How to Make a Hair Bow

With two daughters, one who was born with a full head of hair and the other who idolizes Rapunzel, I figured I should learn how to make hair bows. Caroline's hair has always been difficult to manage. At one point she had a chunk of hair that always stuck up in the back... for several months. I called it her "peacock feather." I would slick it down and it would pop right back up. Talk about a bad hair day! As she has gotten older and her hair has grown longer, it has become even more unkempt. I couldn't find hair bows or barrettes that would keep her hair back, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. 

The "peacock feather" in full effect.

I began by making barrettes embellished with felt flowers. Soon after, I started making headbands and hair bows. Today I’ll show you how I make hair bows. There are various methods, but this is what I have found works best for me. It takes a little practice, but once you get the process down, it’s really quite easy. Soon, you’ll be hooked and you’ll want to make a hair bow in every color of the rainbow. Visit www.lizzieandcoco.etsy.com to see some of my hair accessory designs.

Here's what you will need:

• One piece of 1.5" ribbon cut 24" long
• One piece of 3/8" ribbon cut 2" long. Here it is fun to use a ribbon that is similar in color but includes polka dots, ticking stripe, etc.
• Thread in coordinating color
• Needle (Thread the needle and knot it before you begin the project).
• Scissors
• Lighter
• Hot glue gun
• Barrette of your choice (not pictured here). I  like to use medium-sized french barrette clasps as they keep Caroline's hair in place all day. I have also used alligator clips for bows I have made for babies and children with less hair. You can also attach the bow to a headband wrapped in grosgrain.

Supplies

Step 1: Fold the long piece of ribbon in half. Cut off the very ends of the ribbon diagonally. Using the lighter, quickly run the flame along the cut edges of the ribbon. This will melt the edges and keep the ribbon from fraying.

Step 1

Step 2: Loop the top portion of the ribbon around and on top of itself. The pointy part of the ribbon's diagonal cut edge should point toward you not away from you.

Step 2

Step 3: Loop the loose end of the ribbon back up on top of itself and away from you. You now have formed the top two loops of the bow.

Step 3

Step 4: Loop the loose end underneath the other loops forming the third loop of the bow. The loose end should now be pointing toward you. 

Step 4

Step 5: Loop the loose end over top of the other loops forming the fourth and final loop of the bow. 

Step 5

Step 6: Flip the bow over, careful not to let go of it. Look at each loop to ensure they are equal in size. Adjust accordingly. Now working with both hands, you will fold the center part of the bow four times. Use your right hand to fold and your left hand to gather and hold the bow. Hold it tight!

Step 6

Step 7: Holding the bow with your left hand, grab your threaded needle and push it through the center of the bow, pulling the thread through completely. Then, wrap the thread around the center of the bow two or three times. Then, push the needle back through the center of the bow, knot it and cut off the excess thread. You now have a bow!

Step 7

This is how your bow will look after step 7.

Step 8: To finish the bow off, next you'll want to use the lighter on the edges of the small piece of ribbon to also keep those from fraying. Place a small bead of glue from your hot glue gun on the center of the back side of your bow. Press down lightly for a minute until the glue is dry. Then wrap the 3/8" ribbon around the front side of the bow. Finally place another bead of glue on the back side of the bow again and press down on the loose end of the ribbon.

Step 8

Step 9: You're almost done! Now, you just need to glue your barrette to the back. Place a strip of hot glue along the back side of the barrette of your choice. Before you do so, make sure to figure out which way you want the barrette to close based on how you would put it in your little one's hair. Quickly (hot glue dries pretty fast) press the bow onto the center of the back of the bow.

Step 9

That's it! It will take a little practice getting each loop the right size, but I promise it will become easier the more you do it. I hope you enjoy making hair bows for your little ones as much as I do. Stay tuned for more craft tutorials! 

