Write, Mama. Write.

Lovely day, with a soundtrack

This little boy is so ready to hit the ground running every morning and lately he's been so very, very happy.  He's in some sort-of silly, happy, manipulating his world mood and he's talking like crazy about all of it.  We had a just plain, nice day. 

I got up early, saw T out the door, started and finished an order for the shop, ate breakfast and downed too much coffee.  A little work online, a little visit to Bloglines and then the boy started stirring at 8 o'clock (oh, my goodness!) and I zipped in the shower.  Music: silence.

Breakfast for the boy, play, clothing all around, and then indoor/outdoor zooming for a half hour (the boy-- I'm so loving that new gate) and dishes and laundry (me).  Music: Taj Mahal (Kulanjan).

We zipped off to the post office (we both love going to the post office for some reason) and made it on time to the first outdoor concert of the summer season across town.  There was a picnic lunch, a little dancing and a little coy conversation (the boy, with most of the elderly people around us).   Music: patriotic Army Corp Band tunes with 80 year old vibrato singing along behind us... The band busted out a little "I Feel Good" in the middle of the set, complete with a soldier's incredible voice channeling James Brown (in his army fatigues).   

Back for nap (the boy) and painting (me), then a trip up to get Daddy at work.  Music: Garden State soundtrack, just because it's so good and the boy and I both sang along and I couldn't stomach Raffi.

The guys played on the beach while I got a haircut, then we spontaneously stopped for dinner out (a rare and wonderful treat, thanks to a little Mother's Day gift saved for just the right occasion).  Music: Oldies in the car... But when, I cry with a bit of angst, did "In Your Eyes" (Peter Gabriel) become an oldie?  Didn't I just fall in love with Say Anything (or did the crush just focus on John Cusack?).  Anyhow, in the funky Japanese restaurant they were playing classical.    

Regrouping at home, play, bedtime for the boy (who miraculously fell right asleep), then gardening outside 'til dark.  T's working and I'm writing.  Music: silence.

Lovely day, with a soundtrack.  Doesn't everyone have fruit, button jars and 40's music (for the party tomorrow) on their kitchen table?

Kindness, herbs, family + new names for things

Oh, dear... Well.  Thank you for all of that feedback.  I'm trying to just "jump," you know.  Try things.  Hit publish.  Be a bit vulnerable.   I'm still in awe of this medium and how I can be lonely and cranky, vent a bit too much (likely) and then somehow all of these little whispers of solidarity sneak into my kitchen as I sit with the laptop.  It's like when the fellow at the market on Sunday stuck the herbs back in my box, not wanting me to pay for them, saying, "You need these."  I don't need them so much as I need that kindness... We all do.  Thank you for your kindnesses.

The herbs are little and happy, in the monstrous pot from an old architecture firm T once worked at (refurbished to a lovely green yesterday).  It's beyond dreadful what big firms can toss out (oh, the fabric samples...).  Many a first grade book was published with special wallpaper covers, courtesy of big business and changing decorator trends.  I've still got a box of it around here somewhere. 

We have family in town (more and more and more family coming) for Saturday's big 60th celebration and everything is second (third, fourth) to the preparations.  I've deemed myself photojournalist for the day (nobody else knows) which I'm slowly discovering is a way to be a wallflower without attaching yourself to a wall.  It's fantastic!  I'm sure I'll have lots to report, and T's on vacation for a bit soon too so perhaps, maybe (cross your fingers) I might just sew a little one of these days.

I need to make a bag here soon... I'm compelled to make a bag to follow along with the Sew, Mama, Sew big, big Bag Month Contest for July.  I won't enter a bag anywhere other than the Flickr group, but I'm caught up in the excitement.  You most definitely should enter.  Enter three times.  The prizes are amazing.

So, a bag, a fabric box, a bib... They're all done in my mind and pieces are scattered throughout the house.  Of course they're hidden under the bed and in the closets and in baskets and boxes because of the aforementioned family in town, you know... Must keep up the appearance of a non-sewing-obsessed household.   I've deemed this the summer of the crafty stuff for our family life.  Isn't it great how I create labels with such authority?  Photojournalist Beth.  Summer of Crafty Stuff for Family Life.  Just nod your head like you understand and I'll show what I mean later (T's approach).

The morning sprinkles are welcomed by the herbs, I'm sure, but they must vanish by Saturday (the rain, not the herbs).

Off-hand insult slips me down a steep hill but I've got this quiet and peace

Someone said something yesterday and I still haven’t let go of it.  It was terribly insulting, having to do with their impression of our, I suppose, financial state, and not intended as an insult in any way so I guess that should make me feel better about it.  It took the wind out of my sails and I wish I had said any number of things directly but I’m never quick enough and have always retreated to muse over insults.  It bothered me because there were so many assumptions wrapped up in the comment about our little family and the choices we have made.  T and I worked really hard for many years so we could each get additional degrees.  We waited years and years to have the boy even though we really, really wanted him because it was very important for us to have one of us home with him when he was little.  It’s what felt right for us, and we’ve always had pretty good luck when we’ve listened to what really feels right.

It means we budget and make decisions many others don’t quite understand about how we (often don’t) spend our money, but we live in a lovely little place, we’re dressed well and we eat far too much for our own collective good.  We have a safe car, student loan debt, savings for a rainy day, herbs growing and time for lots of family play… Very normal.  Far better than many of the alternatives I see, I’d add, and I’m happy with it all.  Why, I wonder then, am I still so terribly insulted with someone’s negative impression? 

