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This paper is awesome! It had the patchwork feel with the stitch lines already printed on so I simply cut a bunch of patterns from it, adhered it to by background cardstock and extended the stitched look with a white marker! <br><br>Journaling reads:<br>There is something indescribably pure about belief. This story of belief is about the only year from my childhood that I have any recollection of Easter. It was the year I saw the Easter Bunny. Not that frighteningly grotesque mall-variety Easter Bunny with the dead eyes and single lopped ear but the real deal Easter Bunny IN MY HOUSE. It was Easter Eve and I was lying in my bed acutely aware of the hands ticking ‘round the clock. Dreaming of the Cadbury eggs and marshmallow Peeps and new trinkets - chapstick and jump ropes and finger cuffs that I’d soon lay claim to.<br><br>As I rolled to my side I caught a glimpse of something through the 1/2” crack of my bedroom door. Was it stripes? It was! But what could they be from. In an instant I knew. The realization of what I was contemplating was staggering to my 6…7…8 year old self. It was the Easter Bunny. Standing in my hallway. In his pastel striped shorts. As sure as my belief in Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the elves that left quarters for me under the loose hearthstone at my aunts house, I believed I was staring at the Easter Bunny. Surly he was peeking in at me. Making sure I was sleeping before he carefully tucked eggs + baskets around the house.<br><br>I stared for what seemed like an eternity. Afraid to move. Afraid to blink. Afraid to breathe. What seemed like an eternity in little girl time was probably only a few minutes in reality. The Easter Bunny, as magical creatures are wont to do, outlasted me though and at some point. I drifted off to sleep.<br><br>I can’t remember if it was the very next morning or some point far down the line that I recognized my mistake. I suspect my subconscious protected me from the error in cognition far longer than than it had any right to. Belief is like that though.<br><br>Are you curious? I know I would be. Those pretty pastel stripes turned out to be a neat line of plastic barrettes hanging from a yarn braid attached to the hanging head of a stuffed doll. My OCD self had meticulously arranged the barrettes in such precise fashion that my mind was convinced I had captured a glimpse of the elusive.<br><br>Or maybe the barrettes weren’t all that artfully arranged. Belief. It’s tricky sometimes.
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