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Little Miss Momma

style

Kate Middleton’s Wedding Dress

April 29, 2011
Take it from my new favorite gal,
YOU can be ANYTHING–even a Princess.
And that’s pretty awesome!
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33 Comments
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Ashley Stock

I'm Ashley. Sometimes I craft, occasionally I cook, everyday I write, and I'm always Momma. This is my blog. I keep it real while still seeing the rainbows and butterflies in all of life's lessons.

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  • Jan
    April 29, 2011

    I LoVe that her dress is simple.

    Reply
  • Lena
    April 29, 2011

    GORGEOUS!!

    Reply
  • Elle
    April 29, 2011

    she is so classy and elegant. i wanna be her bff!

    Reply
  • Michelle
    April 29, 2011

    so i have to admit. i am SO lucky that i'm in the UK. from the moment i was up i had BBC on the tv! i watched the whole thing. my poor husband came home for lunch and i had to ignore him a bit bc it was right when she was walking down the isle. i'm glad he understands my crazy ways. beautiful photos of kate! oh – i loved the bit they showed on tv over here – one where she's acting in a play – a fortune teller tells her that one day she will marry prince william and he will love her – amazing how God put that into the works 🙂

    Reply
  • Cheeky D
    April 29, 2011

    LOVED her sisters dress…when was the last time a maid of honour looked that elegant. LOVE!

    Reply
  • Justcallmeblessed
    April 29, 2011

    Its really pretty and elegant, but Im suprised its not a little more modern. It's still beautiful though!

    Reply
  • Angela @ A Mama's Two Cents Worth...
    April 29, 2011

    I think today was a day for all us girls out there because one of us became a Princess…she wasn't born into it, she was one of the girls. Now it is easier for me as a mom to tell my children, especially my daughter, that they can be anything, even a "Princess". She is one of the people and married one of the most beloved Royals thanks to his mom who I am sure was smiling on them and maybe got the sun the shine on their day! Kate just looks like anyone's BFF not stuffy at all, just sweet elegance!
    Angela

    Reply
  • Megan Wynn Volnoff
    April 29, 2011

    Death Toll reaches 210 in alabama.
    See how you can help:
    http://mrsvolnoff.blogspot.com/2011/04/did-your-baby-eat-today-death-toll.html

    LMM- sorry to advertise on your page, but alabama needs help and i know your blog gets a lot of traffic 🙂
    I hope you understand!

    The Mrs.
    http://www.mrsvolnoff.blogspot.com

    Reply
  • Angelina
    April 29, 2011

    She's so elegant! Love the dress!

    Reply
  • Mrs. Collins
    April 29, 2011

    Stunning, simple and elegant! I love her style and her sister looked great as well!

    Reply
  • Molly
    April 29, 2011

    I was in love with her dress! She looked absolutely stunning. Lucky gal right there.

    Reply
  • Mindy
    April 29, 2011

    Just beautiful! I remember watching Princess Di get married and to see another royal wedding was a treat. She is beautiful and had a stunning dress. When I seen her sister take her bouqut (sp) to her at the end I thought how nervous she must be from all the attention. Does Kate's family go through formal training as well?

    Reply
  • Veronica
    April 29, 2011

    I love it!!! Just love it!!

    Reply
  • Stephanie
    April 29, 2011

    Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! It makes me want to get married all over again, to the same man of course!

    Reply
  • Lindsay
    April 29, 2011

    As pretty as she was, she didn't actually become a princess but a duchess, he wanted her to be princess catherine but grandma said no! "It was suggested that this caused a dilemma for the Queen because princesses traditionally receive such titles through birth instead of marriage."

    Reply
  • Jessa Smith
    April 29, 2011

    She looks so elegant and regal. Very princessy. (I'm not sure that's even a word, but that's what she is.)

    Reply
  • Jayna Rae
    April 29, 2011

    I am LOVING her gown. I can't wait to see if I can find it online to watch. I guess there are some downfalls to being cheap and not having cable. Case in point.

