Meeting with a bag designer is this morning; I suppose, I could have done this over the phone, via fax, email and whatnot, but honestly?

That's so not me. Or, us. Heather, bless her! can see the design hanging in my brain - like one of those conversation bubbles - and can feel it. Draw it. Paint it. I draw like a four year old. We're on the same page with colors, having taken color samples and picked the same ones, over the table, on Sunday's, (when we typically do some of our best work) with the kids playing on the sofa, our latest and greatest addition to the family, Pucker Up and Smooch Me with the boys.

Pucker Up just adores our Sunday Style Retreats, as we've started calling them; not only does she have unlimited playtime with three (or more) children, but, she gets her own scrambled egg. Lucky her! She and the kids nosh away, Heather and I rearrange the stones she keeps on the table (a fabulous idea that I'm going to steal for my own dining room table), talking through the ideas, the lines, the colors; she scribbles and I totally get it - it's exactly as I saw it.

This past Sunday revolved around The Bag.

As we're quite choosy and specific about what we desire this bag to be, to feel, to look, the only real way to ensure my success, is to do it myself. The lovely gentlemen with whom I am due to meet, has the most fabulous italian accent; he says "we drink cappuccino, we draw bag, you bring what you like to me, I make it happen".

He meets (so far) all our criteria: he's consulting personally with us, he manufactures in America, and, well, he's Italian.

Fine. I admit. The Italian part wasn't on the list.

But it sure doesn't hurt.