CreativeSpace

helping, not hindering

Today I packed our first boxes. Two to be exact, and that's all I managed with Little Bear helping me along the way. She's not the type to go off and quietly play with her toys. No, she wants to touch everything I do, scrutinize it closely, and then heft it to an unknown location somewhere in the house. It's makes packing a lively enterprise especially when dealing with breakable items.

I began packing the vases and votives and did a thorough cleaning out while I packed. I donated eight vases to the local thrift store which probably makes you wonder just how many I had to begin with. Well, I'm too embarrassed to tell but suffice to say it was a ridiculous number. No one should have that many vases. In my defense, at least five (that I kept) were wedding presents. I guess there was something about The Husband and I that said we were in desperate need of heavy, ornate vessels to hold many, many flowers.

While I packed, Little Bear dissected the flower arrangements left over from her birthday party. (sigh) It often happens that I'm forced to choose between her making a giant mess all by herself or interfering with my task at hand. Torturing plant life was better than juggling glassware in my humble opinion. She said, "Mama. Smell. Nose." Then she crinkled up her button nose and smashed a flower into it. I told her that bees loved to smell flowers too, and this brought on a fit of hysterical giggling.

She was also extremely helpful when painting the front porch. The Husband declared that it was easier to paint the entire porch rather than scrub it (I believe this falls in the category of Man Logic) and spent the weekend doing just that. Little Bear and Mudslide kept watch through the mail slot, but occasionally the bear escaped outside for some "hands on" painting experience. And she rearranged the flower pots and paint cans while she was at it.

(She doesn't know yet that it's unkind to taunt one's dodie who is stuck inside all alone.)

Tomorrow we begin gathering our moving quotes, and I hope to gain a significant discount now that we have less vases to move. Surely they'll notice my sacrifice. Or maybe they'll get a special parting gift.

excuses, excuses

Little Bear has begun her training in espionage. Here she hones her skills of concealed observation while tracking the movements of the contractor next door. Our neighbor is renovating her kitchen, although Little Bear remains unconvinced that it's a legit operation. The guy may look like he's using a jackhammer on the foundation of the house...but what is he really doing? Digging a hole to China to smuggle in lead tainted toys? Perhaps. I have no doubt that she'll get to the bottom of it.

I struggled with a topic for today's post. Not because there's nothing of interest to write about but because there's almost too much. It's now official. We're moving further south. The Husband accepted a new job that will have things like job security and the chance of promotion. These are highly coveted things in the brutal world of IT where golden promises are made and then dashed to pieces at your feet. Not that I'm bitter.

The Husband begins his new job in a couple weeks which means that instead of blogging I should be packing. Heck, I should be packing instead of eating, sleeping, and scratching my, er, head. Instead I've been sewing and reading. Because I'm in denial.

You know, denial isn't such a bad place to be. Sure, it may be inconvenient to the people who live with you. Those people who need you to make meals on a somewhat regular basis, wash clothes every once-in-a-while, pay the bills, and pack up an entire house full of crap that has accumulated over the course of seven years. In denial land I've managed to read a seven book series in four days. See, it's not all bad.

I'm coming to grips with the new reality, however. Today I even filled a box with books. It's not taped shut but baby steps, people. Baby steps. I've determined that the sewing machine will be the very last thing that gets packed, and I'm resolved to sew up until the very last moment when we shut the doors and say goodbye to this house that has been so very good to us.

That's the hardest part, isn't it. Saying goodbye to the places you've come to love and the friends that you've made and the house that was your home for so long. I almost can't believe that in another month I will no longer be sitting in my dining room/writing space/sewing room with my laptop on the table and a sewing project lying in pieces across from me. It's a surreal thought at this point. And who knows what Little Bear will think of it all.

So I hope to blog as usual with my three a week posts, but I'm giving myself some leeway during this huge transition. In the meantime, please send happy packing thoughts my way. (And beer) Just kidding.

toddlers suck up time like dog hair into the vacuum

If you have (or had) a toddler at home, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You're familiar with the extra time it takes to do everything when you have a toddler in tow. I would liken it to a ball and chain fastened around your ankle, but then I'd sound like I didn't love my toddler. I do! It's just that she adds an extra half hour at least to everything I do. Nothing is a simple dash out the door or a quick trip into town. It now takes planning and scheduling and actual thought. Oh, the actual thinking involved!

I think someone needs to do a scientific study on it. Despite all my preparations and planning, we can't get out the door in less than forty minutes. Minimum. Finding socks and locating both shoes, zipping up the coat and finding the right hat (not the white one--green!), taking time to squeeze the dog (not around the neck, he can't breathe), prepare and pack a snack, a fresh diaper, wipes, a toy, a book (pancake! no, we're not taking a pancake with us), a sippy cup...and I haven't even reached the part where I get my stuff together. If you're in a race against time, my friends, leave your toddler with the babysitter.

In all the parenting books I read before Little Bear's arrival, I failed to read one warning about this loss of valuable time. It seems logical; of course getting a little person to cooperate with your agenda takes a magical combination of persistence,  kindness, patience, and charm. And the magic needs time to work on said little person. Especially if they're growly, or tired, or have a head cold.

