Your Questions About How To Quilt As You Go

How old was your child before they first had proper bedding? i.e. quilts, pillows etc?

I had a duvet/quilt from birth but my B/G twins have sleeping bags/grobags (whatever you want to call them) I’ve tried them with blankets but I’m scared they might pull it over their heads and they always kick them off so they’d be cold anyhow.

Both can roll over fully and crawl and my boy can pull himself to standing with ease.

They are nearly 8 and a half months old.

They are always put into grobags to go to bed now and have done since about a month old (before that their heads could slip inside so it would have been too dangerous). Just wondering when we could change to ordinary bedding as they are quickly growing out of their grobags! as they are in size 12-18 month clothes lol they are very tall babies and are already way past my knees when standing!

Are the scars on my face just a little scary?

Okay — here’s the deal.

I’m a nice, soft-spoken, and generally easygoing fellow. People that talk to me for more than 10 minutes tend to like to me enough to keep talking for awhile. I don’t say that to imply that I’m awesome (though I just might be!), but it’s true.

Two years ago, I was in a bad car accident. Both of my legs were broken in several places, as well as a good number of ribs, I had a skull fracture, and, well, I generally got messed up. About a year before that, I was involved in a rather bizarre accident that left me with a broken face. Okay, that’s over simplifying matters, but I broke my jaw, an orbital (eye socket), and my cheekbone. As you might imagine, I’ve required more stitches than an Amish quilt just to keep my face in place.

The result is that my face makes Mickey Rourke look smooth as a baby’s butt. Alright, that’s obviously as exaggeration (little known fact: I used Mr. Rourke to sand my car down to primer), but seriously, my face is kinda messed up. I like to think I’m not awful looking otherwise. I mean, I’m not conventionally super-attractive, but I’ve kinda got that sort of stout, square jawed, fuzzy-lumberjackish-dude thing going if nothing else. I’m sure that some people go for that, yeah?

In all seriousness, I’ve got a very jagged scar that runs from the top of one ear almost to the corner of my mouth (the biggest; about 4 inches without zigzags), another that goes from my hairline down to just under my eye, and about a 3 inch line on the top/back of my head that is too scarred to grow hair (it’s quite noticeable).

Recently, I’ve found myself in a strange position: I suddenly have enough money that I could afford scar-revision surgery to repair some of the damage (at least the one running down my cheek and maybe the one on my forehead as well). Now, my gut says that if you don’t want to talk to me unless I have surgery I probably won’t like you anyway. Still, I understand that some otherwise nice people just don’t know quite what to say and stay away as a result; I’ve definitely noticed that fewer people are willing to engage me in conversation if they don’t know the backstory. I can’t blame them! I know how it is to feel nervous that you might say the wrong thing… I mean, If you meet someone missing an arm, you feel a little awkward if you pretend like you didn’t notice, yet you feel like a jerkwad if you bring it up. My injuries aren’t close to that, fortunately, but it’s a similar dynamic.

Is it better to get the surgery (even though it’s not really my thing) to put others at ease (and thus facilitate making friends), or to be myself and say p!ss off to to those who are so hung up on aesthetics?!

Seriously — ignore what you think is “right” — just tell me what YOU would like most if you just met me without having read this. I’d really like to know.
Wow — answers show up quickly on here! I’m not really comfortable with pictures because, well, I would be a little embarrassed if anyone I know knew that I worried about it… I’ve done a good job of convincing people around me that I don’t think about it, but I haven’t been in this town too long, and it’s hard not to notice how people treat you differently. For the record, though, I’m not like two-face from batman or anything — I’ve got some zig-zags from my ear to my mouth, a straight line from my hairline to just under my eye, and a line across the back of my head. I’m only 25, and I’m fit enough. On the plus side, I have some pretty good stories… I really think that it’s not so much that I look scary as that sometimes people aren’t sure if it’s ruder (that’s a word!) to ignore it or to ask what happened.

can someone write a poem for me?

A friend of mines baby is truly a miracle baby. the placenta separated from the wall. she was not premature but lost a lot of oxygen at birth. she has slowly recovering even though she still remains in the NICU on oxygen but she is off the vent and no longer needs dialysis. even the nurse said most babies die when this happens, she is a miracle. my friend and i are making the baby a quilt with the center square saying miracle baby or something like that. they named her drew and have been calling her drew drop as a nick name. i really need a good poem to go with the quilt saying how special she is and what a gift, and how she is here for a purpose. I am horrible at rhyming and saying just the right thing. so if you could help that would be great. best poem gets 10 points, 5 stars. ready… go! oh and thank you thank you!
allie, lol i hope there is but your probably right.