    Reply
  • Katrine
    April 29, 2011

    Hey Ashley!!
    I'm a HUGE fan of your blog – I LOVE it and I check it every day!! Thank you for your inspiring words and crafts!! 😀

    I've given you an award on my blog today 😀 You really deserve it<3

    thegentleflower.blogspot.com

    Love, Katrine 🙂

    Reply
  • Jill
    April 29, 2011

    Kate is so classy and elegant. Prince William is one lucky guy!

    Reply
  • livingintaradise
    April 29, 2011

    I LOVED her choice of dress!!! So wonderful!

    blogged about my fantasy of attending the wedding: http://livingintaradise.wordpress.com/2011/04/29/getaway-friday-2/

    Reply
  • Andrea
    April 29, 2011

    So pretty!!

    Reply
  • MJ
    April 29, 2011

    She's gorgeous…

    Reply
  • ilene @ muchloveilly
    April 30, 2011

    she was soooo elegant and lovely!! loved hers and pippa's dress!!!

    Reply
  • ilene @ muchloveilly
    April 30, 2011

    she was soooo elegant and lovely!! loved hers and pippa's dress!!!

    Reply
  • Jessie K
    April 30, 2011

    What a gorgeous girl! And a gorgeous dress! And a gorgeous maid of honor! And maid of honor dress! And groom! And hats! And…! And…! And…! 😉

    Reply
  • Amy
    April 30, 2011

    Gorgeous! I watched yesterday and the whole event was dreamy,they are in love,and seems alot of people adore them.I love the Kate waved before she went inside,as to not snub or be to stiff.

    Reply
  • Matt and Chrissie
    April 30, 2011

    It was such a beautiful day! A day I am especially proud to be British 🙂 That and the fact, I didn't have to wait up which is good… I loved that one of the speakers mentioned that we are all Prince's and Princesses on our Wedding Day's in a sense! The whole day was just beautiful 🙂

    mattandchrissie11dec.blogspot.com

    Reply
  • Grace @Ahead
    April 30, 2011

    she has an elegant taste, and her simplicity brought out the beauty in her. she's a perfect modern princess!

    I hope you can also check out our site at
    http://www.aheadinteractivetutorial.com. thanks!

    Reply
  • Everwys
    April 30, 2011

    Oh Ashley isnt Miss Kate just fabulous?! Im over the moon! 🙂

    Reply
  • wholesale air max
    August 15, 2011

    I just love my new bag 🙂

    Reply
  • discount louis vuitton
    August 24, 2011

    A good bargain and a good transaction

    Reply
  • Keeping Up With The Duchess
    March 5, 2014

    I love your blog and I love that your love her! It’s perfect! LOL She’s such a breath of fresh air!

    ♥ [author of http://keepingupwiththeduchess.tumblr.com/%5D

    Reply
  • HERVE LEGER
    March 30, 2020

    “I love the idea of movement, but this White Bandage Dress can be especially difficult to achieve with a knit because they’re all

    Reply

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The Keeper of Lost Things by @ruthmariehogan This book was gifted to me over a year ago but I didn’t pick it up until last week, and I’m so sad i waited this long to read it. For me, this was a story that captures the lifetime impact of true love, sudden loss, and finding gratitude and purpose in our disappointment and grief so that we may continue to find (and give) joy in the life that remains for us to be lived. 

It’s so rare that a novel finds a way to capture the depths of grief without leaving me feeling down and depressed—but somehow, the author finds this perfect balance by sharing characters who made the brave decision to rise above their pain and continue spreading light and love into the world. I caught myself in tears, nodding my head, laughing out loud, and using my phone flashlight to finish “just one more chapter” well past bedtime. Told from the past and the present, this novel is a love story, a story of redemption, unlikely friendships, and a bit of mystery all in one.

Back Cover: Anthony Peardew is the Keeper of Lost Things. Once a celebrated author of short stories, now in his twilight years, Anthony has sought consolation from the long-ago loss of his fiancée by lovingly rescuing lost objects—the things others have dropped, misplaced, or accidently left behind. Realizing that he’s running out of time, he leaves his beautiful house and all the collected treasures to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, the one person he trusts to fulfil his legacy and reunite his lost objects with their rightful owners. 

