherhood Muse is a literary magazine, created to encourage mother writers to rediscover and reconnect with nature through their bodies, minds, and souls. It is a creative writing source that inspires mother writers to share nature’s gifts with children through our actions and messages. Upon the birth of my second daughter I created The Motherhood Muse to bridge the gap between mothers and nature, so our children will not be detached from nature. This site will help mother writers find freedom, creativity, and privacy in nature, which will encourage our children to play where the wild things are. Through literature we seek connection with nature for ourselves and for our children. Why is this reunion between nature and people crucial? The answer is here!

The Motherhood Muse literary magazine and blog features original, brilliant creative writing that explores motherhood through the lens of nature, the female body, mind & spirit, and our children’s relationship with nature. We publish creative nonfiction essays, articles, fiction, poetry, columns and photos. The Motherhood Muse goes beyond a walk in the woods to rejuvenate our creative writing minds. We seek writing that explores the nature of motherhood on a deeper level to open our minds to the wonders of mother nature and our place in it.

Here at The Motherhood Muse mother writers find a comfortable, supportive nook for writing and discussing our journey in discovering ourselves as mothers and women in nature. The Writer’s Workshop provides literary information to help mother writers develop their craft in new, original ways.

The Motherhood Muse blog is a second resource for mother writers who wish to share more ideas and learn more about creative writing.

The concept of The Motherhood Muse is unique as it connects mother writers with nature through our bodies, minds, and souls. We strive to support mothers in their journey through the wild beauty of motherhood by sharing these works of literature.

Good luck to all at The Motherhood Muse — I look forward to reading the first issue.

Oct 20

5 Comments

Now for the “real life” blogger moms

momswithoutblogsLast week I ranted about the mannequin-style approach at Mom Bloggers Club. Amy and Emma-Jane pointed out that the site’s header depicts women who are clearly NOT at home trying to bang out a blog post on an old laptop with a shift key that no longer works while the forgotten broccoli steams to mush on the stove and the kids pull each other’s hair out in front of a Disney DVD.

Many of you who shared the pain may be glad to hear about Moms without Blogs, a site for mother bloggers and non-bloggers who DON’T aspire to be the Martha Stewarts of the web. Moms without Blogs is “a team of super-cool chicas from around the country (both with and without blogs) who are committed to building this community of average supermoms by sharing our stories as real modern-day mamas. We each contribute an original, distinct flavor and style to this enterprise but together we are ‘MWOB.'” From the site’s about page:

Moms without Blogs is a place for moms and women to congregate together, support one another and gain strength in the knowledge that we are not alone when we feel oh so far from having it all together.

There’s a ton of information these days flying around at moms and moms-to-be about what we need to do or should be doing to be “good” moms.  So much in fact that sometimes it’s hard to hear the most important voice of all — our own.

This space in the blogosphere is made up of women who are working hard to embrace our feelings of inadequacy as mothers and to remind ourselves that it’s okay to have a bad day, it’s okay to not have an organic meal prepared for dinner, it’s okay to not have a blog where we write about our fabulous educational outings with our kids, it’s okay to not to have an innovative craft project planned for a Saturday afternoon, it’s okay to yell at our kids from time to time, it’s okay to have piles of dirty laundry in the hallway, it’s okay to feel buried by an avalanche of paper, it’s okay to not want to enroll our kids in a slew of classes to make sure they are “exceptional”, and it’s okay to admit that the happiest time of the day is the end of the day when the kids are finally asleep.

And most of all, our mission over here at MWOB is that, although there are external signs everywhere pointing us in all kinds of directions telling us what it means to be a supermom, we know that the real truth is…

“Being a supermom is simply a state of mind.” So get yourself in the right state of mind and spread the word.

Now THAT’S a little more like it, wouldn’t you say?

Oct 12

8 Comments

The Divided Heart: Art and Motherhood

dividedheartLast year, while trawling the web, I came across mention of Rachel Power’s The Divided Heart: Art and Motherhood. The book’s scope was clearly related to my own work, so I immediately ordered a copy even though I had to order it directly from Red Dog, the Australian publisher. The book arrived in good stead — fat and enticing — but it took me nearly a year before making the time to read it while on vacation this August. I only wish I hadn’t waited so long.

