I made the mistake a couple nights ago of visiting a self-help website about how to make and achieve goals, forgetting that it is intended for normal people who aren't full of hormones, inarticulable fears, feeling like a blimp full of monkeys with an inability to bend over to even reach my knees.
Somewhere between the "write out your goals for the next 90 days" and "what one word pops into your mind to describe yourself?" I found myself in tears. (Bedraggled? Terrified? Irrational?)
I talked to my Mom on the phone later and she attempted to reassure me. "It's the second baby that hits you," she said."The first one is like 'I got a pet baby!!' and the second one really makes you a parent."
Good to know.
The problems are several-fold. I constantly contradict and reprimand myself. I go from feeling like I don't have any help to feeling like there are too many people around getting in my business. I go from panicking about my lack of planning for next several months to the realization that there are too many unknowns to plan for. I go from waking up ready to accomplish great things to needing a nap after just walking to the kitchen for my breakfast.
The main issue that bothers me is this: MEN.
Let me explain. Generally speaking, I like men. Prefer them, even. However, in this situation they've doomed me.
First, there's the inevitable father tangle. My Dad was both a present and an active part of my childhood and beyond. One could say he loomed large (and not only because he's tall enough to play professional basketball). He was a...let's say...toughening influence on my life. There was no prissiness tolerated in our house, and while I was raised in a decidedly conservative environment, there was little distinction made for gender differences when it came to personal interaction, manual labor and discipline. During particularly difficult phases of my life, I have vivid memories of my father taking me aside, clearing his throat, and giving me speech along the following lines:
"Remember L, that you are very smart and very capable, and you come from a long line of tough, smart, capable women. Your female ancestors didn't need feminism to liberate them. Your great grandmother studied math in college before women went to college, and she earned a reputation as a glutton from her dates who didn't realize that she was so poor that when they took her out it was sometimes the only food she'd eaten that day. Another of your great grandmothers raised four children and ran a rice farm, including care of a large number of dependent laborers, by herself after her husband died. Women you are descended from were on the frontier of this country, working side by side with the men to establish homesteads, birthing children in the wilderness and chasing down smoke-house thieves on horseback, so that they could reclaim their stolen food (and use the horsewhip on the thief to boot). With that kind of blood in your veins, and with your talents you can accomplish anything."
No pressure.
Secondly, there's my darling husband, P. He's a horse of a different color.
I get morning tea in bed on a regular basis. It upsets him that I don't get more pedicures, massages and spa days. I get asked, "Baby are you ok?" about eleventy thousand times a day, because he really wants to know how I'm feeling. His answer to my overwhelmth is a speech along the following lines:
"Why don't you hire a nanny housekeeper?"
Because, P. Because.
1. I'm cheap.
2. The idea of having a new person (female) in my house and in my business who looks to me as their boss is stress inducing, on top of all the stress I have about how I need more help. (Nobody said these reasons have to be rational).
3. What about the long line of tough, capable women? What about the labor pains in the back of a Conestoga wagon that can't stop because there are Indians circling and we have to make it to the mountains because the snow hits!? WHAT ABOUT THE FRONTIER!?
Then again...
I was talking to my brother, and he gave me a slightly different perspective. One most accurately categorized as "don't be retarded".
"Look," he said. "Do you think those women did that because they wanted to? Like, they woke up one day and said 'I know! Honey! Let's go west. I think it would be FUN to risk my life for a measly piece of grassy plain.' No. They're up in heaven now, clapping and cheering every time P tells you to hire someone. That's what they did it for -- so you could have a better life. Plus, who knows, you might find Mary Poppins and she's not annoying and doesn't need anyone to boss her around."
But, I'm still cheap.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
A Little Advice, or, How to Make a Round Crib Sheet
Greetings Bloglings,
It's been a while, but today I'm offering a throwback to the original intent of my blog, which is to offer some advice on how to bumble through domesticity. The first rule of bumbling is: be cheap. To that end, I present:
I realize this is a rather specific thing to be showing, but I couldn't find any special instructions online so perhaps I've found a niche.
So step one, obviously, is to locate the necessity of a round crib sheet. I found mine by way of a) getting pregnant and b)finding an awesome round crib at a local flea market for $125, thereby fulfilling the first rule of bumbling.
Step 2: Gather materials.
Step 4: Trace around the mattress with a pencil, making sure you leave about an inch of space extra for seam allowance.
