I have been inspired by some things in my reader this week and want to share them with you.

I found Kimba doing this lovely tablecloth project over at A Soft Place to Land. It involves a painters drop-cloth and taping paper to a siding glass door. I won't be doing this for Thanksgiving, as it's tomorrow and I still have lots of things to finish before then (not the least of which being world peace). But it could still be done for Christmas or birthdays or any number of occasions.

With this post Shutter Sisters reminds us that sometimes the best holiday photo cards come just after the passing of gas.

Speaking of Christmas, Meredith at Like Merchant Ships posted a video from this website that had me nearly standing on my laptop in applause. I dare you to watch it.

So Happy Thanksgiving. Now go and be inspired.

Thanksgiving is only three days away. As I prepare to gather with family and friends, I can feel myself beginning to sweat the small stuff. I am making lists in my head that include things like paint front door and purge house of all clutter and world peace. In the midst of the planning, I am reminded not to take myself too seriously.
I have a habit of doing that, being too serious in my head about things that aren't all that important. I'm going to take my cue from my niece and enjoy each moment as it comes. I wish the same for you.

Snow doesn't usually fall here in November. I'm not sure it was in the forecast for today. We simply woke up to one excited voice exclaiming "It snowed!" And so it did.
Within minutes, we were all outside in coat-covered jammies, hair un-brushed, eyes wide with wonder, to take in the first snow of the season. The kids weren't sure what to do, as it was only enough snow to show off but not so much they could really play.

So they simply stood in the midst of it. They touched it. They tasted it. They smiled at this most unexpected gift.

I want to be as they are when the unexpected shows up. Rather than fret and plan and wring my hands, I want to step into the unexpected with gratitude and delight...hair un-brushed and eyes wide open.

Speaking of making space, I am trying to de-clutter because I can't find my iPod and we have too much stuff and I think Simple Mom is cool.

The following items are standing in my way.

• One special edition pop-out map of Atlanta. It fits in my pocket! Granted I haven't been to Atlanta in over 3 years and I don't have plans to go. But when I do go, how cool would it be to have a special edition pop-out map?!

• teeny tiny earrings that I'll never wear but my MIL told me not to sell at a yard sale because she bought them for me and well, they're real. Don't ask me what kind of real because I don't know. But it basically means I can't donate them, sell them or throw them away.
  

• two small, momma/child figurines brought straight from the home of The Man's very healthy and delightful 95-year-old grandmother who has been getting rid of things for the past 10 years because she believes she will surely die soon but she "just keeps breathing!" (her words not mine). (hence the quotes).
  

And. As if those things weren't enough. Look what FedEx brought to my door last week.
Four boxes filled with everything from our totaled car. It was towed from the scene of the accident to a lot out of town so they had to ship all of our things to us. I was all put out because we hadn't gotten our things out earlier and it was so inconvenient to have to wait for our things and when is it all gonna get here anyway? I need my things!
Here they are. Here are my things. My very important, can't-live-without-you - things. Can I begin to explain to you how discouraging it is to get a box of trash in the mail? How about FOUR BOXES OF TRASH? Seriously, did I drive around with all this trash in my car all the time? Am I a person? Because I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I have whiskers and a really long tail.

Nothing says "de-clutter" like having FedEx back their ginormous truck into your driveway and deliver four boxes of your very important trash. At least it was easy to throw all that away. But what to do with the pop-out map of Atlanta?

The restaurant was only half full but the table was crowded: five adults and four children gathered around two squares pulled together with plates and food and napkins piled high.

The Man and his brother had gone to get the drinks and found us all settled in our seats upon their return. Only two chairs were left, right next to one another, crowded between our four-year-old on one end and me on the other, our not-so-small son heavy on my lap, stealing a pre-dinner nap.

The brothers hesitated, glancing at one another as if to see which one was going to eat at another restaurant, as no one could possibly expect these two over six-feet-tall men to squeeze into this tiny space, much less eat there with all the elbow action and room a man needs to consume food properly.

They needed space. Technically speaking, the space was there. They could have sat next to each other. They could have made it work. But there would have been no room for a dropped fork under the table or simultaneous bites, not to mention conversation.

There would have been no room to breathe.

I need room to breathe, too. I need space in my days and weeks and months to think and mull and ponder. Even as I have cut back on appointments and outings and commitments, I still find myself awake past my bedtime to simply soak in the quiet. My soul needs space. And it doesn't come easy. It doesn't come without a price and it doesn't come on its own.

I have to make it come. Because life is messy and fluid and maddeningly unpredictable.

That is why I have to plan for space. Because when the fork drops, I want the opportunity to take my time, stoop down in my seat, take all the room I need and pick it up proper without harming the people around me or bumping my head on the bottom of the table.