With an unforgettable cast of characters that includes a teenage girl with special powers, a handsome gardener, a fussy ghost, and an array of irresistible four-legged friends, The Keeper of Lost Things is a heartwarming read about second chances, endless possibilities and joyful discoveries.

📚 swipe and tell me which one to read next please 🙏
The Keeper of Lost Things by @ruthmariehogan This book was gifted to me over a year ago but I didn’t pick it up until last week, and I’m so sad i waited this long to read it. For me, this was a story that captures the lifetime impact of true love, sudden loss, and finding gratitude and purpose in our disappointment and grief so that we may continue to find (and give) joy in the life that remains for us to be lived. 

It’s so rare that a novel finds a way to capture the depths of grief without leaving me feeling down and depressed—but somehow, the author finds this perfect balance by sharing characters who made the brave decision to rise above their pain and continue spreading light and love into the world. I caught myself in tears, nodding my head, laughing out loud, and using my phone flashlight to finish “just one more chapter” well past bedtime. Told from the past and the present, this novel is a love story, a story of redemption, unlikely friendships, and a bit of mystery all in one.

Back Cover: Anthony Peardew is the Keeper of Lost Things. Once a celebrated author of short stories, now in his twilight years, Anthony has sought consolation from the long-ago loss of his fiancée by lovingly rescuing lost objects—the things others have dropped, misplaced, or accidently left behind. Realizing that he’s running out of time, he leaves his beautiful house and all the collected treasures to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, the one person he trusts to fulfil his legacy and reunite his lost objects with their rightful owners. 

With an unforgettable cast of characters that includes a teenage girl with special powers, a handsome gardener, a fussy ghost, and an array of irresistible four-legged friends, The Keeper of Lost Things is a heartwarming read about second chances, endless possibilities and joyful discoveries.

