Finally, all finished.
Fabric paint on the soles of the slippers keep little ones from ice-skating around and hopefully prevent some of the falls that inevitably come at their age.
A crochet hook pulls the ribbon through to tie a bow. I went ahead and secured the bow with some needle and thread, hopefully warding off the endless re-tying.
Now, they’re ready to gift. Later this winter, I foresee myself making some in the larger sizes. 
photo by Andrew Kilgore
I remember the librarian in first or third grade saying that they weren’t binding books any more (with the plastic spiral binding), but she would for me. I would tell stories to my great-grandmother. Now I get to make up stories for my kids; all four of them like to listen, though not usually at the same time.
This blog starts as an extension of my creative journey, a way to share my writing with others, skipping the formal publishing and using trees part. (Though one day, I will hopefully have a printed to book to share, printed on recycled paper.) I accept the notion of being a “mom blogger” since I suppose there are worse things to be called, but I know at the heart of the matter, I am who I am.
I have a dear husband who supports all my efforts. I could probably write several essays on what I believe, ranging from birth to death, Christianity to Buddhism, cleaning to art. He would listen to every one and tell me how wonderful I am at the end.
Hopefully doing this will enhance my life, my family’s life, and perhaps even yours. What I write on this blog is mostly not fiction, though some days it may seem like it; when it is, I’ll mark it as such. Everyday life has a way of creating its own stories; it just needs a voice, or in this case, fingers, to do the typing.
May we all live in the richness of life, in the simple, everyday wonders.