I love to take photos. I love to look at photos. But I can't manage to get a single scrapbook finished.

I have tried to be a scrapbooker. Oh, how I have tried. I went through a scrapbooking phase when I was pregnant with our third child. It lasted about as long as my third trimester. All I have to show for it now is three children and three equally unfinished scrapbooks.

I felt guilty about that for a while. Not necessarily the fact that I didn't have a beautiful scrapbook. Rather, I was discouraged that I kept starting things without finishing them. And I was worried that my kids would grow up to feel neglected and unwanted because their mother couldn't document their lives past the day they came home from the hospital.

The guilt continued until I realized the reason I like scrapbooks is because of the photos.
Oh yeah. The photos. So I gave up the visions of becoming a ribbon/sticker/colored-paper whiz and settled on the fact that I just wanted a way to display the photos I had leftover from the days of film. So many photos. Rows and rows of them in drawers, waiting for embellishment with polka-dot paper and cute little bows. No longer.
I found this photo album at Target. Lots of places have them, but when I saw this one I hadn't ever seen one like it before. It has room for five photos on a page: three horizontal and two vertical. I liked the idea of that. So I bought three. And they sat on my shelf for a long time empty.
Until one day, I sat down and filled one. In a little over an hour, I had an album filled with our trip to Spain for The Man's brothers wedding. The trip we took in 2003.
I even labeled a few pages by writing on the back of a 4x6 index card because I'm fancy like that.
If you are a person who has beautiful scrapbooks of your children sitting on your shelves, I respectfully salute you for your ability to focus on the project and see it to completion and for your general awesomeness. But if you are like me and your scrapbook is more scrap than book, I highly recommend getting yourself an album you love and filling it up. It isn't perfect. But it's finished. These days, that is all the perfect I need.

**Edited: Several of you have asked about this album. It is called the "Umbra Horizon 5 Up Photo Album" and it holds 260 photos. If you Google "5 Up Photo Album" there are lots of colors and styles. Sorry my link didn't work earlier.

Everyone has a story.

Every story is important.

Just because you can't tell it perfectly doesn't mean you shouldn't tell it at all.

Just because it may have already been said doesn't mean you shouldn't say it, too.

Just because you aren't the best one doesn't mean you can't be one.

You may not be famous for it. You may not have invented it. But you still need to say it, to speak your story out loud, to see who might be listening.

Because everyone has a story. And one of them needs to hear yours.

When, exactly, did play become work?

I remember playing with Barbies in the summertime for entire days, stopping only to eat and use the bathroom. Our Barbies would go through high school, fall in love, get married and have babies all in the course of one long, Indiana summer day. We picked wardrobes. We placed furniture. We had multiple "houses" rigged up in our room. When the day was over and it was time to go to bed, we would wake up the next morning and start again.

I have been playing house with my kids for the last 45 minutes. And I think I'm going to die. Like, DIE of tiredness. I am always the mommy. Always. I try to convince them to let me be the dog, but they won't allow it anymore ever since that time I curled up in the corner and took a nap. I tried to tell them I was an old dog. They didn't buy it.

I have also tried to be the baby. The sick baby who needs lots of rest. They don't let me be the baby anymore, either.

Chickadee from A Familiar Path once wrote about how she loves to listen to her kids play. She just doesn't always love joining in. That is exactly how I feel. I could listen to their dramatic and relational stories all day; their voices a simple melody chirping in the background while I sweep. But sometimes they are discontent being my background music. They want me to be the lead singer.

I have to force myself to sit down and play. I have to force myself to interact. Sometimes its fun, sometimes its work, but one thing is certain: I never regret it.

This morning, my daughter was watching me put laundry in the washing machine and she curiously asked: Where is that water coming from?

The following is my brilliant and attentive answer:

Well, it's the washer and that's just how it's made and there's pipes and that's how it works.

I think I do this sort of thing more often than I would like to admit. You know, giving an answer that isn't really an answer but has lots of words so maybe that will satisfy the four year old. Sometimes it does. But not always.

Can you think of any brainless answers you've given lately? Please do. Make me feel better.

Those Creative Women had their show on Saturday and, since I have no goods to sell, I did my best to capture the work of their creative hands.
Kendra at My First Kitchen sold her homemade spices. Just look at these tiny jars. They were my favorite.
The Nester celebrated her birthday by selling her lovely tassels. Doesn't that chocolate lab tassel look like a real chocolate lab? As in, let me bite your head off on Easter?
Kendra's mom of Imagery Limited was there with lots of stained glass lovelies. I wanted all of them.
Here are some of the necklaces Melody makes. I wanted to buy one but guess what I left at home? That's right. ALL MY MONEY. Who comes to a show like this with no money? The tagalong little sister, that's who.