Rachel Power explores the painful dichotomy that is inherent in being both a mother and an artist: “A divided heart; a split self; the sense that to succeed at one means to fail at the other.” Through profiles of professional creative women — many of whom are familiar names to an American audience — Rachel explores how the divided heart manifests for each artist. While every situation is different, there are undeniable — and affirming — commonalities. Rachel’s book is not prescriptive; rather it is an intimate exploration of what it means to be an artist and a mother.

The profiles are fascinating, but the most compelling parts of the book are the author’s introduction, first chapter, and conclusion — which are all personal and expository. Rachel Power is a beautiful writer, and her prose is brilliant and honest. Ultimately, I wished the book had included more of her own thoughts and analysis.

Here is an excerpt that will sell the book to this particular audience more than any reviewer’s pontification:

“I looked at the other mothers in the part in the hope of recognising something. But we were smiling, smiling, all noble silence. Inside, are you crushed? I wanted to ask them. Are you gazing at the planes that fly overhead with a barely disguised yearning? Are your legs restless to run? And then, do you see your child grinning proudly at you from the top of the slide and does your heart lurch? Does love storm through your body and cuase you to run toward that darling face as if you’ve never wanted anything more in your life?” (p. 15)

This, dear reader, is the divided heart. I know that you know it well. Fortunately, the book rings with optimism without glossing over the author’s premise: being an artist and a mother is inherently painful, but you CAN turn the experience into something beautiful and successful, if you try hard enough — and surrender to the rocky landscape. Rachel quotes Susan Rubein Suleiman: “…Any mother of young children…who wants to do serious creative work — with all that such work implies of the will to self-assertion, self-absorption, solitary grappling — must be prepared for the worst kind of struggle, which is the struggle against herself.”

The Aussie writer and blogger MamaMia (Mia Freedman) described The Divided Heart as “A book that changed my life” and posted a terrific interview with Rachel. In-depth blogger reviews abound; my favorites include Loobylu, PickleMeThis, and You can now order the book in hardcover through third parties at amazon, or a paperback via the publisher.

Rachel Power has her own blog, The Rachel Papers, which continues the conversation.

Without question, The Divided Heart is an important resource in our discussion and contemplation of motherhood and art.

Oct 8

5 Comments

Cathy: The Next Big Thing

crossposting from musings in mayhem

Why is it even when I have several projects I could be working on, narrowed to two that I am working on (read procrastinating) that I generally have at least part of my writer’s eye on The Next Big Thing?

This is also true in the home improvement arena, you should see what I’ve come up with for the addition now that we are paying a mortgage and have a yard of our own rather than renting a condo.

I mean I could also be focusing on getting those wonderfully folded piles from last week into dressers before starting this week’s loads. But I’m already a day late anyway, and have no earthly idea how it is that I wash the same five outfits per family member twice a week and there are still piles of folded and sorted laundry sitting from two weeks ago.

I’m planning next spring’s gardens while the plots are currently filled and continuing to fill with weeds. I really need to buy more sand to add to my clay soil which needs to be turned and covered, with compost, too, before I start plotting next year.

I am also dreaming baby names, when I know, logistics and physicality have set in stone that C is the last of my progeny. I am thinking of new baby names instead of being present with the three kids I have now.

I can use the baby names for characters, but that is the only technical resolve I have for this dilemma I have that the next thing is better than the present. It’s sparklier, it’s as tempting as a dessert sitting on the counter while I’m preparing dinner.

Something about the new, the imagined, the dreamed is much easier because I can keep my hands clean thinking about it while the dirty work of the present is a constant.

Maybe I just have trouble with finishing, with letting go, with saying finally, for the last time, that this version of the poem, the children’s novel, the article is good enough just the way it is.

I’m sure there is a psychological disorder with a big fancy name for this. It has conveniently slipped my mind.

Oct 7

11 Comments

London Evening Standard: Motherhood need not spell the end of literature

From the London Evening Standard‘s Sebastian Shakespeare:

There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall, wrote Cyril Connolly. Britain’s latest Nobel Laureate for Literature, Doris Lessing [at left], would doubtless agree. Lessing abandoned her two infant children (both under five) after leaving her first husband. “I had these two children and just couldn’t afford to keep them,” she said. Her two prams were not only enemies of promise but became emblematic of female poverty.

Some of the best female writers of the 20th century found it difficult to combine motherhood and creativity. Dame Muriel Spark walked out on her son when he was six to write novels and seek fame and fortune. She eventually cut her estranged son out of her multi-million pound will, leaving every penny of her assets to the female friend she lived with for 40 years.

