Homespun Christmas

Last year we finished a family room in our basement one week before Christmas. I don't know quite why we call it a family room, in actuality it is a shrine that houses our "family Christmas gift", a 46" flat screen television. In truth I rarely go down to that room. Not because I don't like it, (I almost have it decorated to my specifications) but because I rarely sit and watch television. With a room separate from the rest of my house I can't go in and out of it putting things away, or make dinner while a movie is on. It wouldn't make sense to fold the laundry while watching TV downstairs because my laundry room is upstairs. So I guess the newly, almost finally decorated room makes me uneasy. What? I have to do nothing but sit here and watch TV? I don't think I've watched a movie without doing something domestic in my house, or for my house in fourteen years. Who has the time?
So this year my husband and I decided to put the family room to good use, we were going to celebrate Christmas in it.
We set up two Christmas trees. One upstairs which is decked out with new decorations and to the vision of my husband (Everything new. Everything in traditional red and traditional green). Which I found endearing he had so much interest in the look of the Christmas tree we were going to showcase in our front room window. The second tree was of course put up in the basement. This was our sentimental/kid-friendly tree adorned with homemade ornaments and paper ones the kids made at school over the years. We even bought colored lights for this tree, it just seemed a little more whimsical with bright lights.
Christmas Eve, the kids are finally in bed, and pretending to be asleep. We have finished wrapping the gifts and were transporting them from under the grand tree to the basement tree. We were deeply concerned because we didn't buy large amounts of toys this year. We decided to invest in a Wii and bought each child a few games to go with it and then bought token toys (mostly non-electronic)as basically filler.
That night, we experienced the worst snow storm in something like 30 years. My husband happened to be awake around 6:30 when he heard the power go out. The humming just stopped. He waited and waited for it to flicker back on, but nothing happened. I was oblivious. I was tired and I was asleep at 6:30 on a non-school, non-work morning. The kids came into our bedroom at 7:30, reverberating with excitement. When can we open presents? Do we think Santa came?
Unfortunately, our power was off. Unfortunately, the family room in our basement only has one window in it. I decided to go downstairs and see if with the blinds open, we could see anything. I went down. While trying to navigate in the dark around corners, couches, the coffee table and the presents I realized my kids were right, it is scary down here at night. I finally made it to the window and opened the blinds. It hardly made a difference. So my husband and I began bringing up the gifts and putting them under our upstairs tree. My kids were now vibrating with anticipation. My husband had put the Wii game and its components and all the games aside with a label of an X to know which ones were which. My kids unwrapped their gifts in probably 8.8 seconds (we try every year to be organized and drag out the unwrapping experience and every year it takes only 8.8 seconds). My kids were visibly shaken with what they received. Clothes, socks, and about two non-electronic toys each. They are really good people, my kids, they didn't want to hurt our feelings. They really liked the socks, they needed the socks, the toys were good and they liked the shirt and pants they received. We then let them open the "X" boxes. Shrieks and shrills ricocheted off our walls, and this was minimal compared to my husband's Whoo-hoos!
When the presents were undone and we looked at the mess in our dimly lit room, we realized, all four of us, that our power was still out. We couldn't set up and play the Wii. Christmas was ruined!:)
I pulled out one of the non-beeping, no lights and no buzzing family board games the kids ignored almost immediately after unwrapping it. It so happened to be the game of Life. And like "real life" this game was complicated to set up, you had to figure out what things were and what components went where. My husband sat behind a big sheet of instructions and called out what we were suppose to do to set the board up properly. Finally, he read,"OK, to begin playing, start..." The entire house revved up into an electronic frenzy. The humm was back. We had power.
The kids jumped up, throwing their blue and purple plastic "Life" cars in the air, "Let's set up the Wii!" and all three of them (my two kids and my husband) were gone.
I don't know how much I'll play the Wii. It is located downstairs in the basement where I can't do anything else but be downstairs. But I have to say, it's fun. So far I've played a few different games, my husband is trying to sell me on it. I had fun, but then funnest part was knocking the snot out of him playing Boxing.

Santa Cause?