As much as I loved all the creative goods, my most favorite part of the day was mingling with all of the women who came to the show, both new friends and old.
Here's Sissy from Out on a Limb getting a quick consultation from The Nester. Yes, she brought photos from home. And she wasn't the only one who did this, by the way.
Look who else came. It's June from Bye, Bye Pie! She had a tassel on her head within 25 seconds of entering the door. Full of laughs, that one. And she evidently she can't keep her hands off her chest.
Students came too. See that one there in the middle? She reads Bye, Bye Pie during school hours and then calls her classmates to gather round the computer and laugh. So June, don't be surprised if you are nominated for a senior superlative because these cool kids are totally into you.
These girls may get the award for who traveled farthest (furthest?) for the show. Pink and Polka Dot and Everyday Grace (who has a private blog) drove from out of town to chat, mingle and browse. They may or may not have bought tassels. They may or may not have brought us presents. It may or may not have been my favorite part of the day. I just love the blog world.

In closing, let me leave you with some of the families involved in the day:
Here's Kendra with her beautiful sister Hannah and their uber talented mom, Cindy.
Look! It's Lauren with her lovely sister Amanda. She also brought her fiance Justin who was semi-famous among the women at the show as he was A. one of the only men in attendance and B. we've all seen his photos on her blog.
Kristin and her mom smile for me just after making their purchases. Don't they look happy? If you missed out on the show but would still like to buy a few gifts for Christmas, all these girls have Etsy shops so check them out.

I felt compelled to share these photos, as it was my craft for the day. Thanks for reading and happy shopping.

The book I came to buy was not easy to find. As I searched the crowded shelves, a quick movement to my left caught my attention.

As her mother browsed the books, the little girl by her side passed the time. She she danced with small, secret movements. Twice she glanced in my direction, pleasantly aware of her only audience. Perhaps she was remembering steps she learned that week in dance class. It was obvious to me that in her head, those movements were much larger, graceful and real. As I watched her from the corner of my eye, a thought occurred to me.

This little girl will probably never become a famous ballet dancer. Perhaps she doesn't even desire that. At best, she will dance her way through college, possibly on a scholarship. Most likely, her interest in ballet dancing will fade as she enters high school where school spirit and team sports are emphasized. She may choose to join one of them, or she may not. Either way, her extra-curricular specialty will become only a past-time or a word on a future list of hobbies or a conversation piece.

That leaves her with only one conclusion: ballet dancing is not for later. Ballet dancing is for now. That little girl doesn't have to be taught to dream of dancing forever. She does that naturally. But what would it take to convince her that dancing is for now?

Have you ever had the sense you are waiting for something? In the waiting, there is an expectation that things are going to change and that right now isn't as important as later. What will it take to convince me that right now is later?

I'm so excited about this Saturday November 8. If you are local, you won't want to miss out on a gathering of talent at Kendra's house this weekend. Click on the icon for the details. There will be food. There will be jewelry. There will be stained glass art. There will be Nester tassels-a-plenty.

And of course there will be me, the tag-a-long little sister. I have no talent to sell. I will stand around and make people laugh with my fabulous wit while undoubtedly stuffing my face to feed my ever expanding muffin top. And I might take a few photos for kicks.

So come. Eat. Be merry. Buy a few Christmas gifts. Or not. But come. It's gonna be great!

If you are heading to the polls today, don't forget to listen in on those around you as you stand in line to vote. I'd love to hear your favorite quote from your sly eavesdropping. My voting experience was so very entertaining that I couldn't possibly include it all in my last post. One of my favorite quotes from a fellow voter happened as follows:

After waiting over an hour, I glanced up as a group of three young girls walked into the crowded recreation center. They nearly spilled their Starbucks as they took one look at the line. Then, one of them walked confidently to a man who worked at the center and said in a loud, valley girl voice: "Can't we just like, go up to the window and vote?"

Yes she did. And, when the man said no, she actually huffed. She huffed, people. There may have even been an eye roll. I'm surprised she didn't fall over from all of our grownup eyes boring into the back of her sloppy pony-tailed head. I think we all stood collectively taller as she and her cohorts sauntered to the back of the line. Justice had been served. The people were satisfied. Democracy at its finest.

Now that it's almost over, I can't say I will miss the political ads. But there is a twinge of sadness as I bid farewell to all the personal phone calls I have been getting. Both Michelle and Barack Obama have called during this election season. Tonight, it was Hank Williams Jr. And last week, Stevie Wonder actually sang to me. He called to say he loved me. So sweet.

I just love living in a swing state.