I think somehow I’m just taking it too personally.  When you go to work every day in our society people peg you for something and they “get it.”  There are always assumptions, and with teaching lots of those assumptions really pissed me off too.  Just as the good and the best teachers don’t teach because they “can’t do,” being home with the boy and living with less money isn’t born of any lacking or want.  I don’t do this because it’s what’s easiest or because I can’t do anything else and we don’t make things work this way because we have no other choices.  It feels right, we have more than enough and we’re happy. 

It’s lonely though.  We play and eat and change diapers and take walks and sometimes, when T has to work late and then comes home and needs to work some more, I don’t really talk to anyone who can talk back in sentences for a day or two.  I don’t feel resentful of the day or my role or our life but I start to wish I didn’t feel the need to defend it so much when I’m around other adults.  I’m normal, our life is normal… But I’m not normal.  I can be interesting.  I have experience with things and interests beyond the routine, but somehow being a mama at home these days means I have to prove that I’m interesting.  I have to go out of my way to find someone and then I have to be “more.”

So first off I’m lonely and have to make an effort to engage with people.  Then, while I’m feeling lonely I also have to prove that I’m interesting.  On top of that it then really bugs me when I also have to fight impressions of being somehow all the more inadequate because we have less money while I’m staying home with the boy.  When I’m not careful and when I’m tired, I can get caught up in it too.  I start to feel like I have to do more to prove my worth, if you will…  A little more work on the side, something new for the shop, a need to mop the floor when nobody cares if the floor is mopped this week (and we don’t have pets, for goodness sake).  I even hesitate to just write what I feel here when there’s nothing crafty or lovely or beautiful to share.  I pile the pressure on the loneliness, on top of the effort to engage, the proving I’m interesting and the defense of what’s just fine, thank you very much, and then I find myself at midnight with my finger in the powdered sugar jar, licking the sweet and crying because I’m exhausted and overwhelmed.  The off-hand insult slips me down a steep hill because I’ve lost footholds along the way.  When a parent attacked in school (always verbally, thank goodness) I’d always have a room or two to head to for compassion and collective agreement that I was doing the right thing.  If that failed there was quiet and peace in an hour or two to myself.  The loneliness now doesn’t provide the collective agreement but I think for now writing this is the quiet and peace.

Normal, more than normal, fighting the impressions and enjoying those hours of play and eating and changing diapers and taking walks… It’s the result of a lot of hard work and big decisions and it feels right.  I’m not less-than and this life is full and I wish things were different so the normalcy and the brilliance in all of that was accepted without defense or tears.

Weekend exploration + boundaries

Red potty and gate, more on those to come: new
Beautiful clothes for the boy from a friend, instantly making him look very hip and a bit, gulp... older: old but new to us and fantastic
Weedwacking for the first time: slightly intimidating, fun, not as chainsaw-wielding satisfying-like as I always pictured it
Deadwood, Season Three start: disappointing... It's lost its mojo
Farmer's Market: a mixed bag of drenching rain, special cookies and a deal on beautiful herbs from a nice gentleman who said, "You need these" when I tried to put some back
Window cleaning for the big party on Saturday: done
Hours crafting/sewing/creating with my hands: zero
Number of piles of fabric, in the living room, set aside for specific projects I want to get to: three
Picking a few of the first peas of the season from Dad's garden with the boy: surprisingly joyful... the verdict summed up with a demanding, "MORE!" from the boy
Technology: frustrating, though I did finish the slide show for the 60th celebration and I cry every time I watch it
Hours of sleep: minimal
Hours of downtime for the three of us together: nice, good, needed
Days 'til T's home on a ten day vacation (our first real time off since August): four

We have a small porch off our living room housing a selection of blocks and toys.  With safety plugs in the outlet and the chairs removed it's a safe, fully contained, glorious play space now that we finally bought an extra-wide gate.  I can be in the living room and the boy can be outside and we can do our parallel work/play in separate spaces and it's thrilling and a bit more momentous than one might expect.  It reminds me just a little of the slight jolt I got when I dashed into the store when the boy was four days old, leaving him with T in the car.  I realized then, as I grabbed the item we needed, that the forty or so feet between us was the furthest we'd ever been from one another; he was so independent.  When he's on the porch playing now he's so independent and content and capable, and I might be only five or ten feet away but it's a big step all the same. 

When we got the gate up on Saturday the paradox of boundaries and freedom was striking; by setting a safe limit the boy has so much more freedom.  The analogies are important, I think, and I'm going to remember this the next time I feel like a bad, bad mama while the boy is angry, angry at some limit I'm demanding.  Some of those "no you can't do this but you can do this" and "nope, it's not safe but try this" moments give the boundaries that create the freedom.  There's a good parenting lesson in all of that for me.  All from a gate.