Do you like my poem? (keep in mind I just wrote it.)?

My Autobiography in a POEM!
Current mood: content

ME!

I sing,

And I dance,

And I laugh,

And I love.

So you can go ahead and live however you want.

I write,

And I read,

And I smile,

So you can go ahead and do what you want.

I am myself,

And no one else.

Sometimes I’m not sure exactly who that is,

But when I figure out my identity, I stick by it.

Often a jumbled mess,

Often a broken heart.

But more often a smiling face,

And a healing soul.

In this whole big mess,

How can I figure out where I stand,

And most importantly…

who I really am.

The whole wide world,

Is all bundled up inside of me.

I try to sort through all the people,

And find myself. The right skin to live my life in.

You can say what you want about me,

And you can critisize who I am.

My life is a big dance,

A variety of dances, a different tune all the time.

I am not always right,

I know I have faults.

But I keep my head high.

I love to love.

I love to live.

I love life in general.

I can get down,

I can get up just as easily.

So this is who I am.

A rope,

Perhaps intertwining with yours,

Perhaps in a messy knot.

But I know which rope is mine.

It’s the bright one,

The one that laughs,

The rope that’s not sure what color it is yet,

But knows it is in the quilt of life to untie itself.

I am the girl with the crazy outlook on life,

The one who is trying to find out who she is,

Searching to find the exact right person to be.

I am the unsure girl who is only certain that she IS someone,

And is determined to find that person in herself.

resignation notice to employer?

Hi All,

I’m working as a part time travel consultant in Adelaide, Australia. I’m going to quilt my job next mid Jan, reason being is that I’m going to move to Sydney.

According to Australian law, can I quilt my job due to this reason and how many weeks notice should I give to my employer before I leave my job? And during the period of notice, can I still work and be paid?

Thank you,
Angel

What do u think of the story i wrote is it good and wich one is better?

Hey guys! I wrote 2 story so far. Can u help me edit it or tell me what to do next and tell me wich one is better. Thanks!

Chapter 1: The Bleached Room

My eyelids were glued together with cement. The sunlight of the early morning was lazily seeping through my closed eyes like heavy dosages of Novocain – each drop making it harder to open them. Straining to lift my numb eyelashes enough to give me some sight, it took me no more than three seconds to realize something was not right.

My arms felt like unsteady columns as they struggled to lift my weary body. Finally sitting upright, the first thing I noticed was my quilt. Once a vivid array of greens, pinks, and yellows, I looked down only to find it had turned pale white. Astonished and dreary, I reached out to touch the quilt to see if it was anymore different. No, it felt the same. With my hand grasping the fabric, I realized the cuff of my pajamas, formerly a bright red, had also been dyed white. However, my skin had not changed, neither had my hair or eyes. Excluding me, my room had been bleached.

Now fully awake, I immediately got out of bed, my formerly-purple fuzzy socks matching the no longer-brown carpet as I stepped onto the colorless floor. I walked to my door, turning the doorknob only to find my world more confusing.

Chapter 2: A Little White Spider

Stepping through the door, I couldn’t help wondering where I was. Outdoors, of course, but I had never seen that place before. I closed the door behind me, but as it slammed shut, it dissolved. Behind the disappearing door was a scattered cluster of pedestrians.

It was snowing, and I was still in my white pajamas. Everyone else was also wearing similar attire. The sky was as pale as our clothes were, and it twisted like a flat tornado.

We were all subconsciously walking the same direction, on a sidewalk round bordering a field of grass – clockwise. Everyone walked in small groups, ranging between 3 to 4 people each. I was grouped with an elder man and woman. Both seemed worried.

“Where do you think it is?” I heard the woman say.

“Probably close” the man responded.

“Don’t say that!”

They obviously knew something I did not.

“There it is – The White Spider!” The woman cried out, her voice was so shaky I could tell she was close to tears. “

My eyes grew wide. I knew it must have been behind me but I could not bring my head to turn. I walked faster, and when I thought I was far enough, I looked back.

