Tuesday, May 22, 2012 at 4:34 PM Hooray! I'm happy to announce the winners of the first SmittenBlog Uncommon Goods giveaway! The winners were chosen completely at random using Random.org.
Winner #1: Erica W. won the owl tea set.
Winner #2: Shawn D. won the owl bowls.
Ladies, please contact me with your mailing addresses, and I'll get these shipped to you this week. Thanks to all who entered.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012 at 12:36 PM It's no secret that I have a thing for birds. I've been "putting a bird on it" long before putting a bird on it was a thing (and before that thing got a hilarious send-up on "Portlandia." Watch it and love it below.) I don't know how it happened, but one day I looked around my house and saw birds all over it—on salt and pepper shakers, on tea towels, on tote bags. I had put a bird on my life and didn't even realize it.
When I was a kid, we didn't have central air in our house until I was finishing high school, and I never had an air-conditioner in my bedroom. Sometimes, the heat was pretty unbearable, but I loved waking up to the sounds of birds in the morning (provided those birds weren't too early).
We're all drawn to different things—patterns, shapes, silhouettes, colors, typography—for reasons that may be obvious or may be unexplained. While I do feel a sentimental attachment to birds—a dear friend's nickname for me, a tattoo I share with my sister and sister-in-law in memory of my niece, the necklace my husband gave to me after our son was born—I am mostly drawn to their independent natures, their whimsy. Or maybe I just like the way they look. Hard to say.
One thing I know is that birds say springtime to me, so to celebrate the start of May, I wanted to curate a collection of bird-themed lovelies I've found on the Interwebs.
And, as a special treat, my friends at Uncommon Goods have sent me TWO ITEMS to give away to lucky readers! I'll post instructions for the giveaway at the bottom of this post. Be sure to enter!
Without further ado, some pretty tweet (sorry) bird goods from around the web:
Clockwise, from top left:
1. A whimsical way to add a dash of color. Mid-century design–inspired bird poster print (A3 size: 11.7 x 16.5 inches), from Peanut Oak Print, Etsy.com, $19. (Frame not included.)
2. Tea time feels a little fancier with an actual tea set, but these big-eyed owls keep it from feeling stuffy. Handpainted owl tea set (stainless steel and stoneware). Hand-wash only, not microwave safe. Made in Japan. From Uncommon Goods, $50. WIN THIS!
3. The perfect ice cream bowls! Jewel Japan glazed ceramic owl bowls (set of 3). Dishwasher and microwave safe. Made in Japan. From Uncommon Goods, $30. WIN THIS!
4. For the snarky among us, may I offer this greeting card/magnet set. (Don't miss the shop's Golden Girls magnets and Joan Crawford Mother's Day cards.) From Seas and Peas, Etsy.com, $4.
5. This hardcarved rubber bird stamp has a '70s vibe. I can almost hear the Partridge Family now. From Sweet Spot Stamp Shop, Etsy.com, $7.99.
6. Charley Harper's wildlife illustrations are amazing, and I love that this one is called "A Good World." Check out this print and more at Charley Harper Prints, $50 unframed.
7. I have lots of online calendars and reminder thing-a-ma-bobs that are supposed to keep me organized, but I still manage to always come back to an old-school paper planner. This one is bright and cheerful enough to make you actually look forward to tackling that to-do list. And it includes a reminder on the cover to "write every day." Wise words indeed. Avian Friends Planner, from Galison/Mudpuppy, $14.
8. Caged bird no more! I love the "Be Free" sterling-silver sparrow necklace from Devin Michaels, Etsy.com, $18.50.
So, interested in winning something? Two winners will be chosen at random for the tea set and the owl bowls. Here are the rules:
1. Add a comment to this or another post here on SmittenBlog. Tell me what you like, what doesn't work for you, or what you'd like me to write about next.
2. Post a link to this page on Twitter OR like Uncommon Goods on Facebook. (Please include @stephwit and @UncommonGoods—in your tweet.) You can post a link to this page on the Uncommon Goods Facebook page, too, if you'd like. (http://www.facebook.com/uncommongoods)
Optional, but your entry will count twice:
3. Sign up to receive the Uncommon Goods newsletter and to vote on a product on the UG website. (It's quick and painless, I swear!)
The contest ends on Sunday, May 20, at 12 p.m. The two winners will be selected at random and will be announced here and on my Facebook and Twitter pages on Monday, May 21. I'll be shipping the prizes soon afterward.
Spread the word, and good luck!
And for more gift ideas, check out these other collections from Uncommon Goods:
• Fun gifts for the ladies in your life (ahem, Mother's Day is right around the corner!)
Sunday, April 1, 2012 at 5:04 PM Today was the first day that I could hang clothes on my brand-new clothesline. (Yes, these are the things that excite me now.) It's one of those cool, retro, umbrella-like ones that are metal and spin when it's windy. I've wanted one for literally years, but we never got around to getting one until just recently. Every time I did laundry on a sunny, warm day, I felt guilty tossing the wet clothes into the dryer and felt like I was wasting the sunshine.
