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.

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!)

• Unique Japanese gifts

 • Housewarming gifts

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!

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.

[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.

Come on. Target's had its V-Day stuff out since 12:01 a.m. on December 26. Don't lollygag.

And so, during my break, I tend to do not much. Last year, we went to Vermont for a few days, which was unbelievably wonderful. Vermont reminds me of Montana, where I lived for a bit after college. There are places in this world that root into your soul once you've been there. They're impossible to shake, and even if you've been there for just a few days, you find yourself feeling homesick for them. Montana is like that for me, and all winter long I've been longing for Vermont, too.

I had planned to go to New York for a couple days to visit a dear friend of mine from college, but it didn't happen. My father-in-law's health has been precarious for the last few months, and I just didn't feel right about making an overnight trip.

So I did very little. But I baked.

And I decorated.

And I basked in the glow of the Christmas tree.

And I made butternut-squash risotto and lots of other things.

And I snuggled with my sweet boy when he was sick the whole week between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve.

And I acted like a fool with my little brother and sister. (We're good at that.)

And I decorated some more, with pinecones from the front yard.

And I hung out with my husband.

I also did a lot of yoga, which I have not photographed. Yoga continues to save my sanity and my soul, and it was by far the greatest gift I gave myself in 2011.

School starts again for me on January 18th, so I'm trying to savor what's left. Happy New Year!

— from Bird by Bird: Instructions for Writing and Life, by Anne Lamott

It has been a long time since I have posted. I blame this on the start of the fall semester, which occupies nearly every last minute of my time that is not already occupied by parenting and chores.

It is hard not to feel overwhelmed sometimes by the lessons to be prepared, the stacks and stacks of homework to be graded that never quite seem to go away, the meetings to attend, the e-mails to answer. And then there is the laundry, which I'm doing much more frequently since our foray into potty-training began in June (and we are definitely still training, as evidenced by my sweet boy's insistence on pooping in his Thomas the Tank Engine underpants). And grocery-shopping. And cooking. And cleaning. And maybe even some sleep once in a while.

I don't mean to whine. I read on Facebook this morning that a friend just got laid off from her job. I am thankful for my good job, my safe home, my healthy family. I am not unlike any other mom, because let's face it: Once we have a baby, we all work, all of time. It's just that some of us have to/get to leave and work elsewhere, depending on one's perspective.

Most days, I do instead of think. Thinking is what leads to me feeling overwhelmed. And when I begin to feel like the piles of paper and dirty clothes and unwashed dishes are getting a little too large, too tall, too precarious, I find myself returning to Anne Lamott's words. I hear myself thinking the words "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird" in my head. And it works (mostly).

A little more than a year ago, when I turned 34, I made a list of 34 things I wanted to start doing in order to keep organized and keep sane. I still like to do as much as I can the night before—my ultimate lifesaver for busy mornings. I've been inconsistent with planning a weekly menu, and I'm sorry to report that my Crock-Pot hasn't gotten much use in the past year.

But what have I done? Yoga — finally! I started doing it in May, and I don't think it's an overstatement when I say that it's changed my life. For starters, the jiggly bits are a bit less jiggly. (Be gone, granny arms!) I'm definitely more flexible. My pregnancy back pain that hung around after the pregnancy was over is gone. I sleep better. And I'm a lot more calm. A. Lot.

There are lots of good life lessons to learn from yoga. Focus on the moment. Be compassionate with yourself. You are stronger than you think. Let your practice or pose meet you instead of the other way around. Stay balanced. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe again.

When I started taking classes, I felt guilty about flying out the door just minutes after Scott got home from work. I didn't like missing Benjamin's bedtime (and I still don't). It's a little selfish and indulgent of me to take yoga classes two or three times a week, but it's making me a better mother, a better wife, a better teacher, and an overall better me.

Bird by bird. One e-mail at a time. One paper at a time. One lesson at a time. One pose at a time. One breath in, one breath out. I can only do what I can do, as much or as little as that means for that moment.

I'm starting to feel OK with that.

And now, as promised, pumpkins. I took these shots during a rainy trip to our local pumpkin patch. Fall is my favorite season, and part of my ritual is bedecking the front porch and the insides of the house with pumpkins galore. This farm grows all different kinds of pumpkins, from itty-bitty baby pumpkins to gnarly Red Warty pumpkins. (Seriously, that's what they're called.) My favorites are the Fairy-Tale pumpkins, which are a strange pale orange mixed with some green and gray.

Between the rain and my son, who would not stay next to me as instructed (shocker!), I didn't get as many as I wanted (pumpkins or photographs). Until next time ...