📚 swipe and tell me which one to read next please 🙏
littlemissmomma
littlemissmomma
•
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The Keeper of Lost Things by @ruthmariehogan This book was gifted to me over a year ago but I didn’t pick it up until last week, and I’m so sad i waited this long to read it. For me, this was a story that captures the lifetime impact of true love, sudden loss, and finding gratitude and purpose in our disappointment and grief so that we may continue to find (and give) joy in the life that remains for us to be lived. It’s so rare that a novel finds a way to capture the depths of grief without leaving me feeling down and depressed—but somehow, the author finds this perfect balance by sharing characters who made the brave decision to rise above their pain and continue spreading light and love into the world. I caught myself in tears, nodding my head, laughing out loud, and using my phone flashlight to finish “just one more chapter” well past bedtime. Told from the past and the present, this novel is a love story, a story of redemption, unlikely friendships, and a bit of mystery all in one. Back Cover: Anthony Peardew is the Keeper of Lost Things. Once a celebrated author of short stories, now in his twilight years, Anthony has sought consolation from the long-ago loss of his fiancée by lovingly rescuing lost objects—the things others have dropped, misplaced, or accidently left behind. Realizing that he’s running out of time, he leaves his beautiful house and all the collected treasures to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, the one person he trusts to fulfil his legacy and reunite his lost objects with their rightful owners.  With an unforgettable cast of characters that includes a teenage girl with special powers, a handsome gardener, a fussy ghost, and an array of irresistible four-legged friends, The Keeper of Lost Things is a heartwarming read about second chances, endless possibilities and joyful discoveries. 📚 swipe and tell me which one to read next please 🙏
5 days ago
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Summer Gratitude List (what are you grateful for)☀️ I’m grateful for the trees and the how suddenly the cool lake water grounds my soul back into my body. I’m grateful for the way Zuma nestles into the crook of my knees when we sleep and that Maverick still gets overjoyed by the smell of chicken dinos (from when Stevie would sneak him hers). I’m grateful for the Blue Jay visits (especially the one with extra fuzzy feathers and mohawk) and the rare swarm of dragon flies that interrupted our desert at sundown in the village. I’m grateful for the way the air smells up here, surprise thunderstorms, the sound of the breeze whistling through the pine trees and nighttime’s complete darkness so we can see the stars more brightly. I’m grateful for fresh water on my body and sun on my back. I’m grateful for still waters and heart shaped rocks. I’m grateful for his sideways smile, nightly food rubs and morning waffles. I’m grateful for washable rugs and freshly painted baseboards. I’m grateful for their courage and humor and dimpled smiles. I’m grateful for hope. I’m grateful for summer.
littlemissmomma
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Summer Gratitude List (what are you grateful for)☀️ I’m grateful for the trees and the how suddenly the cool lake water grounds my soul back into my body. I’m grateful for the way Zuma nestles into the crook of my knees when we sleep and that Maverick still gets overjoyed by the smell of chicken dinos (from when Stevie would sneak him hers). I’m grateful for the Blue Jay visits (especially the one with extra fuzzy feathers and mohawk) and the rare swarm of dragon flies that interrupted our desert at sundown in the village. I’m grateful for the way the air smells up here, surprise thunderstorms, the sound of the breeze whistling through the pine trees and nighttime’s complete darkness so we can see the stars more brightly. I’m grateful for fresh water on my body and sun on my back. I’m grateful for still waters and heart shaped rocks. I’m grateful for his sideways smile, nightly food rubs and morning waffles. I’m grateful for washable rugs and freshly painted baseboards. I’m grateful for their courage and humor and dimpled smiles. I’m grateful for hope. I’m grateful for summer.
1 week ago
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2/4
Always in motion. That’s me. It’s one of my greatest assets AND my fatal flaw. I get a lot done. I’m generally efficient. I’m task oriented. I work hard and get results, in my home and in my work. But I also burn out. Get cranky and impatient. Sacrifice self care. Break promises to myself. And fall into the dangerous trap of measuring my worth and value against how “productive” I am. Left unchecked, these tendencies quickly become a vicious cycle of extreme productivity followed by a sudden halt due to burnout with a side of self-loathing that I’m not doing, making, writing, working, organizing enough. Do I know that my inherent self-worth is NOT in fact measured by how productive I am? Yes, i most certainly do! But for so many years I didn’t, and I’ve learned it can take a long time to retrain your brain to pause, breathe and spend more time on “being” rather than “doing”. Today I set an alarm for myself, indicating it was time to shut down the “productivity” portion of my brain and step into the “being present and grateful” portion of my brain. FYI, it will take constant effort for several minutes for me to not try and find some way to turn my “being present” time into an opportunity to “be productive”—but I’m trying SO hard and I’m getting better, for myself and my family. Scheduling this time helps me keep this promise to myself. Just me?🙈 #enneagram3
littlemissmomma
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•
Follow
Always in motion. That’s me. It’s one of my greatest assets AND my fatal flaw. I get a lot done. I’m generally efficient. I’m task oriented. I work hard and get results, in my home and in my work. But I also burn out. Get cranky and impatient. Sacrifice self care. Break promises to myself. And fall into the dangerous trap of measuring my worth and value against how “productive” I am. Left unchecked, these tendencies quickly become a vicious cycle of extreme productivity followed by a sudden halt due to burnout with a side of self-loathing that I’m not doing, making, writing, working, organizing enough. Do I know that my inherent self-worth is NOT in fact measured by how productive I am? Yes, i most certainly do! But for so many years I didn’t, and I’ve learned it can take a long time to retrain your brain to pause, breathe and spend more time on “being” rather than “doing”. Today I set an alarm for myself, indicating it was time to shut down the “productivity” portion of my brain and step into the “being present and grateful” portion of my brain. FYI, it will take constant effort for several minutes for me to not try and find some way to turn my “being present” time into an opportunity to “be productive”—but I’m trying SO hard and I’m getting better, for myself and my family. Scheduling this time helps me keep this promise to myself. Just me?🙈 #enneagram3
1 week ago
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Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head.  I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort.  I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others.  I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. 

And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). 

I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug.  I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root.  Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction.