I have a bone to pick with Santa and his elves.
Last Monday night my husband and I took our two children to see Santa at the Fashion Place Mall. We waited, and waited, with the long line not moving and my six year old starting to fall apart. My almost eleven year old and my husband left us in line and went looking at Christmas present ideas, 45 minutes later they found us in the exact same spot, in line behind a lot of sad and tired families.
The reason the line hadn't moved was because Santa and his elves had been unsuccessfully, working to get two dogs to pose and look at the camera for their picture. The two dogs weren't together, and they weren't being posed with their owners either.
There sat Santa with "Fluffy" and three elves with squeaky toys trying to get the animal to look at the camera. When ever they were close to a shot they thought worked, the elves would snap the picture, the owner would walk over to the computer screen and then shake their heads. No, the camera didn't really capture "Fluffy" and the elves needed to try again. I was so irritated. My son was so irritated. The woman behind us with a large, and very young family was irritated. Being from a large family myself, I understand her frustration. You see, the longer your family has to wait for a picture to be taken, the messier the kids become. She was on a count-down and was running out of precious "clean photo" minutes.
In between "Fluffy" and then "Fido" a baby was placed on Santa's lap. The baby immediately began sobbing. I didn't blame him. Who was this guy with a fake white furry face and why is mommy leaving me with him?
The baby wouldn't stop crying, so the elves delivered the baby back to his mom waiting beside the camera. That's when another elf brought dog number two,"Fido" to Santa, and the whole "look at me, puppy" and squeaky toys resumed. Luckily "Fido" was a professional and it only took two shots to make its owner happy.
Then mommy and screaming infant went back to Santa's lap. Was I missing something? Why do they get to try again? Baby isn't happy. Baby doesn't want to sit on Santa's lap. Baby doesn't even know who Santa is!
From the side door, that led to more Mall parking came a man walking a bigger dog towards Santa's Photo Workshop. The man didn't come over to where the line was, instead he walked over to one of the elves and talked to him, mono y' mono. The elf then announced to the other elves and Santa, that dog number three was going to get his picture taken. Was this a joke?
I began looking for the sign that instructed all dogs and owners were to receive preferential treatment and to butt in line.
I became enraged.
I had been waiting in line for 45 minutes waiting to see Santa with my cute, but now discouraged six year old. He had a list of presents he had been reciting in the car on the way to the mall. He believed in Santa. He actually knew who Santa was. He would look at the camera, on cue. I would buy the pictures, all the pictures of my kids on Santa's lap. And, I knew that both my six year old and my almost eleven year old would not pee on Santa's knee nor would they try to bite his fingers if Santa touched them on the head.
The world is crazy, right?
I'm not ignorant of the love between owner and pet. I love my dog. I admit, I like to take him in the car with me when I run errands or have to pick up my kids from Basket Ball practice, but come on! When did it become alright to choose a dog's time with Santa Clause over a hopeful child's?
We never got to meet with Santa last Monday night.
With dog number three waiting in the wings, I just didn't have the patience.
We are going to visit Santa, but perhaps at a different mall, and we will probably have to wait in a long line, again. I just hope it will be a dog-free experience this time.

Pennies For Thought

I just read a story and I couldn't help but think of my childhood. I know I say a lot of negative about my up bringing but I do have a few invaluable experiences from those tough times that have completely shaped me. I remember my Mom crying because someone had left some money for her in our mail box right before Christmas. I don't know how much it was but I believe it was substantial. Sometimes food was left on our door step, like a whole roasted chicken and potatoes, and we never knew who left it and they probably didn't know how much we appreciated it.
I didn't realize until I was an older teenager how poor we were. I just remember thinking that our family was loved. People always wanted to give us stuff. "Give" is the operative word, I don't think it was forced or a "had" to. From these experiences, I have learned empathy and love towards all people. Holidays might have been a drain for my parents or even harsh, but they never let us feel it. Instead we learned how to make things from practically nothing and how to be charitable towards our neighbors. I absolutely love the Holidays. There is an electricity in the air and a feeling of "What can I do for you?" I am forever grateful to my parents for never letting me realize how hard times were, for always looking for opportunities to help others and for making Thanksgiving and Christmas a magical time of year.
I just wanted to publish this thought.