Floating in the air, no more than a dandelion seed propeller, was the White Spider. My mind was suddenly filled with information I had not even been aware of until then. The White Spider, I thought aloud, was one of the deadliest things known to mankind. Being bitten was proven to be fatal.

I ran, all around the never ending sidewalk. But when I turned around, the White Spider was only getting closer. I finally reached the opening of a carnival tent, feeling relieved and triumphant. It was gone.

A line had formed at the opening of the red and yellow tent. I hadn’t noticed until then how colors were slowly blossoming throughout my unfamiliar surroundings. I stood in the line, not knowing what it was for, until I was pushed.

The person who pushed me, a chubby woman with long black hair and a loud voice, was nothing more than dieing to go inside.

“Come on! Let me in the Spider Museum !” she ordered.

I hesitated. Wait a minute, I thought aloud. None of this makes sense! But I immediately forgot the notation. I knew it might be right, but I wasn’t convinced by it enough to keep it in mind.

ok this is the second story

chapter one: the cabin

Looking around the dark forest found nothing but herself and her friend, stella next to her, weeping as she followed norah. They’ve been walking around the forest for over an hour now eversince they got seperated from their camp groups. Seemed like where ever they look, they coulden’t find the camp ground or thier cabin.
“Norah! I’m scared! its dark and im hungry!!” Stella weeped.
” Oh be Quiet and follow me. Lets look for a palce we can sleep for the night. It was your fault for picking up those mushrooms and not paying attention to the group.”Stella stoped crying and started digging in her bag to see if she had anything for them to eat. All the sudden, she felt warm and saw a bright light in the corner of her left eye. She quickly turned towards the direction where she could see the light and ran towards it. It diddnt take Norah a long time to notice her friend dashing through the trees to a little cabin with smoke coming out of the chimeny.
” Wait for me!” Norah cried as she ran to Stella trying to catch up. They both knocked on the door to the cabin. It was smaller than the cabins they have back at the camp but good enough to spend just one night in. They noticed no one was in there and the door was open so they got in and layed thier sleeping bag on the

I changed my poem up a bit. Now what do you think?

Out in the middle of Society
Everyone busy and hurrying
I feel as if i’m standing still
as everyone rushes past me

I look around as someone walks past
and in a flash there gone just as soon as they came
People dashing here and there they might as well go everywhere

I walk home to where I “hang”
That word seems to be the new slang
Out in the country where I stay
Walking in the woods and amongst gods creation i play

Walking on the path made so long ago
Taking my time and walking slow
Past the animal’s and tree’s
woods for beyond the eye can see

Everyone else inside their house
As I watch how everyone grows up
no one notices my Presence outside
for i’m as quiet as a mouse

I talk to them at the bus stop to school
I can tell how they’ve changed
I can’t be fooled

What happen to our younger days
In which we would all join in laughter and play
Snowball fights to kick ball and swimming
We’d all love to be on the team whose winning

From hot summer days
where we played sports and pretend plays
To cold winter nights
Roasting marsh mellows under the fires warm light

But now I stand outside alone
For I am one who as yet to accept to be grown
I want to play with all my neighborhood friends
But i’m afraid those times have come to an end

No one outside on the basketball court
No one at our club house resort
I knock on their doors to see if their busy
Of course they are but hey its no biggy

I’ll just be on my way
To where we use to hang and play
Do you remember our tree house we once built
Or when the old lady by me made us a quilt?

Oh how I now understand why adults say
To enjoy being a kid and don’t grow up to fast
the bright blue skies filled with grey
On the trampoline thinking I lay

Of course I wasn’t the only one
who noticed this difference
Of this terrible Essence of growing up without fun
My brother had to , but what could we do?

I don’t like change for it dislikes me
Bringing terrible news and pity
But the more change comes
The longer it’ll stay.

7th grade around the corner
I wasn’t much of a mourner
So I’ll take it all in and continue my way
But never will I leave the land we once played

Just rarely do I see a few outside with others
Or all of us with each other.
A party one night that Neylan held
That memory in which i dwell-ed

The days are coming to an end
Or has it already got there?
Life is unfair as much as it is fair
I must learn to say fare well to some of my friends

So here I stand and continue my dreams
Of those old days where were all just kids
But apparently time caught up to fast
If only it could last and now it seems
They will forever and always just be memories , dreams.