Off the top of my head

Summer's here and I started crying this morning when I blurted out to T, as he was heading out the door, that I miss the end of school.  What's that about?  It's always the end of school now, and yesterday the boy and I took two long walks, played outside for hours (did you know throwing a bicycle pump over and over and over with all of your might is joy? Pure joy?), reading stories and trying desperately to get the boy to sleep.  I remember being so upset when I woke up for the day, ran out in my nightgown to see Mom and Dad in the garden and discovered that I had only just recently fallen asleep and the whole night was still ahead of me.  Drat.  So maybe the boy just skipped the falling asleep part and felt like the lingering sun most definitely equaled play.  In my zen-like chalking yesterday, on the third little piggy, I decided that a lot of my day is now spent rationalizing with myself about letting the boy do things.  My inner guide seems to ask a lot: Is it hurting anyone?  Does it really matter, or are you just being uptight?  So as the pump skidded across the wolf and the boy squealed with delight I was like: I'm cool.  This is cool.  I'm always learning to let go and hold on and embrace joy with this gig and I'm drinking way, way too much coffee because I'm still so, so tired.  Everyone around us is having their second and I'm still trying to figure out how to do the grocery shopping with one.

Crafting?  Sewing?  What's that?  Instead I'll just say that in the Lulu vs. Blurb showdown (they don't know it but they're in a marketing smack-down with me as the solitary decision-maker...  Their future rests on my happiness.) Lulu's got a book or two sitting here on the table.  I'm reserving judgment 'til Blurb's work is in my hot hands by Saturday the 30th mid-morning because that's when the 60th wedding anniversary party is and the title of the book is "Celebrating 60 Years of Marriage."  OK, there you have it.  Your big Lulu/Blurb review will be coming shortly.  So far the title of the review is "You Can't Judge a Book Publishing Site by its Webpage." 

Also, I'm a little freaked out about plastic containers lately and want some of these.  I'm equally concerned about our flaking non-stick cook- and bake-ware and think I need to break down and do something about that.  I'm not so sure what my increased angst is all about other than I've been letting the eensy-teensiest bit of news in and holy cow is the world a scary place right now.  Perhaps I feel I can control one little thing by storing food in glass.  If I could ever make it to the grocery store for said food.

I need to go chalk a new fairy tale. 

Bright

One of my first graders once told me that his little brother, a kindergartner, was scared of me.  I was shocked because I just don't perceive myself as being scary!  He said his brother thought I must be a witch because always wore black.

Here's a snapshot showing how this little boy has changed my life in every single way.  There is color everywhere.   Everything is brighter.

Edited to add: After four hours of crying and not-going-to-bed (why, oh why?) it's not as bright.  Still brilliant, of course, because he's my boy and I'm his mama but we are exhausted.   

10 ways + a hint of something important

I love this handout from Wish Jar, 10 ways to infuse your work with your personality.  It's something posted in 2004 just waiting there, I do believe, for me to find it three years later.  I think Keri Smith's a bit of a genius for getting this all down, and then I worry too that I like it so much because it seems to somehow validate what I've been thinking lately.  Ah, well.  I do believe I need a similar "anti business/corporate, non-traditional, slightly controversial" bit of 10 ways for motherhood.  Something to ponder.

There are lots of things in the wings around here, cooking, stewing, brewing... whatnot.  Don't be confused and think there's any actual cooking happening in this house.  Dinners are what's absolutely easy and the boy woke up this morning pleading for muh-muh (muffins) or inka (pancakes).  You know, nurturing home-baked goodness.  Yeah, none of that to be found because there are those other cooking, stewing, brewing things.

The idea for these little laundry sets hit me when I looked through the Montessori catalog I ordered after reading this post on Angry Chicken.  I only have one up in the shop now though there are a few lying around the house and each includes many mini-clothespins (that's fun: many mini), several small towels, a clothesline, etc.  I know I'm not supposed to order catalogs, because the poor birdies of the boreal forest (scroll down to Two ways you can help birds...) are in a bad way.  My dad casually mentions these things in conversation which is one of the ways you know he's a really amazing person.  There are lots of things you can do to stop unwanted catalogs, so be sure to do some of those things, but I'm glad this one came in the mail.  It's tools for the toddler life you'd wish for in your wildest dreams, and it's a great stepping stone to ideas you can easily bring to your days.

Anyhow, everyday "doing" is the most important part of toddler life around here.  The boy loves to cook (soup takes an hour to get on the stove with my helper) and clean, water, scrub, do laundry, "organize," and any other little adult-type job there is to do.  It's almost always chaos, and I always feel like there are hazard lights flashing around him (and we should both be wearing hard hats) but even folding clothes is more fun with his help.  It's eight steps back and one step forward.  He was all over a little laundry kit of his own.

So as #5 in the 10 ways states, "Your life IS your art..." and this boy is my life.  I have fun creating for and with him, and writing is a medium of choice lately.  He had new sandals and a diaper on tonight, slapped a hat on his head and did laps through the kitchen, living room and hallway.  We tucked him in and all I wanted to do was write about it (or #1, if you're still with me here).  Somehow the fun of creating with the sewing machine, with words on the screen and through my life with this boy, somehow the work, the cooking, stewing and the infusion of it all will reflect my personality.  I'm sure of it.  Or maybe I'm sure I'm learning something through it all.  It's just a child's laundry set, and it's just my musings at the end of an exhausting "NO!"-filled day (his "no's," of course) but there's a hint of something in there that's important for me.  I can feel it.  And I so need a glass of wine.   

Picnic tote

This gift has found its way to the recipients.  I always find it a bit sketchy to give something I've made to people because you want them to like it.  I usually want people to dig what I give them whether I made it or not, but when you do make it I suppose you feel a little more invested; there's more "you" involved than there is when you just pass money over the counter.  My heightened angst about how things will be received won't stop me from doing the making though, and I hear this gift went over well.