Compliments

I wonder why I constantly ignore compliments. I can give them fairly easily, and completely mean every word I say, but if I receive a compliment, I get weird and don't know what to say, or I answer weakly or even worse I say something like, "oh you, too." It's as if I can't quite believe them. Or I immediately assume "they are just being nice". But if I thought someone thought that about the compliment I gave them I would be bothered or assume they were insecure and needy. What does this say about me? I don't think I'm the only one who thinks this either.
Why is it that we believe everything negative said to us or about us? further more, why would we assume something is wrong with us and the compliment is just an emotional band aide?
I recently came across an incredibly beautiful women who came into the shop I'm interning in. She was looking to have some clothes designed to fit her newly acquired weight. She kept bringing up that she was about 15 to 20 pounds heavier now and was about to go back home to Texas for the Holidays, where she would be seeing family and friends she hadn't seen in years. What struck me about her was that she was a very striking women. One that probably had people watching her walk by, and one that no one was taking in her specific dimensions. She didn't know how people saw her. She saw what she thought people would be seeing her as. Anyway, what is 15 pounds on someone who has confidence, who dresses well and looks proportionate? After about a half an hour, listening to her try to convey what kind of dress she would like, and almost apologizing for her extra weight, I decided to say something. I walked out to the front of the store and gave her a compliment. I told her exactly what I saw and what I was sure everybody saw when looking at her. She began to cry. I didn't know quite how to react. I started feeling a little awkward and then realized that she believed the compliment. It occurred to me that she sooo needed to hear an unsolicited compliment. I'm like that.
I believe the negative insults I hurl at myself and if I get a compliment I usually assume it was a pity-praise. Isn't that silly? And why would I feel awkward once I gave her this compliment? I think it's lack of self confidence. I think it's a "what do you want from me" society I live in where I'm used to no freebies and something for nothing is suspicious.
So I conclude instead of giving a compliment in a sort of hit and run fashion, I'm going to give it and wait. I've learned the importance of praise, but I'm terrible at waiting around to see what happens to the praisee.

Intro to Fashion 1010 Assignment #3

Since I missed the class presentation of Assignment #3, I decided to explain the process I went through. Bare with me…
For my project of making an accessory without sewing it, I tried several ideas.
First I had the brilliant thought of lashing a suede purse together. How hard could it be, right? I found the material, soft dark brown with a matching leather lashing string. I started by cutting out two large circles (patterned after a large metal popcorn bowl-I never use unless I need to trace large circles or in January for my husband’s awesome caramel corn which he makes for every New Year’s Eve) and a circular band to lash together the sides, the front, the back and the bottom. I bought double-sided infusible web which I used to iron a shiny silver Lame’ to the wrong side of both the back and front circles. I then proceeded to stab the thick suede with my scissors to make holes big enough for the leather lashing to fit through (my hole-punch wasn’t strong enough to make more than a dent). I began dragging the lashing from one side, through the bottom and ending on, of course, the other side. The round bag began to take shape, kind of. Because there were huge gaping holes in between the bound parts, I again took leather binding and crisscrossed back making an X over my seam. I did this the remaining of the purse. Once it was complete it didn’t resemble a circular bag, more like a monstrous gaping mouth with a silver Lame’ throat.
I then got the brilliant idea that grommets were the answer. I had stabbed the holes too large and had to sutcher the bottom and sides too tightly making my simple suede purse look more like a poorly assembled toe of a moccasin.
I dragged my six-year-old son back to the craft store with me under the strict instructions of finding the section with grommets and then the area that sold candy bars (stress-eating, and child bribery are key to any craft project). I found the grommets; I also located the eyelets directly next to them. What’s the difference? They were exactly the same size; they were exactly the same price. We bought a bag of each hoping that the weird gadget my mother-in-law loaned me would work with either. The gadget didn’t push the grommets or the eyelets through the suede. Instead it just mashed them up into tiny metal Cheerio’s. I took out my scissors and began to stab the new model of a square-ish purse. I stabbed a gash and then place the little grommets into the hole. I positioned the gadget around the grommet and squished it down. Sometimes it worked. Most times the eyelet fell back through. I tried to balance the grommet and laced the lashing through it to secure it. It ended up looking like a failed project.
My eleven-year-old daughter has taken up knitting with a loom. She has a plastic round loom and is working on a bright yellow yarn hat for her friend. What a great idea! I decided to make gloves. I bought many different spools of yarn, each brighter, and more expensive than the other. I read the instructions that came with the loom, ”for more information visit us on the web”. I did. I couldn’t find out how to make anything other than a scarf. What about gloves? Don’t people make knitted gloves any more? One of the five different sized looms featured a girl on the front sporting a Berry colored pair of fingerless gloves. I want to make fingerless gloves… I began to loom. Wrapping the yarn around each spindle and rewrapping another strand over the first, over and under, pull and repeat. I got better and quicker the more I practiced.
I ended up making more than seven pairs of fingerless gloves; only mine resemble colorful yarn and ribbon corsages. I have decided to call them Glovelets or Glorsages, anyway, I like how these three turned out and I will totally wear them, even if they aren’t really practical (when I pull them on I feel like Madonna circa 1980).
I spent approximately 40 hours and around one hundred dollars figuring out this creative endeavor. I’ll admit I was very frustrated with this assignment but have learned an invaluable lesson: It doesn’t matter how great the vision is, if it can’t be executed.

