My Gracie has ALWAYS worn a bow in her hair. Check out the bow loving in these photos. Some people called her the 'Bow Girl'. We'd always make our best effort to match a bow to her outfit for the day. I think she enjoyed it just as much as I did.
Roll forward to last weekend...
...and Grace told me that she wants something other than a bow for her hair.
She wanted something 'pretty' but not a bow.
Well, we had so much fun thinking up what we should do,
so we hit Spotlight and found these gorgeous felted flowers
for less than $5 and then proceeded to buy some new hair clips.
With the use of a hot glue gun, in less than 5 seconds we created
some new little clips for her and she loves them.
Instant success!
some new little clips for her and she loves them.
Instant success!
What do you think?
In other news, my thought and prayers are with those affected by the floods in NSW, QLD and VIC. The words from Dorothea Mackellar are so precise, especially after many years of drought and now such serious flooding.
My Country
Dorothea Mackellar
The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens,
Is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance,
Brown streams and soft, dim skies --
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror --The wide brown land for me!
The stark white ring-barked forests,
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountain,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.
Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die --
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back three-fold.
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze . . .
An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land --
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand --
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens,
Is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance,
Brown streams and soft, dim skies --
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror --The wide brown land for me!
The stark white ring-barked forests,
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountain,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.
Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die --
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back three-fold.
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze . . .
An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land --
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand --
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
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