Colette, who never wanted children, hardly ever saw her daughter, whom she left in the hands of an English nanny. She chillingly, albeit rather brilliantly, described children as “those happy unconscious little vampires who drain the maternal heart”. And as for Virginia Woolf, well, we all know what happened to her. The author of A Room of One’s Own, who argued that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction”, ended up without children and committed suicide.

My wife, who is writing a book, recites this litany of names above as proof positive that motherhood and creativity do not go hand in hand — and the reason why she is putting procreation on hold. And Lessing’s Laureateship is now the icing on her anti-natal cake. Doris has set my breeding programme back by five years. However, for every bad egg there are plenty of examples of model literary mothers. What about Toni Morrison (1993 Nobel Prize winner), who continues to collaborate with her musician son Slade on children’s books?

Motherhood, far from being a hindrance, can be a spur to creativity. Look at JK Rowling, one of the most successful writers of the modern (or any) era, worth £500 million, who was a single mother when she embarked on writing her Harry Potter books.

Connolly’s maxim is not only out of date — in my block of flats I can’t keep a pram in the communal hallway — but plain wrong. The whole point of the perambulator is that you should push it around. JK Rowling took her baby out for a walk in the pram because it was the only way to get her child to fall asleep while she scribbled away in various Edinburgh cafés. You could argue that there is no better friend of good art than the pram in the mall. And, if you are lucky, the little blighter might actually get round to reading your book as well. At least that is what I’ll be telling my wife. Will my argument change her mind? I’ll get back to you.

Sebastian seems to be trying to convince himself, doesn’t he? I don’t feel comforted. Is this little piece uplifting, or just depressing?

Oct 6

4 Comments

Kristine: My Love Affair

When anyone asks me why I stay up until all hours of the night writing fiction when I could be sleeping or getting a number of domestic duties done around the house, I tell them it’s because (a) I have insomnia, (b) I hate cleaning just about as much as I hate exercising, and (c) I love it.

Yes, I have a love affair with my writing. I believe all writers do. It’s what keeps our butts in our chairs crafting scenes, wrestling with the demands of our characters, and spending an hour trying to think up the perfect metaphor for how our characters are feeling when we could be watching Dancing With The Stars or clipping grocery store coupons. (Okay, I do clip coupons—we’re still in a recession, after all.)

As any serious writer will tell you, building a career as a novelist is hard. It will break your heart most days. You can spend years on a project only to have it hidden in a drawer after having it rejected by every agent in the country.  You can go broke if you don’t have a supplemental form of income (i.e., a day job). You can read every how-to book and attend every workshop out there and still sit in front of a blank computer screen feeling lost.

So why do we do it? Why do we suffer through the frustration and the angst and the tears in pursuit of the cherished published novel boasting our byline on the cover?

It’s the dream of someday breaking through the barrier and emerging into the inner circle of published authors. It’s the hope that one day our words will reach the masses and make a difference, perhaps even change the world. It’s the feeling of having achieved our life’s mission—to write a novel and prove to ourselves that yes, we can do it and yes, we are good enough.

At least, that’s how it is for me.

I’m closing in on the last part of my rewrite on a book that has taken me two years so far to write. Yes, I could tackle the piles of laundry sitting in my basement or the dust balls hidden underneath the bed, but not yet. As with anyone involved with a love affair, I’m going to follow my heart, and my heart tells me that the only place I need to be at this moment is at my computer. Writing.

Sep 25

11 Comments

Cathy: Not selling myself short

Crosspost from musings in mayhem.

The question of balancing motherhood and creativity arises constantly. The other day, I read a very interesting wake-up call over on and her head popped off. I loved the photograph of the mom going ahead with painting whilst her toddler hung upside down, squiggling on her lap. The mom in the photo is continuing her creative work regardless of being a mom as is the photographer and author. The essence of what Terri wrote was just shut up and do it. If you really want it, you’ll make it happen.

I think that’s why a lot of us mother-writers blog. It’s a piece of writing, that while it may not necessarily change the world or be the next Great American Novel, keeps us going. We can do it in the snatches of time during naps, or a bit of quiet while school aged kids are out of the house, in between loads of laundry and sinkfuls of dishes. We can focus for a few minutes, while our Big Project waits sometimes patiently, sometimes not so patiently for a chance to be the focus. We can do it while a wiggling toddler cuddles in for a snuggle while our fingers click away on a keyboard, like at this very moment that I write.