Don't you hate it when people put it upon themselves to give you a nickname? The gall of it all. I happen to have a long name that everyone wants to shorten. They will even call me the shortened name after I have said not to. I just don't get it.
Being sensitive to this I find I will ask what someone pref errs to be called. If it happens to be a nickname, I don't mind, and I do not decide I would rather call them by their full name.
I also have issues with pet names. I need boundaries. I need lines drawn. I need to be able to not be so personal with everybody. I like living in my 3x3 foot bubble of personal space and I feel violated when people hurl themselves against my bubble trying to find a weak spot.
I guess I could start renaming people who rename me. When they tell me their name is Matti I will reply, "No. You just don't look like a Matti. I'm going to call you Ruth." Or if they shorten my name I could say I prefer a completely different name that has nothing to do with the prefix name. For example, "Even though my name is Kimberly, I actually don't go by Kim, I go by Tallulah Bell. Please call me Tallulah Bell." (I might as well screw with them, if they are so aptly ready to screw with me). I guess the moral of this particular rant, and one I want to shout from the roof tops or at least to whom ever is reading this particular blog, is this," Stop trying to change people, even if it is only their name!"

Day 2

Am I the only one who is concerned that Jamie Lee Curtis is in a movie with talking dogs? I feel bad for her. I recently received an e-mail of what to be grateful for. To stop complaining that I don't like my shoes because there are people who don't have shoes at all, etc, etc. I now have another, "Thank goodness I ..." thank goodness I don't have to be in a movie and pretend to be with talking dogs. No I don't have a career. Yes, I feel like sometimes I have absolutely no direction. But thank goodness, I don't have to be in a movie and pretend there are talking dogs. I can choose what I want. Talking dogs, no. Fashion industry, maybe. An Art aficionado, why not? Many times I stunt my own growth because I get caught up in, "the shuddas". I think most women I know have a giant case of "the shuddas". I think it is worse than the "disease to please" because you don't even try to please. To try to please is a productive step, at least you are moving forward in trying. "The shuddas" on the other hand is a tight little guilt trap that takes your mind, encases your emotions and squashes them with self doubt, making your worth a bloody pulpy mess. Then you never quite heal from it. You start adding to the pulp by making lists. At first the list starts with an item or two. Then the list builds and builds, getting so huge that it starts feeding on your esteem; hungry and unforgiving. But it does not end with you. You have only titillated it. The pulp and its unquenchable thirst is now on a hunt. Who is better than you? Why are they so perfect, and I am not? The pulp is a murderer and it uses you to seek out other victims, crushing the unknowing person in its path. The list grows and turns into a manifesto, leaving a trail of impossible demands on your weak and leaking self esteem.
I should not have named Jamie Lee Curtis. I should be grateful for the shoes I walk in. I wish I had a career. I should have a direction to follow. I shouldn't have dragged you, an accidental tourist, into my insanity... I probably should end this post now...Beware, "the shuddas" are gonna get you.

Hola.
I am joining the techno-revolution and have a blog. This does not mean I am rendering my pen and paper, or that I will no longer answer my land line, it just means I am accepting the wave of movement to become air born. I'm scared. I need my parachute of roller-ball point pens and number two pencils with lots of eraser left. If you are reading this, it means one of two things; A) you are a relative of mine and I told you where to find my ramblings, or 2) you have stumbled across my blog via misspelling and have no idea who I am and what I have to do with stilts. Actually, even if you know me, you still probably have no idea what I have to do with stilts...
Here's a little clue, I do not belong to Ringling Brothers nor am I a trapeze artist.