The "I Don't Care What You Wear" Experiment

Most mornings at our house start in virtually identical form. Sometime between about 5:30 and 6:30 a.m., I am awakened by the voice of my 4-year-old, Elizabeth, shouting “MOMMY WHEN WILL MY LIGHT TURN GREEN?!” Eyes suddenly wide open, I sluggishly reach over for the video monitor that sits on my nightstand and see the face of my petite daughter. Actually, I see only her nose and mouth pushed up against the camera that sits on the book shelf in her room. “Not for another hour, Elizabeth. Go back to sleep,” I say grumpily into the monitor. Most of the time I don’t even know exactly what time it is, but I know from experience and the darkness out my window that it is definitely not time for her to get up. The green light to which she is referring is an alarm clock that looks like a stop light. The light is red during the night and turns green in the morning when she is allowed to get up. Recommended to us by our pediatrician, this is our most recent attempt at getting Elizabeth not to awaken the entire household way before a civilized time. I could write a book about the poor sleep habits that led to the purchase of this helpful clock, but I will have to save that story for another post. This game of red light, green light continues every ten minutes or so (Elizabeth playing noisily in her room all the while), until the stop light finally turns green at 7 a.m. and she immediately informs me that the light has given her permission to come out of her room. Start your engines. Our daily race is on.

Seconds after letting Elizabeth out of her room (our pediatrician also recommended a baby gate in her door), the requests begin. “Can I have some juice?” “Snack please.” “Put on a show.” “Let’s color!” After meeting most of her demands and successfully putting off coloring until a later hour, I grab a cup of coffee and attempt to “hatch,” as my mother-in-law says. I don’t possess the early bird blood that Elizabeth most definitely inherited from her Daddy, who wakes up for work at 3 a.m. six days a week.  I need a little time to slowly awaken before playing Go Fish, sculpting Play-Doh or pretending to be the evil queen from Snow White. When 8:00 rolls around, Caroline, my Sleeping Beauty, also begins to hatch. After several cuddly, wonderful minutes, then I know it is coming; the point in our daily routine that I dread, because it almost always results in tears, tantrums and time-outs. That’s right, it’s time to get dressed. 

Elizabeth announces her desire to put on her clothes and runs to her room. Most often, she returns with an outfit that does not exactly look like something you’d find on the mannequin at Baby Gap. Individually, they are each very cute pieces of clothing that we are very lucky to own, but together they are, well, “very colorful” (read: a mismatched mess.) Her favorite combination lately is her red leggings with black bows that her grandma bought her to go with her Christmas dress, paired with her pink and purple flower dress, a red headband with a bow that I made her, purple socks and her red “sparkly shoes”.  I think she likes this outfit because it includes all of her favorite colors. I start out trying to be very positive and say, “Oh, that’s a colorful outfit! Very nice choice. Usually we try to match our pants with our dress though. How about if we look for a purple or pink pair of pants?” She begins getting upset. “NO! I like these pants,” she says. She loses control of her emotions very quickly and begins crying and yelling. “I want to wear this dress and these pants,” she says as she runs off to her room and slams the door. 

I’m not sure why I care so much what my children wear. Will the kids in her preschool class make fun of her or not want to play with her? No. In fact the kids at school probably think she looks as fabulous as she thinks she looks. Perhaps the other parents I bump into at drop off will wonder why I don’t have more control over my child and question my parenting skills. That is probably not the case as I am certain they each experience their own struggles, although I am known to care a little too much about what people think. Am I that “anal” that I have to ensure everything is matching and orderly? Well, maybe a little bit. Are social pressures to dress my child nicely that strong? Maybe, but I don’t care about that so much. I have always been pretty practical about dressing my children and myself. The majority of their clothes come from Target, outlet stores or Old Navy. A lot of it may have to do with my desire to not let them get their way too often. Over the past few years I think Andy and I have developed a parenting style in which we emphasize respect for others, especially respect for us, their parents. So when there is a situation where they don’t want to listen to us, it is difficult for me to just give them what they want. But, honestly, I think most of my desire to dress them nicely has to do with an innate motherly instinct that causes me to feel like I must help my children make the right choices in life. It’s the teacher inside of me wanting to help them learn how to do things well.

