the creative momma blogosphere, I fear

Last weekend I knit a pair of pink fingerless mitts for a friend's daughter. They turned out so well I took a photo before I gave them to little Sasha. Also in the mail came two vintage children's books I bought second-hand. I was disappointed in the text of both books (Baboushka and the Three Kings particularly). Nonetheless I purchased the books for their artwork, and in that respect I was not disappointed. Both are delightfully illustrated. White Snow, Bright Snow, printed in 1947, captures people working in (and out of) the snow in stereotyped roles you'd never find in a contemporary children's book, e.g. the farmer, the postman, the policeman, the policeman's wife (here, contentedly knitting beside his sickbed).

I post these things here with this disclaimer: I may be a momma, and I may be creative, and undoubtedly I have my own blog, but I nonetheless fear the creative momma blogosphere. Fear might be too strong a word. It's just that surfing around these artist-momma blogs inevitably causes me a bout of self-doubt. I don't own a polaroid camera, have an esty store filled with felt owls or Amy Butler print hobo bags, or grow my own vegetables. I have my most creative thoughts after I get into bed at night and by the morning they get lost in the shuffle of errands and work. Just posting to a blog is about all I can manage.