I made this tote the same way I've made all of my totes (I'm working on moving that tutorial over to the new site).  I did fold and sew the middle of the handles in half once more though, to give them a look similar to these (though it's hard to tell in my picture).  It's made from the same heavy-weight fabric as the boy's latest hat, and the lining matches the big pocket on the outside.  The heavy nature of the fabric means the huge picnic blanket/tablecloth can be both of those things, a picnic blanket or a tablecloth.  I was picturing people stopping for a little lunch and a few chapters from a good book (in a day of traveling and exploring for the fun of it) so we included cheapo sunglasses as emergency extras and some good sunscreen too. 

With a few modifications this could be the perfect summer gift for any number of people, don't you think?  You could add:

• books and a bookmark
• a cookbook, apron, and greens from the farmer's market
• magazines and a subscription
• a new stuffed friend with a little quilt
• a beach towel and sunglasses
• the towel with a new swimsuit for a little one
• disposable camera and animal-themed hat for a zoo trip
• art postcards and a gift card for entry to a local museum in the front pocket
• more?

Things you think about at a street fair

The only really good picture I got of our actual "booth" (or, as the boy keeps repeating, Mama's "boos") focuses on my sister.  I think I'd better ask her before popping it up here so this is a little of the prep work before the big day: my little red wagon o' antiques.  Every participant has to attend a short meeting the night before the event so we learned late that the Capital City Pride Parade (part of a full weekend of celebration events for the GLBT community, drawing people from all over the state) was going to march through the street fair 'round about noon!

The street fair sign coordinated with the pride flags!  I'm not very familiar with the GLBT community, just as I'm unfamiliar with selling my stuff at a street fair.  The whole day was out of the norm, fascinating, exhausting, fun and, I do believe, a success.  I had lots of time to people watch and think, and here are some of the things I thought:

• People love a good calla lily.  We could have easily sold triple our number of calla lilies (around 150?) but didn't want to deplete the "field" too much before the big 60th wedding anniversary celebration in two weeks.  It was so fun watching the flowers spread out to the town.
• Why in the world do people run around on city streets without shoes?  Yuck, ick, gross, disgusto. 
• I'm not good at sitting around.  Britta's so patient and happy to people-watch, and I'd stand there for about fifteen minutes and say something like, "So, you need anything from the truck?" or "Should I maybe take a load of this over there?" or "I think I'll head over to Starbuck's (again) to use the bathroom" or "I'm just going to walk over there for a minute and I'll be right back."  I'm not good at sitting around.
• Stories are important to people.  People like to know the history of something, how it's made and why or how a certain piece came to live with you and what it was used for and when.  They instantly make an emotional connection with the item and want to buy it.  Fascinating.
• Similarly, I was struck by how nice it was to know who was going to be wearing or enjoying something I had created.  The little girl with a new smocket?  The darling toddler with the hat (yeah, the boy definitively hated it)?  The woman with a new bird?  It was so great to see and each was a perfect fit for the creation.  It's a completely different feeling to have that personal connection between what you make to sell and where it goes. 
• I am so, so proud of my sister.  Lately I've been noticing how I'll glance over at her and I get shocked just a little bit about the fact that she's this beautiful woman and not a cute little kid.  I try to boss her around too much still, I'm sure, because she's all grown up somehow now and she's this gifted artist.  People asked her what her next step will be... Big gallery shows?  Mass production of her incredible cards?  I can't wait to find out.
• Street fairs can be a little sad in the desperation.  There were a few people who looked like they needed to sell something to make rent or buy groceries, but the fund raisers for special needs medical equipment really made me want to buy something when there was nothing I wanted to buy.  Similarly the elderly woman who knit absolutely incredible sweaters and seemed to sell very little made me very, very sad.  Who knew there would be so much anguish involved in such an event? 
• People sell crappy stuff and people buy crappy stuff, and some people charge a lot for really crappy stuff.
• When you sell very little and buy a new push lawnmower you go deeply in the hole quite quickly.
• I'm not a street fair kinda gal.  I'd love to do it again with Brit, mind you, but I don't like the push, push, push to make stuff to try to sell at such a place.  It's great to have the push if you need it (and I needed it) but I don't like making stuff to sell.  I like making things I love and if there are extras, it's fun to try to sell them.  Does that make any sense?

There you have it.  A street fair like no other.  Last night as I was falling asleep T said he was proud of me for trying something new.  I mumbled, "I'm just trying to find my niche."   Always, always trying to find my niche...

Happy Father's Day

It's beyond lucky to find someone like my guy who actually likes you right back.  Watching him as a father makes it feel downright miraculous.  The luck goes even further when I consider that part of me knew how to find him because I knew what funny, kind, do-anything-for-you, smart, handsome, giving, talented husbands and fathers acted like.  My dad is always those things.  T, Dad, Pops, Lance, Grandpa: Happy Father's Day!  The brilliant thing is that the boy will one day be all of those things to his own partner and children, thanks to all of you. 

We spent yesterday at the beach, excited by trains and seagulls, and piling rocks into the new orange bucket.   T's watching the boy all day while I watch people parade by (more on that later).   