The dressing drama has been going on at our house for years now. I think it began when Elizabeth was only about 18 months old. She was very sensitive to the way clothing felt on her body. We would spend quite some time in the morning or the night before selecting just the right outfit for the day. When Elizabeth finally settled on what she wanted to wear and I would begin helping her put it on, she would begin flailing her arms around, yelling, screaming and crying. Someone who walked in on the situation might have thought she was having a seizure or something. I could only gather that the reason for this behavior was because what she chose to wear didn’t look or feel the way on her body that she expected it would. This happened to be around the same time when she became obsessed with Disney princesses who wear long, “twirly” ball gowns. Maybe she expected to be transformed into a princess when she dressed herself in the morning. She would often yell about her clothes, socks and shoes “not feeling right.” “Something’s not right!!” she would scream if her socks had even the slightest crease in them when I put on her shoes. Elizabeth refused to wear anything but dresses, preferably, twirly ones. No jeans, no shorts, no t-shirts. While I wanted to buy all sorts of cute outfits I saw while shopping, over time I learned to only buy her comfortable cotton dresses and leggings because anything else would sit in her drawer and go unused.

Caroline’s dressing drama developed just recently. She usually skips off into her room and pulls nearly everything out of her drawers in search of her favorite dress. When she can’t find it and begins yelling for me to help her, her sister ends up in her room also digging through the drawers. I tell Caroline that her favorite apple dress is dirty because she wore it yesterday and she launches into a full-out fit, tears running down her face. Inconsolable. I start pulling out various options for her and selling them to her like a sales girl at Nordstrom. “This is a really pretty dress. And you look so beautiful in it!” “How about this beautiful purple dress and purple pants?” She wants to hear nothing of it. After this goes on for about ten minutes, I begin getting sweaty worrying that we aren’t going to make it to preschool in time and go off about how I don’t have time for this nonsense. Caroline, who is now naked and won’t even let me put her diaper on is apparently completely unconcerned about the day’s timeline. I decide that I am the mommy and I am in charge, so I choose an outfit (a perfectly matching one, of course) and attempt to begin dressing her. Who knew a two-year-old could be stronger than a full-grown adult? She wrestles her way away from he and is now a complete mess. Elizabeth has to creep in and make it worse by giving her a smack on the back. I’ve had enough. “TIME OUT,” I say as I place my naked, crying child in her bed and Elizabeth on the time out chair. At this point I am crying because I can’t understand why such a simple routine such as getting dressed in the morning has to be so difficult. Angry, frustrated, embarrassed and feeling sorry for myself, I storm off trying to catch my breath. 

Once all of us have calmed down and we finally compromise on an outfit, we then experience the same conflict as we rush to get our hair and teeth brushed and our socks, shoes and coat on in an attempt to make it to school on time. “Something’s wrong Mommy,” yells Caroline as she complains about her socks not feeling exactly right. “I don’t want to wear socks,” she says as I explain the importance of wearing socks in the middle of winter. “I can’t zip my coat Mommy” screams Elizabeth as we hustle out the door.

After experiencing this routine (or something similar) day in and day out for at least a couple of years now, I recently had a thought. What if I said, “Choose whatever you want”? What would happen if I said, “I don’t care what you wear”? Perhaps I could spare myself and my children some of the drama that takes place each morning. We already deal with enough drama every day arguing over toys, bath time, bed time, etc. Maybe we would actually get to school on time. Maybe I wouldn’t start my day off in a bad mood. 

And so was born the “I don’t care what you wear” experiment. For one week in February, I let the kids choose their clothes and I didn’t say a thing about it. I cringed as they picked out mismatched or dirty clothes and wore no socks, but I kept my mouth shut. "One week," I kept telling myself. Here are some examples of what they chose to wear. Altogether not too terrible, but the mix of patterns and colors and the lack of socks made it difficult for me to not interfere.

Polka dot dress and butterfly pants combo. No socks.
Remember it is February and we live in Ohio.

Elizabeth is getting better at choosing matching clothes.
I can even live with Caroline's choices here.