But it's true. I am a grown-up. I have a kid, a husband, a house, a dog. I drive a sensible car in a sensible color. I flip first to the obituaries in the newspaper. I get annoyed by stains. I find myself regularly turning down the radio or TV because I think it's too loud. I smell melons before I buy them. I really, really enjoy cardigan sweaters.

So, yes, I am 35. There's no dancing around it anymore.

I can't stop listening to this song today, which is pretty appropriate. I love this band, and although I didn't set out to listen to a "birthday" song over and over again, it just sort of happened. If you're not familar with First Aid Kit, this is my birthday gift to you.

I'd purchased a potty for Benjamin months ago because I was at Target, saw one and knew he'd need one eventually. He showed little to no interest in the thing, except for a receptacle for his cars and trucks and as an occasional plastic helmet. He used it for its intended purpose exactly two times — and both, I think, happened because of sheer accidental good timing on our part.

The plastic frog potty. Sure, he looks happy enough ...Last month we went on vacation to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina, and I packed the little plastic frog potty to take with us. I wasn't sure why, but I suppose I didn't want to be caught off guard by a sudden interest in Big-Boy Toileting. When we got to our condo and unloaded our stuff, I told Scott to just leave it in the van, and that's where it stayed the entire trip.

But that evening at the condo, I took Benjamin into the bathroom with me to do my Big-Girl Toileting while Scott was in and out unloading the van. My son has seen me in the bathroom and in various states of undress a lot, and he usually just points to a random body part and asks, "Mommy, what's THAT?"

But on this night, he announced that he too would like to use the potty. The plastic frog potty was still in the car, so I pulled off his shorts and diaper and sat him on the real potty. And he peed! Then he peed again the next day, and the next, and the day after that, until he was going fairly regularly the entire vacation week. I was stunned, and he was so proud of himself. It was fun, a novelty, a new accomplishment. Once he started doing it, he was excited and determined to do it again. We'd plop him down, and he'd stare at his little wee-wee, concentrated and focused, until a teeny spurt of pee started to come out.

I had never pushed the potty before, so I was thrilled to see Benjamin taking the initiative. For one, I was anxious to banish diapers. But also, I'd been a little worried about when the timing would be right. Everyone said that I'd "know" when he was ready, but would I? Would it be obvious? What if I missed the signs, and the magic portal to The World of No Diapers closed for another few months (or years!)?

Turns out, for us, it was obvious. You can't get more obvious than a 2-year-old asking you to use the potty.

I could see progress when we got home, but we kept him in diapers anyway because he'd never really told us when he needed to go. He was still waking up from naps and bedtime with wet diapers. I'd bought some underwear for him to just sort of practice wearing, but I didn't think he was ready to go Full Underpants.

Until Last Friday, when one of his teachers at daycare asked me one morning during the drop-off, "Why don't you send him to school in underwear?"

"Um, I don't know," I stammered. "I guess I didn't think he was ready for that."

"He's ready," she said. "It's not a big deal if he has accidents. Just send extra clothes."

This woman knows much better than I do, I thought. Who knows how many kids she's potty-trained over the years? So last weekend we worked on it. At first he was excited to wear underwear, but then he started to resist using the potty altogether. It wasn't fun for him anymore. It was now something he had to do—and do a lot—and, more importantly, it was interrupting his play time. I was worried that having an accident would make him upset and less confident, so I found myself pushing him to go more frequently than I probably should have, which only made him resist more.

On Monday, he had a play day at my parents' house with his cousin Maia, who recently completed her potty-training quickly, easily and with minimal accidents. No accidents. Success!

On Tuesday morning, right before we were getting ready to leave the house to go to Storytime at the library, he stood right next to me in the living room and took a huge dump in his underwear not 30 seconds after I'd asked him if he needed to use the potty.

But he managed to make it through Storytime, a meeting with a client (mine, not his), and a trip to the grocery store without an accident, which I'm chalking up as a victory. But what concerns me is that he can use the potty, but he's putting up a fight nearly every time I put him on it.

Yesterday wasn't great, either. He had two accidents at his school, including one of the aforementioned giant morning poops, and his teachers said he wasn't happy to use the potty. And he followed those up by two more accidents at home.

I don't care that he has accidents. It's not particularly fun cleaning up after them, but neither are diapers. It really just comes down to tossing a few extra clothes in the laundry. Big deal. What I do not like is that he hasn't figured out yet and accepted that we've started to go down this road and that This. Is. Happening.

Am I doing the right thing? Should I pull back and let it go for a while? Is this just toddler resistance, and should I stand my ground? Will he eventually just accept his lot and acquiesce?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again: Just when I thought I knew what I was doing as a parent, I realize I don't.