It felt momentous, hanging clothes on the line to dry, like I'm a real grown-up. It's strange, the times when I feel like an adult and the times I don't. I'll be 36 in a few months, which is closer to 40 than it is to 30. 40! I have a child, a husband, a house, a Subaru. I went to bed at 9:00 last night (a Saturday, mind you), and it felt like the most decadent thing I've done in a while. I'm getting gray hairs like it's my job. But during my day-to-day, I don't really think much about those big, obvious neons signs that point to my adulthood. Instead, grownup-dom hits me hard at odd, unexpected times, like in cartoons and old movies when someone steps on a rake and smacks themselves in the face. (By the way, has that ever happened to anyone in real life?)
Compare this to the night before, when my book club went to the movies to see "The Hunger Games" and felt like five old ladies in a sea of tweens. Right before the movie started, I dropped my iPhone into the theater toilet. Thanks in part to my Katniss-like reflexes and a bag of rice, I was able to save the phone, but did I feel like a grown-up yelling "Nooooooooo!" and plunging my hand into a public toilet? No. No, I did not.
Moving on. This afternoon, Benjamin was taking a nap (or not taking one, as the case may be, opting instead to chat with the multitude of stuffed animals in his bed) and my husband was puttering or something somewhere, and I decided to give the new clothesline a whirl. The sky was cobalt and dotted with whipped-cream clouds, and a slight breeze rustled the new, tentative leaves on the trees. In other words, it was perfect clothesline weather. I pulled the damp clothes out of the washing machine, mounded them into the basket, and made my way to the backyard. I picked up one wet towel after another, one wet undershirt after another, and hung them in rows, clipping pins to them. It was almost completely quiet, save for an errant dog bark or passing car. I found myself absorbed in the task, its mundane repetition hypnotic.
And then the wet scent of the clean clothes interrupted the reverie, and I thought of my grandmother and my mother. I thought of watching my grandma from my seat on the porch, gently rubbing my fingers across the hens and chicks planted in old men's shoes like bookends on the steps, looking away embarrassed when she hung my grandfather's boxer shorts or one of her bras on the line. I remember talking to my mother as a preteen about troubles with the mean girls at school as she hung the clothes on our line, weaving in and out of the rows of towels and feeling hidden, safe and secure.
When I was growing up, my mother rarely used the dryer to dry clothes, except during the winter. Our sheets, towels and clothes always felt crisp and were a little wrinkled. I couldn't understand why she didn't use dryer sheets like my friends' moms did, just like I couldn't understand why she bought wheat bread and made us recycle. Our clothes never smelled like Spring Meadows or Fresh Rains---they just smelled like clothes. And it was wonderful.
I was looking forward to taking a shower and using a crunchy, fresh towel tomorrow, but the weather had other plans. Not 30 minutes after I hung the clothes, the clouds started to spread across the sky and turn a pale gray. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.
Before I forget, I've got some exciting news to share! I've been invited by Uncommon Goods to pair up to review and give away some of the company's awesome gifts and home goods. It's one of my favorite shopping websites, and I've been a regular customer of theirs for years, so it's a huge honor to have been contacted by them.
Stay tuned for my next post and to enter for a chance to win a most excellent item from Uncommon Goods!
Hunger Games, Katniss, Uncommon Goods, clothes, clothesline, contest, giveaway, growing up, iPhone, memories Musings Wednesday, February 15, 2012 at 11:51 AM Having a child has reinvigorated my own excitement about holidays --- even Valentine's Day. Benjamin is my ultimate valentine, and it was fun celebrating with him.
Last Sunday, we all congregated at my parents' house to celebrate my dad's birthday and eat a heart-shaped, half-coconut cake my mom made for Valentine's Day. (My crazy siblings don't like coconut. Weirdos.) After the sugar kicked in, Benjamin and my niece Maia ran around pretending to be cheetahs, while the rest of us carried on and cheered and clapped when my younger niece, Vera, said the word "purple" for the first time.
Before the party, Benjamin painted his own valentines for his cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. The one on the bottom right is my favorite. It looks like Mr. Peanut holding a giant spoon.
Although I didn't have the chance to decorate and be as crafty as I wanted, I did make these chocolate pretzel buttons with Hershey's Hugs and Valentine's Day–colored M&Ms. So easy, and totally addictive.
These were a Pinterest find, and they could not have been easier. I lined a baking sheet with parchment paper. On square pretzel bites, place one Hug (or Kiss --- I like the stripes on the Hugs). I think there were about 80 Hugs in one regular-sized bag, so prepared to make quite a few. Bake them in a 200-degree oven for 4 to 5 minutes, until the chocolate gets shiny and just starts to melt. Pull them out of the oven, and gently place one M&M in the middle, pushing down ever so slightly. I let them rest for about 15 minutes and then I wrapped the entire baking sheet with foil and stuck it in the fridge to cool.