My old photography self of eons past has been relegated to largely okay pics of the kids and whatever catches my eye, with a little automatic easy camera rather than one I could make adjustments on, given the time and the perogative. The old dancer self still throws down in the kitchen periodically, albeit stiffly and ungainly. The old performer self regales at the dinner table in silly voices and fake opera, when I can get a word in edgewise among the constant stream of noise from all three kids. The old drawing self, will doodle now and then, and more often pretend large invisible canvases in sweeping gestures with my arms while I sit vegging out in front of the tv of an evening, too exhausted to do anything more. Honey must wonder what I’m doing over there, but is too polite or exhausted himself. Other times, I am making chi pottery, sitting with my hands balled around or manipulating invisible clay.

And I blog. I post something every weekday since I started this with the exception of when I took a summer excursion.

I know I have a manuscript that really wants to be finished and shopped. Believe me, if I could focus on that right now, I would. But when it comes to the big writing, I need more mental energy than I currently have. I also have three horizontal file drawers of poems and short stories that could use editing, compiling, submitting, as well as how many on the hard drive that need the same, and the three journals in my bedside drawer, dog-eared where good ideas are languishing. And then there’s that screenplay idea from about eight years ago that still won’t die, and I’ve lost the outline for ages ago.

But, for right now, This is what I can write, while I chase C away from the dog food again when things have gotten a bit too quiet. I’m doing a pretty fair job of it. And yes, I just wrote another very self-referential blog about blogging. But I’m doing it. I am writing.

Sep 15

3 Comments

On Being a Vessel

A beautiful and interesting post on motherhood and creativity at WishStudio from guest blogger Suzanne Sperl. An excerpt:

i believe somewhere i read a quote from goldie hawn in which she referred to motherhood as being a vessel for your children to pass through — both literally and figuratively. being on the cusp of the birth of our second child, i can see the wisdom in her words. our children are separate of us the moment they greet this world. our job as mothers is to nurture, guide, teach, listen, and expose them to the beauty and wonders of this world — but they will always experience this in their own unique and individual ways.

as i started thinking about this, i realized creativity too passes through us in much the very same way. some seedling of an idea, a thought, a poem, photograph or painting begins within us but quickly becomes much bigger than us and we must ‘birth’ those ideas into reality — but they are never truly our own nor do we control them. they are born from us, contain pieces of us, but they are separate of us — and greet the world this way.

so in thinking about all of this, i wondered why it is that creative people (more personally, this creative person) tend to fear the creation of their ideas? when i started to think about creativity in the same way that i have come to view motherhood — i was reminded that we truly control so little in our lives. and some of the most successful moments we face are those when we are brave enough to step out of our own way, let go of the invisible leash of control, and just allow the moments to pass through us without resistance. in doing so, we seem to find strength, wisdom, and creative courage.

Read the full post here.

Sep 7

6 Comments

Blog Spotlight: And Her Head Popped Off

The only thing better than discovering another very cool blog written by a creative mother is realizing that I actually KNOW the blogger, even if I use the term “know” rather loosely, as in, friend of a friend of a friend whose name rings a familiar bell.

terri3Such was the case with And Her Head Popped Off, the blog of photographer, writer, and mother of four Terri Fischer. Terri is a friend of Suzanne Révy, who you’ve met in these pages, and I think we have another connection as well.

Terri is the real deal. You’ve got to admire a woman whose About page goes like this:

Mine is a charmed and a blessed life, filled with beauty and lessons and joy.  Here I share my journey with you, as I precariously balance motherhood and creativity–two words that are at once both a paradox and a oneness.  I tend to alternate between obsessions, generally those that include writing, photography, and drawing, but…  these four (Kiki-9; Dimples-6; Mowgli-4; Shortcake-1) hoard most of my attention.

This is me, losing my fucking mind.

Maybe one or two of us can relate.

Check out Terri’s motherhood and creativity categories. Enjoy!

Aug 26

8 Comments

Cathy: Uninspired

I don’t know if it’s because I’m still waiting for some feedback on my manuscript, or because of the weather and time of year, or because I recently completed my first larger scale writing project since my thesis in college about 20 years ago, but for a couple months now, I have felt completely uninspired to write.

In the past, when I have felt this uninspired, I generally have felt depressed or frustrated by the absolute emptiness of my head. This time around I just feel pooped which can be attributed to the lack of sleep with a toddler who still wakes three times a night at least. The other feeling I have is vaguely satisfied, generally upbeat. Now, again, I’m not sure if this has anything to do with the manuscript or just maturity level over aged forty.

