swell peeps + sabotaged photos

monday was a frabjous day at chez owens, largely because mister postal guy showed up at my place with not one, but TWO lovely packages. lovely because of whom they came from. and lovely because they will keep my literary fetish alive and well for another solid week.

package numero uno came from my partner in crime, jen, complete with a lemon-colored handcrafted card:




numero dos hailed from rebekah, who tucked in a few flawless sanibel island shells:




allow me to extend a warm and enthusiastic THANK YOU, girls...i was sixty pages into this crichton novel, and experiencing another slow and tragic case of Death By Boredom. i was quite relieved to chuck that book into the library's return bin; your timing could not have been more perfect.


in other news, i've been working on mother's day gifts for the mums in my life, and now remember why exactly it is that i: 1. am not fond of posed photos 2. of children, especially 3. particularly when the children in question are my own.

what i end up with, invariably, is a heap of digital files that are 98% outtakes, 2% not outtakes (as in, not good, but not comically horrid, so we'll go with them).


while we're all here, i thought i'd share a sampling of the outtake variety:







i believe i've gained insight into why people aim for just one child. it may be awfully quiet at their place, but it sure increases the odds of everyone behaving like a normal human being at the same time.