Saturday, March 12, 2011

Buttons and Elliott's Car Book

Okay, so I've figured out the weird bold thing... you have to click in a space to the right of the eraser. It showed up one day, a little white thing, and I clicked it, and then the bold thing stopped happening. Now it's not showing up anymore, but I click there, and my text is normal again without having to do the strange bold/unbold dance. I feel a bit like I've just figured out some deep blogger secret... Maybe programmers sit around, staring at their screens, watching us battle it out with these editor systems because we are the lowly ones who don't do our own HTML, or whatever the heck they use now, and we have to use interfaces built by THEM, the REAL power of the internet blog... mwahahahaha...

All I can say is, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?"

Anyway. I finished packaging up my buttons for Tempe Yarn and Fiber. Here they are:


How ridiculously cute are those? I seriously almost don't even feel like I can take credit for them. They just happened one day. God said, "Let there be coffee bean buttons for My Kathy's FreshPrinceFrenchPress." And there were buttons. And it was good.

Random possibly controversial tangent, but not intended that way: Someone just cringed because I typed out "God", but if I had said that the universe must have told me to do the buttons, you'd be fine. "The universe" is really a modern euphemism meant to replace "God" for those who don't believe in Him, but still believe that there's some power out there. It makes no sense to me. I'm saying "God". For one, it's shorter, and for another, it's more accurate. And I'm a Christian, for Heaven's sake. But I like to think I'm a Christian who can actually think, like, I can celebrate Halloween because I'm willing to celebrate Christmas. That kind of stuff.

(Whoa, did she just go there!? She just went there!) Sorry if I just offended any other Christian by saying that. But it's true. But I am sorry.

Okay, I feel better. Here's the book I made for my baby:


The child is obsessed with cars. I mean, OBSESSED. Like, almost to the point that it's unhealthy. Every single time he gets his hands on a piece of paper, he wants me or Adam or my grandma to draw him pictures of all of our cars. I can't even count how many pictures of these cars I've drawn for him in the last few months. I decided to circumvent this process by making him a mini album featuring pictures of all of the cars he makes us draw.


I'm throwing in the letters because he loves letters, too. And it was just too handy to make pockets. So far, I've done uppercase and lowercase letters and numbers. Next, I'll add shapes and whatnot, as I add more pages to the album as I get more pictures of cars for him. I love this mini album design because it is really easy to add pages on at the end.

I plan to decorate the pages more later. But this has to be good enough for now because I intend to leave it with him when I abandon him at my grandma's house and take Thad to karate. Sometimes Elliott is fine with this... He just plays with cars or wants to watch "treehouse" (Madame Blueberry) or something, and he basically says, "Go away, Mom, Nanny's house is much cooler than you." But other times he just breaks down and sobs and it's heartbreaking, but what am I going to do? Truck him around with me everywhere I go so that he never gets used to it, or teach him a valuable lesson that he can survive in the care of others and I'll always come back for him?

I might have just touched another nerve. I'm in kind of a naughty mood today. Netflix changed the queue on PS3 and it RULES again. (Thanks, Netflix people... I love you!) So I guess the primary source of irritation in my life is now gone and I'm floundering around, and all the other ones that were repressed in the horror of the SUCK queue are starting to surface again.

And I remain, as always, completely grateful, and full of praise for the fact that the Netflix INSTANT queue on my PLAYSTATION 3 being sucky was the worst problem in my life for a while. I have it so good. It's because I'm blessed.

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