Random, once again

Ever do the thing that least needs to be done (because there's a daunting list out there of really actually critically important tasks)?  Case in point: my approach to a slight reorganization of this here blog when all of the big stuff sits in piles.  I did a little re-categorization because, jeesh, do I ever write a lot about parenting and the toddler life.  I also (sidebar left) started to compile some of the links I find and want to find again.  It's just a start but it is, at least, a start of some good resources.  I love compiling information to make it accessible.  Weird, but true. 

I keep adding to that book list and recently found Clare Beaton's Mother Goose Remembers at the library.  Her site isn't the, um, best and I don't think it really reflects the beauty in the pages of this book.  She creates beautiful imagery through embroidery, vintage fabrics, notions...  Each time I read the poetry to the boy I'd get distracted by how she did parts of the illustration work.  It'd be the most lovely new baby/early birthday gift.

This week has been very low-key during the boy's waking hours.  We've have the sounds of "plop, plop, plop" as pine cones are dumped from the new orange pail onto the drive.   Every time I do the dishes he wants me to go, "Do-do-do-do-do-do" in a sing-songy voice and then drop the silverware or pans or whatnot in the sink with a loud clatter.  It's hilarious the eightieth time, by the way.  It's also hilarious now to try to flop like a salmon out of water whenever any piece of clothing is making its way to the boy's body (it actually is sort-of funny... Is that clear that he is the one doing the flopping?).  The sun sneaks in and highlights remnants from a "picnic," piles of stories enjoyed, sippy cups abandoned. 

No French men in this post but it's random all the same.  Doesn't Giraffe look like he's kind and pitying and sort-of saying, "Oh, you poor dear.  You need to brush your hair and get out of the house.  Just go!"?  Or does the fact that I think he's thinking that mean the need to brush my hair and get out of the house is a much more dire situation than I thought it was?  Penguin and Rhino are just disgusted.

 

Do you think anything will sell?

So the street fair this weekend is sort-of a junk/flea market thing.  Do you think anyone with a baby, kid, grandkid and/or craft obsession will 1) stop by and 2) actually buy something?  Here are some more mats and if all else fails Britta and I will have (Plan B) plenty to share with Etsy (Plan C is to give things as gifts for the rest of our lives).  Along with our handcrafted items we have antiques from our grandparents, calla lilies from our parents and records from Britta's boyfriend.  It should be fun.  The blue flourish trumps all other mats I've ever made in my Blue Willow, blue, blue, blue + white obsessed eyes.

Looks like sugar cookie rolls

When I was little we had this great Betty Crocker kids' cookbook that had a multi-colored, rolled sugar cookie recipe.  I always wanted to try it.

These are Sara's idea (thanks, Sara, if you see this) and they were easy and fun.  Each changing pad uses a third of a (new) towel and I'm partial to the two-toned, rolled cookie version.  I wish I'd had one of these when the boy was smaller... So cushy, easy to launder, flippable for twice the clean surface area and much, much nicer than the plastic thing I had and never used.  My hint if you make one is to sew the ribbon with the nice sides facing in.

Oh, and did you happen to see my interview with Abby? 

Mired + inspired (or, mama rhythm)

It's a balancing act, with a little rhythm thrown in.  I feel like I borrow from one essential part to nurture the other, push this out of the way to make way for that like a surly construction crew traffic director.  There are always the details of maintenance: dishes, laundry, the floor covered in Cheerios if we're lucky and rice if we aren't.  There's too much shopping which is a total distraction from the boy, and a distraction from the details of maintenance and happy life things like weather, music and stillness. 

There is always, always this little boy, waking up from nap as I just drift off accidentally and immediately shouting, "MAMAMAMAMAMA!," which is: "I'm rested and raring to go and I NEED YOU TO GET ME OUT OF THE CRIB THIS INSTANT."  He "bam, bam, bams" his palms on the dinner table to be a drummer (my secret role in my club-going, cool alter-person-I-never- was-yet self) and then he winces and seeks pity for his poor little hands, smirking and laughing with the whole process.  He squeezes me close in a split-second almost without meaning to, as he's a busy, busy boy with countless picnics to orchestrate.  There are sentences now, Cavemanish, but also the brilliance of language development in each of his waking moments.  He makes jokes, he demands what he needs and wants, he pumps his arms with excitement.  He loves the color orange like there's no tomorrow.

But there is a tomorrow and as it comes he changes and learns and grows.  I haven't missed any of it but I miss what's passed all the same.  As it comes I try to push the maintenance out the door to nurture just a little bit of that mama self, just enough to clip the nails that are unsightly, read an article that has nothing to do with toddlers, sit for just a second with a quiet mind.  I regroup on new landscape, find my footing in new terrain.   

We had to do this rhythm thing in movement class once, the one class that made me roll my eyes surreptitiously more than any other in my education.  In movement class we were in groups of four and had to do something with music and rhythm; the teacher mentioned, when we were done, how wonderful it was that we all had our own strengths and were able to teach others in unique ways just as so and so was able to teach me, as someone without rhythm, how to do the activity.  Now, I maintain that I was kicked out of ballet as a four or five year old though Mom says we just stopped going.  I'm not graceful and my rhythm isn't the best. I'd been having so much fun for once in movement class though.  Seriously, this teacher pointed me out in the middle of everyone and though I was in my twenties it still stung and was still a bit shameful and it taught me a lesson about teaching the teacher didn't know.  Sometimes in the back of my head I worry that someone, once again, is going to point out that I don't have my balance yet and I haven't got any rhythm.  I worry that what I lack is blatant somehow, or that my footing and the waving cars through and the silliness and the stillness is off-balance.  I'll say, "I was having so much fun though."  Do I have mama rhythm? 