I had a hard time with the stripes and polka dots together.
To her credit, the pants did have pink polka dots.
You can see they love their sparkly shoes.

Here Caroline is wearing the red pants with black bows that I mentioned earlier.
Love that Elizabeth's bow is on backwards.

When I sat down to write this entry about ten days after the beginning of my experiment, I was surprised by some of the insights I had gathered. Here’s what I noticed:

• My children were happy! The loved wearing their mismatched outfits. They felt like they looked like a million bucks! It dawned on me that allowing your children to dress themselves builds their confidence and their independence. It also enhances their creativity and their individuality.
• We didn’t start out our day arguing. Everyone was in a good mood and I didn’t feel guilty for yelling at my kids. 
• We got out the door on time (or at least a little closer to it).
• By disagreeing with their clothing choices in the past, I was over emphasizing the importance of appearance. That’s definitely not something I want to instill in my daughters in this world of toothpick thin models and young girls wearing clothes that look like they are for young adults. I was also unconsciously teaching them negative ideas about materialism.
• I was reminded that we are lucky to have clothes at all. Many parents would give their right arm to have warm, well-made clothing to dress their children in. The struggles that I deal with every day are really quite insignificant in the world. So what if their clothes don't match! 

So how will we move forward? I wish I could say that I will immediately change my ways and let the girls choose their clothes from now on. However, that innate urge that drives me to want to help teach them how to make smart decisions certainly will not disappear overnight. I do plan to make an effort to make our mornings go a little more smoothly, especially with baby number three arriving soon. Perhaps we’ll take turns and I will choose their outfits every other day... yeah, I’m sure that will work! Honestly, I’m not sure what will happen next, but on those mornings where I don't get my way, I do plan to keep in mind the positives that come out of my girls choosing their clothes (independence, self confidence, creativity and individuality). Afterall, they are just clothes. And let’s face it, happy children equals a happy mommy.

people are like buttons

Buttons come in virtually every color and shape you can imagine; large half-dollar-sized red buttons, tiny square black buttons, rustic metal buttons, elegant pearl buttons. I’ve even seen buttons shaped like carrots, cowboy boots or bugs. You name it, there is a button for it. Recently while I was working on sewing an applique shirt for the baby we are expecting in May, it struck me that buttons are actually sort of like people. Each one is unique and special in its own way. Large, small, fat, thin, plain, busy, new, old and, well, you get the picture. Perhaps that is why I enjoy using buttons in my craft projects. They give my designs more personality and life. And they each have a special purpose. While a beautiful rhinestone button would look silly on a western-inspired suede jacket, it’s sparkle helps bring to life a formal gown. In this way, each of us brings our talents, our sparkle, to life in our own unique way.

As I paused and thought about this pretty silly analogy that I had discovered between buttons and people, oddly I had an “ah-hah moment.” For a fleeting instant I came to better understand some of the challenges I face day-to-day with my two girls, Elizabeth, 4, and Caroline, 2. I realized that, despite some similar qualities, we are each quite different buttons. Now, I expect that Elizabeth and Caroline might tell you that their favorite button would be a big bright pink one, or a sparkly diamond-like button, but if I had to describe them each as buttons they might not be those. To me, sweet little Caroline is a radiant yellow button, small but bright, like a ray of sunshine to those around her, bouncing around joyfully every place she goes. Elizabeth, might be a bold purple button; cheerful, energetic, imaginative and ambitious. Her button is probably a square one as she likes everything symmetrical and equal. Yet, she is still a small little button. Born at four pounds, three ounces, I will always have trouble picturing her as anything but tiny. And me? Well, at the moment in my 28th week of pregnancy, I am probably most like that big, round half-dollar sized button I mentioned earlier. But, usually I am your basic, round, medium-sized button, likely in a very safe color like beige. Practical, not wanting to grab too much attention from others, simple and quiet on the surface, but maybe with a little bit of a glimmer, as I do like to have a good time and talk far too much once you get me going.

