4 on Friday: Glitter and Glam in the Nursery

In honor of New Years Eve -- here are a few Nurseries not afraid to shine.

Found on:
1. Silver Circles DIY at Project Nursery 
2. Mirror Tile Wall at Ashely-Home Deco on Flickr
3. Decorpad
4. Baby Lifestyles

An Outfit for New Years Eve

The hat was a Hanukkah present and the scarf a Christmas present.  The skirt is borrowed and packed in my suitcase because where ever I end up -- be it hot or cold, an inside venue or an outside party you can't go wrong with a silver sequin skirt!

I have my New Years Eve outfit all ready to go.  I just have no idea what my plans are or where I'm going to be.  Less than a week ago I booked a commercial IN POLAND.  That means my 4 Original cities have changed slightly and all my flights, trains and travel plans which originally had me going to Quebec for New Years have now been rerouted to put me in Eastern Europe.  Luckily both regions seem to be compatible weather wise so everything I have in my suitcase will work nicely.  What a way to end my year of Sparkletonaneity!

            As my loyal readers will most certainly recall, last week my seven-month-old daughter was sick with a cold. 

            This week, my seven-month-old daughter is still sick with a cold.  This, I am told, is normal.  Kids get colds.  But now there’s a new development:  the R.P. is now also afflicted with a cold that he undoubtedly caught from that same seven-month-old daughter.  This, I am told, is also normal. 

            But this column is not about the Recent Paterfamilias.  This column is about his beloved offspring. 

            Truly, it must be admitted, my little urchin is a trooper.  She maintains a good spirit even as she crawls through the viral trenches of her own snot.  And this said snot is considerable, as the very S.K. of SKART (ie. the business proprietor of this blog) can attest. 

            S.K. was recently in my part of the world, and she was spending some time with the Wife of the R.P. and the Daughter of the R.P., although not with the R.P. himself.  While accompanying the R.P.’s people home after a few hours of people-watching and whatnot around the Upper West Side’s Columbus Circle, S.K. apparently, reportedly, allegedly, witnessed a…what shall I call it?...she witnessed an instance.  While headed north on Broadway, strolling beside the Child of the R.P. (who, at the time, was strapped to the chest of the Spouse of the R.P. in a chest-borne baby carrier), S.K. saw the Child of the R.P. blow a snot bubble.  According to those on the scene, it was a bubble of significant size.  Apparently, and I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot lately, but apparently, it, the aforementioned snot bubble, was literally, not figuratively, literally the size of the infant in question’s head. 

            Nobody wants a daughter who blows snot bubbles the size of her own head.  Nor does anyone want a daughter who does so without any acknowledgment of said bubble, bouncing along as if all is right with the world, noticing nary a whit of that growing protuberance floating about in front of her adorable little face. 

            And then it happened.  At 63^rd and Broadway, the inflatable was spotted.  At the corner, while waiting on a walk signal, a young boy’s eyes widened, his gaze did not falter, he got his mother’s attention, and then…he pointed.  And then another little boy pointed.  And then another.  And then a young girl joined her peers.  And then, I am told, a pigeon turned its head to look, too. 

            And there she was, my baby, with a public snot bubble big enough to be pointed at.  Ahh, this is how proud fathers the world over must feel upon hearing of their respective offspring’s accomplishments. 

            So, I have decided, in the future, when my daughter (the snot bubbler herself) is waiting hand-in-hand with me at a street corner, any street corner, waiting on the Don’t Walk Signal to change to the Go Ahead and Go signal, when she, my daughter, turns to notice a snot bubble blowing from the nostril of some anonymous infant on some anonymous street, as she, my daughter, raises her arm, in order to so rudely point, I will not slap her hand back down, I won’t hinder her, I won’t correct her, no, no, no, instead, I have decided, I will encourage her—in fact, I will start pointing, too, just so some other father, some other future anonymous Recent Paterfamilias, won’t miss out on the feelings that this Recent Paterfamilias is feeling right now.  

A Hipster Haven in Manhattan

I found a great deal on a hotel in Manhattan.  $99/night to stay in the center of it all.  For that price I wasn't really expecting much.  So I was pleasantly surprised to find the hotel to be such a high designed oasis.  From the soap on a rope next to the sink, to the quirky signage everywhere, this hotel delivered style AND comfort.  Every little detail made me smile and then of course I had to take a picture to share with you.   When booking I used the code "JINGLEZOO" -- I'm not sure how long the special offer is on for, you can see more about the hotel at their website

 

  

And of course what would a super hip hotel be without an awesomely hip lobby! 

4 on Friday: Last Minute Wrapping Ideas

1. Shirt Wrap -- example by Jennifer Playford

2. Brown Paper packages tied up with string - photo credit Ithyle

3. Newspaper  - photo credit Shelton Davis 

4. Yarn -  this box is by Cakies 

A Brief Season’s Greetings Anecdote:

Earlier today, while attempting to pacify (with a pacifier) my infant daughter into what she apparently did not realize was a much needed nap, I watched as she arched away from where I held her in our nursery’s rocking chair, raise her tiny little left hand over her tiny little left shoulder, and extend her tiny little left middle finger in the general direction of our apartment’s front door (a gesture which I had to assume was directed to the outside world, and not simply at the door itself).  My daughter then kept said finger extended, in order, I suppose, to convey some sort of message to the outside world and the rest of humanity residing there. 

“Yes,” I remember thinking at the time, “this is definitely my daughter.”

Happy Holidays from the Recent Paterfamilias.  

(In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that my daughter is currently teething and suffering from a rather heinous cold.) 

Early Skårt

I've been in Toronto for the past few days and I have been given the task of going through bins of stuff my parents have kept over the years. I've been told to keep the treasures and toss the trash. Where does my collection of Puffalumps fit into the equation? Are they treasure or Trash?

I did however find a trove of artworks from my early years ---

This one, circa 1980 - grade 1,  is obviously an early rendering for my Dancing Robot series

Then we have the famous "Wild Cat Project" of 1983.   I might have to borrow some images from this project because I was actually planning on releasing a Wild Cat series in 2012.

2 boxes down 4 more to go.  Can't wait to see what else I find?!!!  The trouble is now deciding what to throw away.  Any advice?