Do I realize how strange this sounds?  Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder?  Yes, I do.  But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. 

Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together.  Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head.  I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort.  I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others.  I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. 

And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). 

I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug.  I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root.  Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction.

Do I realize how strange this sounds?  Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder?  Yes, I do.  But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. 

Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together.  Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head.  I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort.  I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others.  I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. 

And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). 

I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug.  I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root.  Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction.

Do I realize how strange this sounds?  Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder?  Yes, I do.  But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. 

Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together.  Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
littlemissmomma
littlemissmomma
•
Follow
Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head. I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort. I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others. I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug. I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root. Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction. Do I realize how strange this sounds? Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder? Yes, I do. But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together. Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
2 weeks ago
View on Instagram |
4/4
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The Keeper of Lost Things by @ruthmariehogan This book was gifted to me over a year ago but I didn’t pick it up until last week, and I’m so sad i waited this long to read it. For me, this was a story that captures the lifetime impact of true love, sudden loss, and finding gratitude and purpose in our disappointment and grief so that we may continue to find (and give) joy in the life that remains for us to be lived. 

It’s so rare that a novel finds a way to capture the depths of grief without leaving me feeling down and depressed—but somehow, the author finds this perfect balance by sharing characters who made the brave decision to rise above their pain and continue spreading light and love into the world. I caught myself in tears, nodding my head, laughing out loud, and using my phone flashlight to finish “just one more chapter” well past bedtime. Told from the past and the present, this novel is a love story, a story of redemption, unlikely friendships, and a bit of mystery all in one.

Back Cover: Anthony Peardew is the Keeper of Lost Things. Once a celebrated author of short stories, now in his twilight years, Anthony has sought consolation from the long-ago loss of his fiancée by lovingly rescuing lost objects—the things others have dropped, misplaced, or accidently left behind. Realizing that he’s running out of time, he leaves his beautiful house and all the collected treasures to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, the one person he trusts to fulfil his legacy and reunite his lost objects with their rightful owners. 

With an unforgettable cast of characters that includes a teenage girl with special powers, a handsome gardener, a fussy ghost, and an array of irresistible four-legged friends, The Keeper of Lost Things is a heartwarming read about second chances, endless possibilities and joyful discoveries.

📚 swipe and tell me which one to read next please 🙏
The Keeper of Lost Things by @ruthmariehogan This book was gifted to me over a year ago but I didn’t pick it up until last week, and I’m so sad i waited this long to read it. For me, this was a story that captures the lifetime impact of true love, sudden loss, and finding gratitude and purpose in our disappointment and grief so that we may continue to find (and give) joy in the life that remains for us to be lived. 

It’s so rare that a novel finds a way to capture the depths of grief without leaving me feeling down and depressed—but somehow, the author finds this perfect balance by sharing characters who made the brave decision to rise above their pain and continue spreading light and love into the world. I caught myself in tears, nodding my head, laughing out loud, and using my phone flashlight to finish “just one more chapter” well past bedtime. Told from the past and the present, this novel is a love story, a story of redemption, unlikely friendships, and a bit of mystery all in one.

Back Cover: Anthony Peardew is the Keeper of Lost Things. Once a celebrated author of short stories, now in his twilight years, Anthony has sought consolation from the long-ago loss of his fiancée by lovingly rescuing lost objects—the things others have dropped, misplaced, or accidently left behind. Realizing that he’s running out of time, he leaves his beautiful house and all the collected treasures to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, the one person he trusts to fulfil his legacy and reunite his lost objects with their rightful owners. 

With an unforgettable cast of characters that includes a teenage girl with special powers, a handsome gardener, a fussy ghost, and an array of irresistible four-legged friends, The Keeper of Lost Things is a heartwarming read about second chances, endless possibilities and joyful discoveries.