After picturing my offspring as buttons, I realized that perhaps one of the reasons we have such a difficult time understanding each other on occasion is because we are each so different. For example, what is puzzling me these days is Elizabeth’s inability to understand that it is not acceptable to hit her sister. Lately it has escalated to at least three, sometimes five or six different hitting episodes during any given day. Usually it starts with the girls happily running off to play. I hear them talking about who is going to be which princess (of course, Elizabeth always gets to be the princess and Caroline is assigned the role of Prince Charming) or they begin pretending to read books, building towers, whatever. I hear silly giggling and feel so happy that they are such good buddies. Relieved that they are playing together so I can get a couple of things done around the house, I begin cleaning up from breakfast or changing a load of laundry. And just as I am about to indulge in sitting down for a few minutes for a sip of coffee and to maybe pin a few DIY ideas onto Pinterest that I will never actually use, out of nowhere I hear Elizabeth smack Caroline on the back or the head. I storm into the living room as Caroline begins sobbing. Elizabeth explains that Caroline wasn’t giving her the mini Ariel doll that she wanted (or something of this nature), even though there are three other Ariel dolls that Elizabeth already has in her hand. Sometimes the hitting happens even when I am standing right next to both of them. Most recently it was because Caroline was upset because she kept asking me for suckers and I kept telling her that, “We don’t eat suckers before breakfast.” Elizabeth, who didn’t like that Caroline was crying about it, yelled “NO CAROLINE, WE DON’T EAT SUCKERS BEFORE BREAKFAST”, then smacked her on the head. The rest is usually pretty ugly. I end up yelling like the mean lady I used to see in Target before I had kids and swore I would never become, pick Elizabeth up under my arm like a football, carry her to her room and say something brilliant like, “Time out! There is NO HITTING. How many times do I have to tell you this?” Elizabeth usually has some smart remark like, “Twenty-ten times, Mommy.” I’m not sure what kind of answer I expect from such a stupid question. I have tried everything from time-outs to toys and privileges being taken away to positive reinforcement, rewards charts and (though it kills me to admit it) even spanking, of which I have always been a huge opponent. I simply can’t understand why this very smart, very talented, usually sweet little girl, can’t understand that hitting her sister is not allowed. And, I can’t figure out why I can’t find a way to help her change her behavior. I am, afterall, thirty-some years older and smarter than she is!

While in my “people are like buttons” world, I realized that in those moments of fury after Caroline gets sucker-punched, I was forgetting that Elizabeth is not a mature grown-up button, but just a wee, tiny button. I needed to see the world from her small little baby button perspective. I needed to embrace the fact that while I wanted her to be able to think through and control her emotions the way an adult can, she is not capable of thinking like a mommy button or even a big girl button.

I would love to tell you that this realization that people are like buttons has helped me solve the problems I am having with Elizabeth hitting. It is still a work in progress. But, it has helped me remember that my little Elizabeth is only four years old. In her baby-button world the things that cause her to be so frustrated that she must hit her sister may seem very insignificant to me, but to her they are very important. I must use my grown-up button smarts to help calmly teach her the right reaction instead of losing my cool myself and end up reacting in a way I will certainly regret. Those times when I have lost control only teach her the opposite of what I am really trying to get across to her. Funny how sometimes just looking at something in a different way, a much simpler way, can help give you a new perspective on things. While I still get very frustrated in those post-hitting moments, I have been able to force myself to stop and look at the situation from Elizabeth's small view of the world before launching into a tirade about why abusing your sweet little baby sister makes you a mean person. Certainly an outburst that I would feel guilty about for days.

Ironically, as I was finishing up this entry Caroline picked up the fabric-cutting scissors that I accidentally left on the table after starting a new baby bib. I yelled to little Caroline, “No honey, those are mommy’s scissors. Please put them down.” When she took off with them I yelled, “No running with scissors!” Elizabeth decided to yell the same thing and chase after her hitting her on the back because she was not listening. In that instant it was difficult to picture her as a baby button and stay cool, but, at least for today, momma button didn’t come undone.