Babies are easy. You carry them where you need to go. You can keep a diaper bag packed by the door, and you and the baby can be out the door in minutes. Toddlers say "NO!" And "MINE!" And "NO WAY!" (This is Little Bear's latest and greatest addition to her vocabulary--never mind that when The Husband and I first said it we meant it as an exclamation of incredulity during an amusing anecdote. Little Bear abuses the phrase without apology.) Toddlers develop opinions about everything and can be particularly adamant about things they know absolutely nothing about. Your even-tempered, mild-mannered baby one day wakes up and decides that, no, they can't ever not-in-a-million-years wear a shirt again. Not even one with a kitty on it. NO WAY!

So that thing you wanted to see around 12-ish? Plan on getting up at 6 because you'll need at least five hours to convince your toddler that shirts are necessary. Yes, pants are too. I've worked out that math (and we all know how that usually goes with me) so that the things I must accomplish have a +40 minutes added to them while those moments of privacy that I once took for granted now have a -60.

For example, I brushed my teeth this morning with a small body wrapped around my leg, a dog breathing his funk-mouth skyward, and a tall spouse asking me complicated questions before I had even looked at the coffeemaker. I used to be able to use the bathroom by myself, you know. In the olden days. I used to be able to shut a door without someone pounding on it and shouting, "Mom? Mom!? MOM????" Like I was sneaking off to the beaches of Barbados through the shower head and used a closed door to give me five minutes head start.  

Nope, I'm still here and looking at several projects that need to be started and wondering where the week has gone. The answer, I know, is upstairs in bed. Asleep at last.

Maybe now I can use the bathroom with the door shut.

back to "schoo"

Dear Little Bear:

Please forgive my forwardness. Perhaps it's too soon to write to you about my feelings, having only met you yesterday, but I pray that you will indulge my bold ways and continue to read.

How could I know that when I sat across from you in the play kitchen, gazing into your blue eyes over pieces of wooden toast, that you would capture my heart? You spoke an unintelligible language, but it didn't matter, because I felt your words in my heart. You may have grabbed my wooden tea cup and flung it on the floor but you were really grabbing my soul and running away with it. Forever.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Well, it was yesterday. It was during story time, and you leaped on to the bench with such exuberance. It was that moment that I knew you were the girl for me. I jumped to my feet and pointed, not to rat you out to your mother (although your departure from the circle could hardly be described as subtle) but to openly declare my affections. "There!" I wanted to shout. "There is the bear I love!"

I hastened to your side. Do you remember? As fast as my 100% vegan-recycled shoes could carry me. Oh the music you made! Who knew dowel rods could make such excruciating noises? I know my mommy didn't. Did you see how her eyes bulged? It was music to my ears--dulcet tones that paved their way through my heart. Even when you tried to push me off the side, I knew you were only expressing your affection for me. So thoughtful. You were trying to improve my coordination. I can see that now!

I adore everything about you; the way you use the feather duster like a rapier, your dashing bravado as you scale precarious stacks of stuff, the way you howl when your mommy makes you share. I love it all! So what if you bit the pompom on my hand knit winter cap? My mommy can knit me a new one. She has nothing better to do! 

Nothing can keep us apart. Not your five word vocabulary, nor your intense dislike of sitting still for longer than two minutes, nor the fact that you betray the Cause by wearing a disposable diaper on occasion. No, our love is stronger than that. 

Never fear, my bear, we will be together again soon. As I watched you being carried away from the playground, kicking and screaming, I wished to comfort you. But you looked like you might be in a biting mood. This letter will have to suffice. Until later...

Your devoted admirer,

W.

Everyday triumphs over chic

My blogging pal (I'm making some assumptions here, because we've never actually met. In the real world. But I can only assume that if we did, we'd be fast friends. A situation we're sure to remedy in the very near future), Margo, of Thrift at Home fame is hosting a game called Shoestring Chic. The rules are posted here. I was very excited to play and had my outfit and pose all figured out (I was going to stare thoughtfully out a window), and The Husband was on standby to snap my picture. Life intervened, however, as it usually does.

After reflecting upon the state of my wardrobe, I realized that on an average day I typically wear a variation of the same outfit. Every day. It gets tedious, really. The rotation moves between two pairs of jeans (sometimes I throw a pair of yoga pants into the mix when I'm feeling frisky) a motley collection of long-sleeved t-shirts, well-worn cardigans, and sneakers. As a stay-at-home mother, blogger, writer, etc., I have my "running errands" outfit, a "meeting the family/friends" outfit, and a "spiffy" outfit for those times that require a touch of formality. And if you've seen me at all during the past two years, then you're quite familiar with what those outfits look like. This spurred me to add the following resolution to my (scarily) growing list: sew myself some new duds already!

In the meantime, Creative Readers, here I am in all my every-day glory (and I use that term loosely):

(I'm holding on to a chair for balance, and the rubble from the holidays can still be seen in the background. sigh.) My photographer got pulled into a conference call about something that went terribly wrong in the computer world, requiring five hours (and counting) of deadly serious conversation. Taking a picture for my blog just wasn't crucial enough to world peace or something. For heaven's sake, I'm not wearing makeup and my hair is barely combed. How important can it be? I'm certain he thought something along these lines.

And below the mirror:

The Facts:

Sneakers – over ten years old and therefore, free
Socks – at Marshall’s I got a pack of six pair for $4 so I’ll round up to $1
Jeans – Target on clearance for $14.99
T-shirt – free from a friend
Sweater – another clearance find of $4

Total: $19.99

 

On a side note, there's still time to enter the drawing for a fantastically (if I do say so myself) apron. Details are here.