📚 swipe and tell me which one to read next please 🙏
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The Keeper of Lost Things by @ruthmariehogan This book was gifted to me over a year ago but I didn’t pick it up until last week, and I’m so sad i waited this long to read it. For me, this was a story that captures the lifetime impact of true love, sudden loss, and finding gratitude and purpose in our disappointment and grief so that we may continue to find (and give) joy in the life that remains for us to be lived. It’s so rare that a novel finds a way to capture the depths of grief without leaving me feeling down and depressed—but somehow, the author finds this perfect balance by sharing characters who made the brave decision to rise above their pain and continue spreading light and love into the world. I caught myself in tears, nodding my head, laughing out loud, and using my phone flashlight to finish “just one more chapter” well past bedtime. Told from the past and the present, this novel is a love story, a story of redemption, unlikely friendships, and a bit of mystery all in one. Back Cover: Anthony Peardew is the Keeper of Lost Things. Once a celebrated author of short stories, now in his twilight years, Anthony has sought consolation from the long-ago loss of his fiancée by lovingly rescuing lost objects—the things others have dropped, misplaced, or accidently left behind. Realizing that he’s running out of time, he leaves his beautiful house and all the collected treasures to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, the one person he trusts to fulfil his legacy and reunite his lost objects with their rightful owners.  With an unforgettable cast of characters that includes a teenage girl with special powers, a handsome gardener, a fussy ghost, and an array of irresistible four-legged friends, The Keeper of Lost Things is a heartwarming read about second chances, endless possibilities and joyful discoveries. 📚 swipe and tell me which one to read next please 🙏
5 days ago
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1/4
Summer Gratitude List (what are you grateful for)☀️ I’m grateful for the trees and the how suddenly the cool lake water grounds my soul back into my body. I’m grateful for the way Zuma nestles into the crook of my knees when we sleep and that Maverick still gets overjoyed by the smell of chicken dinos (from when Stevie would sneak him hers). I’m grateful for the Blue Jay visits (especially the one with extra fuzzy feathers and mohawk) and the rare swarm of dragon flies that interrupted our desert at sundown in the village. I’m grateful for the way the air smells up here, surprise thunderstorms, the sound of the breeze whistling through the pine trees and nighttime’s complete darkness so we can see the stars more brightly. I’m grateful for fresh water on my body and sun on my back. I’m grateful for still waters and heart shaped rocks. I’m grateful for his sideways smile, nightly food rubs and morning waffles. I’m grateful for washable rugs and freshly painted baseboards. I’m grateful for their courage and humor and dimpled smiles. I’m grateful for hope. I’m grateful for summer.
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Summer Gratitude List (what are you grateful for)☀️ I’m grateful for the trees and the how suddenly the cool lake water grounds my soul back into my body. I’m grateful for the way Zuma nestles into the crook of my knees when we sleep and that Maverick still gets overjoyed by the smell of chicken dinos (from when Stevie would sneak him hers). I’m grateful for the Blue Jay visits (especially the one with extra fuzzy feathers and mohawk) and the rare swarm of dragon flies that interrupted our desert at sundown in the village. I’m grateful for the way the air smells up here, surprise thunderstorms, the sound of the breeze whistling through the pine trees and nighttime’s complete darkness so we can see the stars more brightly. I’m grateful for fresh water on my body and sun on my back. I’m grateful for still waters and heart shaped rocks. I’m grateful for his sideways smile, nightly food rubs and morning waffles. I’m grateful for washable rugs and freshly painted baseboards. I’m grateful for their courage and humor and dimpled smiles. I’m grateful for hope. I’m grateful for summer.
1 week ago
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2/4
Always in motion. That’s me. It’s one of my greatest assets AND my fatal flaw. I get a lot done. I’m generally efficient. I’m task oriented. I work hard and get results, in my home and in my work. But I also burn out. Get cranky and impatient. Sacrifice self care. Break promises to myself. And fall into the dangerous trap of measuring my worth and value against how “productive” I am. Left unchecked, these tendencies quickly become a vicious cycle of extreme productivity followed by a sudden halt due to burnout with a side of self-loathing that I’m not doing, making, writing, working, organizing enough. Do I know that my inherent self-worth is NOT in fact measured by how productive I am? Yes, i most certainly do! But for so many years I didn’t, and I’ve learned it can take a long time to retrain your brain to pause, breathe and spend more time on “being” rather than “doing”. Today I set an alarm for myself, indicating it was time to shut down the “productivity” portion of my brain and step into the “being present and grateful” portion of my brain. FYI, it will take constant effort for several minutes for me to not try and find some way to turn my “being present” time into an opportunity to “be productive”—but I’m trying SO hard and I’m getting better, for myself and my family. Scheduling this time helps me keep this promise to myself. Just me?🙈 #enneagram3
littlemissmomma
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Always in motion. That’s me. It’s one of my greatest assets AND my fatal flaw. I get a lot done. I’m generally efficient. I’m task oriented. I work hard and get results, in my home and in my work. But I also burn out. Get cranky and impatient. Sacrifice self care. Break promises to myself. And fall into the dangerous trap of measuring my worth and value against how “productive” I am. Left unchecked, these tendencies quickly become a vicious cycle of extreme productivity followed by a sudden halt due to burnout with a side of self-loathing that I’m not doing, making, writing, working, organizing enough. Do I know that my inherent self-worth is NOT in fact measured by how productive I am? Yes, i most certainly do! But for so many years I didn’t, and I’ve learned it can take a long time to retrain your brain to pause, breathe and spend more time on “being” rather than “doing”. Today I set an alarm for myself, indicating it was time to shut down the “productivity” portion of my brain and step into the “being present and grateful” portion of my brain. FYI, it will take constant effort for several minutes for me to not try and find some way to turn my “being present” time into an opportunity to “be productive”—but I’m trying SO hard and I’m getting better, for myself and my family. Scheduling this time helps me keep this promise to myself. Just me?🙈 #enneagram3
1 week ago
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3/4
Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head.  I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort.  I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others.  I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. 

