I am a dork, but it's genetic.

I may have mentioned once or twice that I am a Daddy's girl. I adore my mother, too, but in my manic-spastic-creative frenzies, I am my father. I channel my mama-san when we get down to the nitty gritty, and I want it done right. My dad is the supreme idea guy. They both have big gnarly brains, a fact that I am eternally grateful for, but they channel their energies differently.

My love of all things cheesy and over the top?

My dad.

I am working on a project that may or may not pan out for Christmas. Trying to respect the poverty and still give gifts I think are neat--meh, so far it's a maybe. But it involves a lot of felt. Little O positively swooned when she saw all of the scraps I was setting aside.

After promising not to cut off her sable locks with her safety scissors, she was given the bag to rifle through and cut up to her heart's content.

These are the very first thing she came up with, and while I loved her family of eternally resilient paper goldfish, these are my new favorite thing in the world:





She made little felt fingers. The colors kinda make them look like zombie fingers, don't they, Gretty?

I am soooo putting these at the top of ribbons and giving my parents bookmarks for Christmas. Maybe we'll write "You are here" on the ribbon.

The Honey thinks I've gone insane. He doesn't get how beautiful and sooo very genetic these fingers are. I think I am raising my kid right. Ten kinds of awesome in a six year old's brain.

Love my O's.