oh the thrifts you can thrift

I loves me some thrift stores. While Rob was getting his latest tattoo worked on, B and I went to a thrift store that is really hit or miss. This time it was a hit.... minus the fact that its too crowded for shopping carts and I didn't have a stroller so B pitched a level 9 shit fit in the middle of it and instead of understanding "i've been there" looks from the old ladies at the register, I got the "what the hell are you subjecting us to?" glares. But, these little gems for $2 were worth the moment of pain. As soon as I got them home and on her feet, all I could think of was Loretta Lynn's cd VanLear Rose and the track called Little Red Shoes. Even though these are easily 4 sizes too big for the little B girl, she loved them too.

little red shoes from francieclarksen on Vimeo.

Hidden hellbilly sides...

We went out to another show last night. Its not uncommon for us to go out for some live music. In fact, sometimes I feel guilty that we leave Bridget home with a babysitter so often so we can go out to catch a show. Since we didn't take the camera, the best I can do is this picture of me modeling my new hat from the merch table. What was different was that it was an actual "get up, get sweaty, and dance.... throw yer fist in the air" kinda show. I grew up with the 90's as the soundtrack to my teen years. Mother Love Bone, Screaming Trees, & Alice in Chains got me pumped and I loved being in a crowded smokey room with bodies flying overhead and the swarming mosh pit in front of me. I even have my beloved old blue Doc Martens from back then. But over the years, my taste got a bit crunchier and I traded mosh pits for taper sections and girls spinning in patchwork dresses. From there I morphed into sit down and listen to the song and the story telling songwriter concerts. Until last night, I didn't realize how much it had changed on me. I forgot what it was like when folks battled to get 2 feet closer in the crowd. I'd lost my bag of tricks to keep my dancing bubble the right size. If you are passively watching the show and not dancing, folks will take advantage of that. If you dance like a fool and throw your elbows out a bit more, they avoid you for fear of getting hit. Jessica and I loved using that tactic in our single girl days. So, the show we saw was Hank Williams III. Looks like his grandpa and sings like the devil. He sings about poppin pills, smokin dope, and livin wild. Some of the time, I felt like a hypocrite and wondered if the guy next to me could tell that I was the mother of a toddler who goes to church and the only pill I pop is Aleve. But I pumped my fist and danced as hard as I could. I even felt the slightest urge to move closer to the mosh pit but decided that at 34ish, its not as cool to slam around with a bunch of sweaty disheveled guys. I did, however, laugh at a group of guys in the back of the venue who were trying to psyche themselves up to make their own 4 man mosh pit. I may not be cool enough for the front of the stage crowd anymore, but I'm not lame enough to create a poser pit in the back. Long story short, we had a blast. We admired the spectacular rockabilly hair and clothes, enjoyed the heck out of my gin and tonics, and thanked the stars above that we married people that see the value of live music and not being afraid of dancing when everyone around you thinks they're too cool to move their feet. So here's a little acoustic Hank III.... last night was a lot more down and dirty with the bad. His hellbilly and metal side, Assjack, tore it up and left my throat sore and ears ringing into the next day as well.

Give away heads up!

Its funny how my blog focus shifts as my hobbies change. Well, maybe not funny but interesting to me. Anyhoo, I've become a huuuge fan of everything photography lately and I wanted to pass along this give away. Her shots are so lucious and ethreal. It definetly inspires me to explore my home more and play with light.

http://paisleepress.blogspot.com/2010/10/photographer-crush-tracy-heyman.html


Go forth and be inspired!!! Pretty up your nest with her prints

my homies

I apologise for the 90's nostalgia with the title but Rob's been playing a lot of Sir Mixalot and Beastie Boys lately. We went to the pumpkin train today at the Railroad museum. No, it was not a train made out of gigantic pumpkins unfortunately. That was the totally awesome idea of one of the guys at church. We took B to it last year and I remember thinking that she was just the tiniest little shrimp back then.

The teeny little hand holding onto Rob's hand makes my heart ache just a wee bit. This little one that stole my heart with such ease just like her daddy did.

She definitely got more out of it this year. But with her complete lack of fear and lightening speed, we spent the better part of the morning dashing to grab her from ladders and steep steps. Case in point. Here is Bridget with her friend Lisa. There was no stopping Bridge at all. I will admit, next time she will either be in the ergo or on the puppy harness thing.

You may say "Where is her mother at this point?" Yeah, I'm totally guilty of taking pictures of my daughter trying to jump from a train instead of saving her. Ironically, the train they were on was the Safety First train.

And as I was laughing at the picture this evening, I was overcome with how thankful I am for the friends who don't have kids that stuck with us and are so patient and stay despite the random screaming fit & who don't roll their eyes when you tell yet another Bridget story. To our friends who choose to carry on conversations with my wacky little child and allow her to lead you in circles around the house while she looks for a cat. Thank you for the nights of babysitting on short notice and not minding the fact that we never stock the fridge with frozen pizzas, chips, or anything cool(except for the occasional six pack.) Couldn't do it without ya. So today, I'd like specifically to thank Lisa and Seth for coming out to the pumpkin patch(even though the ticket taker thought you were a little creepy for coming to a children's event without your own child) and helping us corral B.