And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). 

I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug.  I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root.  Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction.

Do I realize how strange this sounds?  Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder?  Yes, I do.  But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. 

Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together.  Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head.  I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort.  I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others.  I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. 

And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). 

I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug.  I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root.  Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction.

Do I realize how strange this sounds?  Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder?  Yes, I do.  But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. 

Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together.  Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head.  I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort.  I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others.  I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. 

And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). 

I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug.  I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root.  Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction.

Do I realize how strange this sounds?  Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder?  Yes, I do.  But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. 

Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together.  Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
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Even now, as I carefully consider where to begin, my hands reach back to the familiar and preferred pulling spot just in front of the crown of my head. I carefully feel each hair between my index finger and thumb, noting the texture and sensitivity on my scalp before selecting the perfect one to pull–the hair that will bring me the greatest surge of momentary release and comfort. I prefer the coarse hairs, the awkward, thicker strands that stand out from the others. I’ll often search through several pieces before settling on one that feels just right. And that’s what I do tonight, as I sit down to write this blog post on the very topic of my ongoing battle with #trichotillomania (the irresistible urge to pull out hair from one’s scalp, eyebrows, lashes or other areas of the body, despite trying to stop). I find a hair that feels just right, wrap it in the grip I have perfected over 30 years, and I give it a gentle tug. I know even before looking at it, I’ve pulled it out by the root. Perfect. Getting the root means that this hair will last me at least another 1-2 minutes of satisfaction. Do I realize how strange this sounds? Do I cringe as I type the bizarre truths of my disorder? Yes, I do. But I share them anyway, because I spent far too many years of my life feeling alone in my pulling, filled with shame surrounding the secret urges to pull out my hair by the root, over and over again. And ultimately, this shame and secrecy has only led to more pulling. It would be decades before I learned that surrendering to the truth of my disorder actually gave me the most control over it. Perhaps then, this is where I open my story…with those early shame-filled moments when I recognized that my behavior made me different from others and the lies I told myself about what being “different” must have certainly meant about my value–that I was bad, broken, weak, unworthy and I needed to hide these tragic truths of my character behind posturing and performing the role of a kid who had it all together. Yes, I think this feels like the best place to begin (visit my blog for full story, link in profile). www.littlemissmomma.com
2 weeks ago
View on Instagram |
4/4
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