It’s summer and all the kids are as around as a teen can be when all his friends are back from their extended vacations that did not coincide with his visit to his father the previous month. S is always around, hovering upstairs drawing and reading or tapping me on the shoulder and Momming me repeatedly; and of course, Baby C is generally underfoot, when she’s not on top of something like Honey’s closed laptop on his desk. So, for me to sit in front of the computer is generally a continuously interrupted thing to do times three. During the school year, I generally have the mornings to myself, with my mother-in-law out doing her exercise thing (which is better than I can say for myself in that arena), and of course, C is still with me constantly.

I think some of this lack of inspiration is just the simple down time from writing something that was a huge deal for me to finish, so to speak. A first draft is a first draft, after all, and I am very aware that what I wrote is not a completed novel. But I wrote the story from beginning to end over one hundred pages. To me, that’s a big deal, not the page number, but the story arc, the things that the main character, who felt like one of my own kids, underwent and his growth and transformation.

I think this month especially has been one of considerable downtime, maybe a fallow field. Usually, when I lived in New England, anyway, the inspiration really starts popping like corn as soon as the first hint of autumn is in the air. So I wonder if some of this is just the dog days of a hot, humid August for me.

S’s eleventh birthday is on the 26th. This and Kenny’s advancement to high school and C’s toddlerdom have really had me considering the constant mutability of time. It seems not so long ago that my boys were C’s age, reaching those initial milestones. Time is simultaneously standing still and speeding by for me. I am constantly considering what is important to pay attention to in the long run, as my children are representing three distinct developmental stages.

I am also in the process of applying for positions outside of my home after a considerable amount of time in which I focused on my kids, my recovery after bedrest pregnancy and my manuscript. In some ways it was a necessary luxury, as Kelly mentioned in comments on Brittany’s recent post that must end. I took offense to the term luxury when Kelly used it, but I can see now is that it is a luxury to be able to be home, to be available to see the magic daily that is the kids growing and changing before my very eyes. Maybe some of the lack of inspiration can be attributed to refocusing on the outside world after being very insular for a long time.

While I have been very philosophically minded, I have not felt the urgency to write that has largely defined my life. This is the first time that to be so uninspired feels like a good thing.

Aug 10

13 Comments

Cathy: This too shall end…

This was posted on my blog before I retrieved my sons from their month-long visit with their father. I must have been missing them. A lot. I have them now and am not feeling nearly as wistful, typed with a grin.

I’m a Capricorn and I’m a parent. Capricorns are known for their penchant to give advice, and I have this penchant in spades. Being a parent, of course I give parenting advice all along, whether I really know what I’m talking about or not, but I’ve learned a few things over the years, including in the business of education pretty much since I left college. Kids are what I do. I even babysat from the time I was eleven years old. So if I know anything, it’s kids. Or to be more precise and professional about it, I know child development. As a parent of a child with Asperger’s Syndrome, I know child development intimately, and what it looks like when it is skewed. Small advice on that, trust your instincts, mom. If you think something isn’t quite right, tell your pediatrician and don’t let him or her give you the “oh, it’ll all even out eventually” speech. Get to the specialists, get the testing. If your kid is ok, it’ll show. If not, early intervention is the key to your child’s success.

But that is a topic for another day.

Today’s spouting of advice is to let you know, whatever you are experiencing as a parent will end eventually. This phase of development will end, whether it is the constant demand of a newborn that exhausts you all hours of the day and night, the toddler exploration that drives every tiny piece of muck from the floor into her mouth or the destruction of your home environment in ways you never imagined possible, the I wants and whines of a preschooler to a preteen or the back talk and eye rolls of your pre-teen to teen.

The nursing that seems to suck the life out of you will end. The nursing that gives the special closeness you never dreamed possible will end.

The constant curiosity and amazement with everything around him will end. The nice spitty sucked fingers in the outlet guaranteed to give a charge will end.

The exuberant jumping on or off the sofa will end. The intense focus on dinosaurs, legos, drawing will end. Well, maybe not, you may have an artist, builder, archeologist or Olympian long jumper on your hands, but what an incredible place to start.