Then I think that nobody has ever been a mama to this little boy, and no one could do it better.  Working to find what works, what clicks for us and me, is the journey we get to take and if it was all quiet and clean and predictable it'd be hopelessly boring and uninspiring.  When I watch this boy sleeping at night my breath catches on the intake and that small understanding of "miracle" hits me again.  I am completely inspired.  I'm mired in the details, my hair is frizzy, my shirts are stained, there are piles and bills... But I am finding my own balance and my own rhythm and I am inspired. 

Last one

 
Sick of the hats?  So is the boy.  After complete and utter rejection of Number Two this one fits, has a linen lining and used a heavy-weight fabric from my grandma.  It's actually the same fabric I used for a picnic "blanket/tablecloth" and tote but luckily those are gifts so he won't be super-matchy-matchy or camouflaged (this boy's hard enough to keep track of as it is... Yikes!).  Number One works in a pinch and it's still my favorite. 

So, Number Three, welcome to sweaty hair, picnics and playgrounds.  Get ready to hold as many blocks as you can.  Prepare to be chewed and stompled on.  And while I'm in the anthropomorphizing spirit: Come back, Sun.  We're ready for you now.   

One weekend + some sewing

3 changing pads
5 lunch bags
3 bibs
5 splat mats
3 bags
1 hat
Bookmarks

More on the way!  I'm getting ready for the street fair.

I changed the dimensions on the bags, kept the seams in, used pinking sheers on the inside and top seams, didn't bother with the bias tape this time and used the button/rick rack combo from before. 

In the spirit of existential comedy

We (me + the boy) haven't been sleeping much lately.  We've been stuck inside a lot and lots of little things that make us all click along have gone by the wayside this week.  The dishes, for example, have greeted me in the morning every day (they seem to sneer at me) because I keep falling asleep before checking them off the nighttime routine list in my head.  I had a wise friend once with the most colorful life I've ever known and she said that cleaning the dishes after a meal was the conclusion to the process of eating and enjoying a meal.  It was essential.  Hmmm.

I have a giganto stack of things cut out, ready to sew in preparation for our little street fair in two weeks.  As it stands I'll have nothing to even try to sell (well, aside from the things in the little shop that refuse to sell and a veritable field of calla lilies).  The plan is for the boys to head out to The Children's Museum and leave me to it tomorrow. 

Anyhow, I'm tired and boring.  Odd things always happen to me though, so today we have these random photos and this random bit of meaninglessness:

One early weekend morning I headed from my dorm to the Quad.  I remember the destination was the Ave, but I don't know what I was planning to do once I got there.  I loved staying up late, late in college but I also really enjoyed getting up early and heading out while everyone slept.  Come to think of it, I still like doing both of those things.  Anyhow, there was nobody, no one, anywhere and all I heard was birds chirping.  Then a man popped out from behind the corner of the art building with a little journal in hand and he didn't look scary in the least.  He was fairly young, with stringy, greasy hair, and he had a pleasant smile and, it turns out, a French accent.  "Skoozeh (you get the phonetic thing here... I don't know a bit of French)...  Ehxkoooz me!  Miss!"  He ran over to me and, again, I wasn't freaked out in the least for some reason. 

He was a "journalist" for the most "POPpuhlr" radio station in all of France.  It was big.  It was famous.  He was important, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah.  He was also in deep, sweaty what-the-heck-am-I-going-to-do trouble.  He was supposed to be doing a radio segment on Kurt Cobain and he was supposed to be in front of Kurt Cobain's house but he hadn't been able to find it.  Kurt Cobain had died half a year or so before this, and "AAAAaahhlll ze French want to know?  What iz it like for zee Americans?  How do zey miss him?  What iz hiz beautiful home like?"  I'm not so sure he ever tried to find Kurt Cobain's house but I know he was in a bad place all the same because I know I was the only person out on campus and he needed the view of zee Americans.  He was dezzzperate, for sure. 

So I said, yep, I'd talk to his radio people and no, he didn't need to tell me how many millions of people would be listening, thank you.  The guy broke into a huge, sweaty, greasy smile and kept up with his "mercis" for awhile, and then I was on the pay phone (next to us, incidentally) and everything I said was translated by a woman into French on a delay as I said it.  The man on the other end "interviewing" me spoke OK English and asked me all about how much zee American guys and girls love zee Kurt Cobain and what was his house like, zat I waz standing in front of, of course (in tribute to Kurt with a candle and an album cover, no doubt).  I don't like to lie but I wasn't sleeping off a drug stupor or anything so on the college scale of things I think it's forgivable. 

After we'd covered Kurt in depth the dude on the other end of the phone said, "Are you pretty?"  "Huh?" I thought.  "Do you like ze boys?  Or do you like ze girls?"  Interview over.

The fellow next to me, much relieved that he still had a job I suppose, was quite thankful.  He promised he would send me a tape of the show and never did (I imagine he needed my name, etc., to document his journalistic integrity or some such thing).  Then I was off, heading to the Quad again, and ten odd minutes of my life were so isolated and bizarre that it felt like it never happened. 

But it did.  Millions of French people thought of me for a few moments, standing in front of Kurt's gate waving my lighter.