One thing I wish I would've done and only thought to do after it was too late was to drag a toothpick through the melty stripes to make zigzags. I'll save that for next time.
Scott and I are having our grown-up date on Friday night. (We going here. Can. Not. Wait.) Last night, we took Benjamin to a Japanese place for dinner so he could try hibachi for the first time. The big flames scared him, and he burst into tears right away. Oops. It didn't bode well for the rest of dinner, but he got into after a while and loved all the chopping, flipping and squirting of sake into his parents' mouths. (We liked that part, too.) Normally, I would not be into all the theatrics of a hibachi place, but with a kid, it's pretty fun. Dinner and a show!
He scarfed down his dinner and then proclaimed on the way home: "I don't like fire and I also don't like fire hydrants, but I do like fire trucks and ambulances and police cars."
Alrighty. Glad we cleared that up.
Friday, February 3, 2012 at 8:44 AM Last night in my yoga class, I finally was able to do what I've been calling my "nemesis pose": bakasana, or crow/crane pose.
[That's bakasana, but that's not me in the picture — not by a long shot. I borrowed it from here.]
Referring to one of the asanas as my "nemesis" is not yogic (new word!) in any way. What matters is that I saw bakasana, thought it looked super-cool and wanted to do it, too.
But, the thing was, I couldn't. Not for months. I'd try and try almost every day, even laying piles of pillows in front of me in the event I fell on my face (which I did, several times). I watched videos of people doing it on YouTube. They made it look so easy, which further annoyed me that I couldn't do it.
And then one day, I just stopped trying. I didn't give up, exactly, but I just stopped trying. I am not a proponent of anyone quitting anything, but I do think that we need to step back from things and reassess sometimes. I figured that someday I would be able to do it, just like I can do wheel and plow and side plank pose, which I definitely could not do when I first started practicing yoga last spring.
But last night, I did it. I could tell we were moving toward bakasana when the instructor, Lisa, had us squat down into garland pose and place our palms on the mat in front of us. "Here it comes," I thought to myself. She walked us through step by step until we got to the big moment: lifting both feet off the ground. I let my eyes flit around for a moment to see who could do it, and then I reminded myself that if everyone else in the class or no one else in the class could do it, that had no bearing on my bakasana.
I planted my palms again. I nestled the backs of my arms into my knees. I tucked my body and rounded my back. I lifted up onto my tiptoes and walked my feet slowly toward each other. I took a deep breath and leaned forward. I picked one foot up and then put it down. I picked the other foot up and then put it down. I exhaled and picked up both feet. For one glorious second, I was flying.
Yoga has taught me so much, and one difficult lesson is that I cannot, in fact, do it all — not always exactly when and how I want to, anyway. I was raised to believe that if I worked hard enough, I could do anything, but that I needed to do so with honor and kindness and dignity. There have been times in my life when I have not acted that way, that when I look back, I think, "My mother would not have been happy with me for doing/saying that." I believed that I could have a child and work full-time as a professor and write and cook and bake and decorate and host parties and volunteer and read and make crafts and garden — all while maintaining a spotless house, a perfectly behaved child, a flawless marriage, and my sanity, naturally — and do whatever else my silly little heart desired whenever it wanted simply because I was working hard enough.
One of the hardest pills I have ever had to swallow was this: I can't. Perhaps others can — it seems others do it much better than I do when I read their posts on Facebook [snicker, snicker] — but I can't. Not all of it, not at one time, not right now.
My quest since my son was born has been to find balance, but I have stacked the scales against myself. When your life is too full, when your time is too limited, when you are hustling all of the time, when there are no moments of quiet or peace, when you spend too little time having fun with your partner, your friends and yourself, balance can't happen.
I am trying to let the quiet in. I am trying to stop always looking for the next project. I'm trying to let life — the life I actually have, not the life I think I want — happen. Maybe by letting go, I will have a better shot.
My frequent intention in yoga is "gratitude." This is an important one for me: to remember to say thank you but to also be grateful for what I have in my life. When we are grateful, we peer inward and think of the good things we do have, rather than looking outward and focusing on what we don't have. When I am grateful for the body that has carried my son and been free from major illness or injury all my life and is strong enough to raise up into bakasana for even one second, I am not thinking about how I still have stretch marks and how — let's face it — the boobs and belly will never, ever look the same.
When I am grateful for my home and all of the laughter and great meals and parties that have been had here, I mind its Brady Bunch–era "charm" a little less. I pay less attention to the Pottery Barn catalogs and the blogs that showcase styled corners of beautifully photographed homes that are inevitably cleaner and cooler than mine. When I am grateful for my job, I find myself more excited to take on the challenges of educating future journalists and less affected by the bureaucracy and politics and endless meetings that come with it.
These are important lessons for me — ones that I have to remind myself of over and over again. I am not a religious person (that's another post for another time), but these intentions, whether they be "gratitude" or "peace" or "patience" or "kindness" or "joy," get pretty close for me.
Musings 