The eye rolls and flip flop of hormonal emotions, the sneaking and secrecy, intense friendships and heart pulled deeply in any direction away from you will end. So will the late night or car ride talks when you have your teen alone. Those times when you’ll get a glimpse of this young man or woman and who they’ll be, how they are likely to handle the world on their own, and whether or not you will think, alright, they’ll be okay, or have to let go even if you think they won’t be okay. Then hope they’ll at least be alright, eventually.

In every phase of childhood and parenthood, you and your child will rise to meet each other, negotiate the constantly shifting sands of your landscape together to rise into an adult. A day will come when the constant aggravation of his climbing the stairs when the gate is undone, or opening the kitchen drawers or inserting paper or bologna or puzzle pieces into the VCR, DVD, Wii slot will become family lore to share and look back on wistfully or in hysteria. Remember the time Junior jumped off the garage roof and broke one wrist and sprained the other? Yea, that was hysterical! And then he’d ride his bike around the neighborhood no handed, cast and splint up in surrender! Remember the time the police brought Junior home because he was riding his bike around town center at midnight? Yea, what was he, twelve? Yea, yea! Remember the time Suzy smeared poop all over her bedroom wall by her crib? Hahaha!

The seemingly impossible to survive times are survived, and eventually reflected upon or laughed about. But don’t forget to mark and hold the good moments, too. The intimate moments bed snuggling with the newborn, their sweet, warm, musky smell, their translucent skin and peaceful sleep. Don’t forget to hold the full–out preschooler laughs over farts at the dinner table, the spaghetti covered face, the midnight bad dream slip into your bed by the nine year old. The sofa snuggle and popcorn on movie night. The way the sunlight hits her hair in the off-shore beach breeze, the scent of salt and sunscreen on his skin, snow angels and snowball fights. The moment your teen looks at you in one of those deep conversations that appear to be on the surface, and says, only with his eyes, yea, I get it, even when the rest of his body language says otherwise.

Don’t forget the milestones and everything in between, because all of it will come back to mind, rise to the surface and you’ll wonder when that phase ended, when the sands shifted and created these new dunes in her life. The old dunes were so familiar.

This too shall end and you can hold it dear, or let it slip away. Let the tough stuff wear away with time. Keep it all close to your heart, because it’s not just your child’s life that is growing and changing. It’s yours.

Jul 29

6 Comments

Kelly: Fresh Faces and Birthday Places

Cross posted from my blog: a little look at a day in the life…

So here we are…six years ago today I brought my girls into this world. I told you about their grand arrival on this earth here. I read about a self-portrait challenge on Cristi’s blog who read about it on Crystal’s blog who read about it on Tara’s blog (don’t you love the connectedness blogging brings?), and I thought that the girls’ birthday would be the ideal day to show my fresh face and include my girls. I’m not one for serious pictures (as obviously seen here), so we broke out the grins.

Having girls, I’m acutely aware of the pressure society often puts on us to look beautiful, with beauty products and quick fixes being major money makers. We all need to cherish our beauty, both inner and outer, and learn to feel comfortable in our own skin. What better example to set for our children?

So here I am in all my no make-up, no hair dryer glory. I don’t wear much make-up to begin with, so this isn’t much of a stretch! I couldn’t do the “first thing out of bed” picture because it’s still dark when I get up, so this is fresh out of the shower this morning.

The girls are still in their pajamas with messy hair. I love the picture of the three of us, Sarah just peeking up over the bottom of the frame. We’re sitting in the window seat in their room.

I took the day off today to spend the day with the girls for their birthday. After our morning photo shoot, we went to Yes You Canvas, which I first told you about here. Then I took them to their favorite lunch spot, Chick-fil-A, and then to see the movie G Force (the talking guinea pigs really were a hoot).

After a little shopping trip to Reddi-Arts and Target to spend their birthday money from Papa and Granddad, we capped the day off with dinner and birthday cake at Chowder Ted’s. Ted’s is one of those special neighborhood places, and we feel very blessed to have Ted and the gang within walking distance from our house.

The girls’ first trip there was at six weeks old and was actually their very first trip out of the house after coming home from the NICU. They sat on the tables in their carriers and slept the whole time, and we’ve spent every birthday dinner there since, the girls birthday, DH’s birthday and my birthday.

Ted and his wife Carole have become dear friends, and the whole Ted’s gang are like extended family for us. In the picture here are the girls with Teresa, Ted and Amy.

Thank you, Lord, for this family. I am truly blessed. Happy birthday, dear sweet baby girls.

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