Link love

We're going to play while the rain stays away today.  Here's what's caught my eye lately:

• You've seen this by now, right?  Look under "The Baby's Room" for the most incredible nursery wall of all time.  Sort-of makes you want to have a baby girl, doesn't it?  I predict there will be many, many little ones in the next few years with similar nursery walls!

• Aha!  You guys are brilliant.  I'd never heard of Wondertime (Wonder Time?) before and it looks fun.  I'm going to see if our library carries it before committing $10 (but I think I can justify $10 if it's good and the website looks great!).  Thanks!

• Along with that, I want to look for this and this at the library too.  Yesterday I picked up this movie and we really enjoyed it last night.  We agreed that our bar has lowered over the years because it seems like most movies are just terrible, but this one kept me awake and laughing and that's pretty good these days.  I guess I was in the mood for a little existential comedy.

• Sew, Mama, Sew is an international sensation.  Look closely at this Danish magazine!  I did a little translation research and I know they like Kristin's amazing fabric selection (it mentions sock monkey fabric!) and contests too.  Very fun.

• I love this beach blanket and this start to a rug made me pick up a book on crochet at the library yesterday.   

• Not that I have a missionary anywhere, but I thought this was a great idea bank for sending collections of things to someone. 

• Speaking (writing) of collections, this group of scrappy log cabins is great, and they picked the same bag to highlight in Lisa's collection as I did!  The first real "project" sewing I did was log cabin quilts in college.  My good friend taught me how to do it and we sat with side by side sewing machines in the loft of our dorm, creating and laughing.  I love making them and I love the look, but I think I'd do totally different versions now.  Those were so traditional, in design and color, and I love the scrappy look of these.  I still haven't made the boy a quilt and should get started now if I have hope of completing one for his big boy bed (which is to say I should start while it's still a ways off, you know?!).  Maybe something in the log cabin/scrappy milieu?!

• Look at this amazing collection. This woman is so talented and if I had loads of money I'd commission her to make some bright, happy and intricate things for our little home.

• We've gotta try some oobleck.  And some day, if we ever have a fascination with pirates (who doesn't, really?!), we'll have to have a pirate party.  Argh!

Aahh, I hear the start of some crib stirring.  More later!

Random ranting with summery craft thrown in too

Well first off, I think summer is starting to poke through in my crafty creations.  We've got another hat to work with though I'm decidedly unhappy with it.  I used fabric from an old tablecloth (that my sister couldn't sell on eBay... Imagine that?!) and it's just too floppy even with the interfacing.  It wasn't what I was going for.  It is bigger though, so #3 might be the charm.  Someone asked and I'm still about 150 emails deep in indebtedness so I'll just add in here that I started using last summer's perfectly-suited Gap hat for dimensions, then bought See & Sew pattern B4764 for a dollar thinking it would be easier.  The pattern says, "YES!  It's easy...") but I'd have to argue that, "NO!  It's not!"  The pattern was horribly complicated and though I looked at their sizing I never did understand any of their instructions.  You're probably much more pattern literate than I, so it might be worth it for you to try.  I just ended up playing around and making something that looked hat-like.

Onto the random ranting.  I have lots of generous family members and friends who share subscriptions of all sorts of magazines with me.  I love it.  I've always, always had a thing for magazines and never feel good spending money on the subscriptions (well, especially now).  Money-wise it just never seems to total out right for me because I zip through them so quickly (enjoying the zipping, of course).  The New Yorker is the one exception because I could never, ever keep up with reading them all (it can be a little stressful as they pile up actually).  Anyhow, when I was little I used to devour the magazines at my grandma's house every time we visited and so I have a long history of being completely freaked out by some of the articles they put in those things.  I mean, who knew there were so many things to worry about?  When the boy was born I bought those silly clips for under the mattress to hold the sheets on tight because when I was seven or eight I read about a baby... Well, it wasn't good and I held on to that fear somewhere in the back of my mind for over twenty years and then it popped out again.  Anyhow, I'm better at self-policing my media content now than I was but, jeesh, it's so pervasive and insidious.

When I was an undergraduate I did all sorts of research for a communications minor about women in media.  One study I had to do involved looking through hundreds of women's magazines and documenting each image of women to see how they were portrayed.  Among other things I looked for canting which, for my study, meant how the woman was physically positioned.  Was she off-balance?  There are often underlying messages about people in how they are presented visually and so, so many of the women were shown to be off balance in the pictures.  It comes across as playful at first glance but when you look at how men are portrayed so often they are "sturdy" and balanced, leaning towards the camera with their elbows squarely on their knees (or some such pose).  After awhile the contrast starts to bug you.  Women start to look "silly" in the pictures all the time, like one little push of the finger would flatten them.

Lately I've been looking at some parenting magazines and I started to feel all stressed out.  Then I realized how messages about fear and danger were so prevalent.  The same magazine articles that stressed me out as a seven year old were really getting to me as a parent.  In one parenting magazine "The New Rabies Risk" was followed by an emergency guide to "Germ-Proof Your Home" and then, in the same issue, there was an article about "Law School for Mommies."  This was not about going to law school as a mother but about whether parents of a child who falls while playing with your child could sue you.  It talked about what happens if your child needs a visit to the ER while with a babysitter and the doctor refuses to treat him without parental consent.  Feeling stressed yet?  These are just a few things in one issue of one magazine.

What's this all about?  Why does fear sell?  Why do we buy into it all?  I know childhood and parenthood can be super-scary (hey, we just had our five and a half foot fall to the sidewalk and before that we took an ambulance ride to the ER-- in just 19 months) but do we need to pay for people to tell us how super-scary it can possibly, maybe, sometimes be?  Does reading that sort of crap make me a better, more-prepared parent?  What important thoughts are we replacing when we waste our time worrying about these sorts of things?   There's always something that can happen, and it's probably happened to someone.  Does the fear make us smarter about danger?  How does it limit us as parents and how does it limit our children?  Magazines aren't the beginning or the end of this, by the way.  What do news outlets get out of pushing fear?  How does media hook us and how can we be smarter about it as parents?

Down time

Just a little note to say you should check out the latest interview I did over on the Sew, Mama, Sew! Blog.  Stacey's one inspirational gal! 

It's not exactly what I pictured when I wished for sand in my toes but around here some muddy beach fun is what you get (and all we need).  T made me nachos, margaritas and we all played on the beach yesterday.  No craftiness to show, sadly, but I did move every medicine/vitamin/cleaning product/bad-to-ingest something to a shelf just under the ceiling this weekend, and in these days of climbing that was a good Mama move. 

Better for letting go

I always sort-of insist that we clean up our toys when we're done playing.  I try not to be neurotic but it's a little house and it drives me nuts when there are toys everywhere long after the play is over.  We had lots of fun outside yesterday and ran out of "oomph" for clean-up.  I got up early, early to get a little work done before everyone else woke and saw a lovely scene this morning.  Early morning light highlighted the color and shadows of our forgotten toys and it was so much better for the letting go.  I'm choosing to see a bit of a lesson in that moment.

Summer trick to make you feel you have more money than you do

This rhodie is right outside my kitchen window and the laptop is usually on the kitchen table.  Whether I'm doing dishes, dinner, playing or writing inside I can easily look out to early summer. 

Oh, right.  Here's one of my favorite tricks to make me feel like I have more money than I do.  It's the Pacific NW, after all, and there's coffee around every corner (T used to work in a building in Seattle that had three Starbucks in the building).  When we found out the boy was on the way we gave up buying coffee, for the most part, out and about in the world.  We drink copious, embarrassing amounts at home (Starbucks beans from the local wholesaler) but we usually forgo this treat while out and about.  Summer time makes me really, really want to blow a couple of bucks a day on Starbucks iced Americanos though so I figured out this wonderful trick two years ago: Ask for iced water.  It's triple-filtered, by the way, so you can pretend you're really doing it up lux.  They'll give you ice and a straw and everything and you can sip to your heart's content, refreshed and content for the money you've saved even if you have a twinge of regret about the lack of caffeine.  Seriously... Try it.  The boy and I have lots of half hour dates while out and about, sipping our waters and indulging in a snack or two (from my purse).  We people watch and have a grand time, and nobody working in the gigantic retail chain has ever been bugged by it in the least (and the people that really make money off of our coffee purchases are making plenty, in my book, so I don't feel bad about it). 

There you go.  Sometimes they ask if I want lemon.

Edited to add: By my calculations in two years I've saved roughly $780 (if I'd had three of the cheapest drinks a week).

Gucha gucha

It still strikes me as fascinating that when you learn a new language you think in that language.  There become things you want to say that you can't say "just right" in your native language, because the concept and the word(s) for it exist in that newer space.  I've been feeling like things are all gucha gucha lately and that term's the best way to explain it.  This site translates gucha gucha as "just a mess" and I guess that's the closest thing in English: messy... chaotic (and how cool is that to find your one-stop shop for Japanese surfing lingo?).   

I'm so not in a summer groove yet, though we're hopping in and out of the little pool on the grass daily now.  I suppose it's OK because with teaching summer never really happened 'til July so I'm not totally behind the ball, but everything seems blah and gucha gucha.  It's time to reorient, have a little fun and chill out.  I have so many fun ideas for things to do as a family, for things to create for us and for the little shop.  I want to buy new flip flops.  I want to finish some rompers for the boy to romp in.  I need about ten more hours in the week (well, ten more boy-is-sleeping-peacefully hours) and I need a margarita and nachos. 

And just because this is what I think about when I run errands in the car: Isn't that one of the most fascinating things there is to think about... How language, thought, and culture develop?  How those concepts and words are formed and how the space for that development happens.  What comes first?  If you think differently with new words for things, how do toddlers cope with the incredible number of new happenings in their minds?  Yesterday the boy just started using the word "in."  He wants us to go in the car or in the store, and he wants elephant to go in the bathtub.  He also has us go through everyone we know when things come up.  For example, if I mention that I like cookies we have to go through everyone to determine whether they like cookies or not.  He gets this über-concentrated look and squinches up his whole face, and I can tell he's learning about classification and grouping and how to negate something with our linguistic structure and who knows what else.  Maybe he just really wants to learn about who likes cookies or not, but I think I can actually see those synapses forming in his brain.  It sort-of makes you want to run out and learn something new.

What's with the photo?  The sun has graced our house and yard (the town too, I guess) for, like, four days in a row.  It's amazing!  I love that the light changes how you see everything, and I had this vintage goodness sitting out the other morning.  Texture, detail, old and new...  Perhaps the sunshine will help me think in a new, sunshine way.  A newer conceptual space to clear the gucha gucha feelings, to make way for sandy toes and easier laughter.