Step 5: Move the mattress and cut out your circle of fabric.
Step 6: Measure the circumference of your mattress. This is easier said than done in my house, as my helpful toddler squirreled away all the measuring tapes sometime last week and they've yet to resurface. I just McGyvered it and used a long piece of ribbon.
Step 7: You're going to cut strips of fabric from that, when sewn together, will total the circumference of your mattress. So, in my case, (a 42" mattress), that meant three strips. Again, I had problems measuring, so I just divided my remaining fabric into thirds (hot dog style) and cut along those lines. They ended up being about 10" wide, I'm guessing. That's more than enough to encase a 4" deep mattress and allow for the elastic casing.
Step 8: Sew the strips together to make one long strip. Make sure the cute ("right", top or outside) sides of the fabric are touching (facing) each other so that when you open the fabric after sewing it you have matching patterns.
Step 9: Pin the long strip to the circle you cut out earlier, again, making sure cute sides are together.
Step 10: Starting about an inch or two away from the beginning of the strip, sew around the edge to attach the long strip. Stop an inch or two away from the end. This will leave the two ends of the strip unattached. That way, when you reach the end, you can attach them to each other and then finish up attaching it to the circle.
*dislaimer* I know Step 10 is a little wonky, but I have my reasons: because I'm not great at measuring, sometimes the strip comes out a bit long or a bit short, in which case giving yourself leeway is essential. When you reach the end of your strip you can determine for yourself if you need to trim off excess length or add on additional.
Step 11: Turn the sheet right side out and double check it fits your mattress. It's pretty much done at this point, you just need to put in the elastic to keep in it place.
Step 12: Hem the raw edge of the sheet, I did mine about a 1/4"
Step 13: Pin the hemmed edge under again to create the casing. I did mine about 1" because I wasn't sure what elastic I was going to use and I wanted plenty of room. Sew the casing, remembering to leave a little bit open so you can get your elastic in there.
Step 14: Figure out how much elastic you need by getting hold of some elastic and seeing how short it can be while still comfortably fitting around the circumference of your mattress. This will vary with different elastics. Just hold on to one end of the elastic and pretend your putting on a fitted sheet with the rest. You want it snug but not impossible.
Step 15: Use one safety pin to anchor one end of the elastic to the casing opening. Use another attached to the free end of the elastic to make it easier to thread through the casing. After you've threaded the elastic all the way through, sew the elastic ends together and close the casing.
It's been a while, but today I'm offering a throwback to the original intent of my blog, which is to offer some advice on how to bumble through domesticity. The first rule of bumbling is: be cheap. To that end, I present:
HOW TO MAKE A CIRCULAR CRIB SHEET FOR $8
INSTEAD OF BUYING ONE FOR $30.
I realize this is a rather specific thing to be showing, but I couldn't find any special instructions online so perhaps I've found a niche.
So step one, obviously, is to locate the necessity of a round crib sheet. I found mine by way of a) getting pregnant and b)finding an awesome round crib at a local flea market for $125, thereby fulfilling the first rule of bumbling.
Step 2: Gather materials.
- mattress that needs sheeting
- 2 yards of cute, soft fabric for sheet
- thread of appropriate color
- pencil
- about a yard of elastic
Step 4: Trace around the mattress with a pencil, making sure you leave about an inch of space extra for seam allowance.
Step 5: Move the mattress and cut out your circle of fabric.
Step 6: Measure the circumference of your mattress. This is easier said than done in my house, as my helpful toddler squirreled away all the measuring tapes sometime last week and they've yet to resurface. I just McGyvered it and used a long piece of ribbon.
Step 7: You're going to cut strips of fabric from that, when sewn together, will total the circumference of your mattress. So, in my case, (a 42" mattress), that meant three strips. Again, I had problems measuring, so I just divided my remaining fabric into thirds (hot dog style) and cut along those lines. They ended up being about 10" wide, I'm guessing. That's more than enough to encase a 4" deep mattress and allow for the elastic casing.
Step 8: Sew the strips together to make one long strip. Make sure the cute ("right", top or outside) sides of the fabric are touching (facing) each other so that when you open the fabric after sewing it you have matching patterns.
Step 9: Pin the long strip to the circle you cut out earlier, again, making sure cute sides are together.
Step 10: Starting about an inch or two away from the beginning of the strip, sew around the edge to attach the long strip. Stop an inch or two away from the end. This will leave the two ends of the strip unattached. That way, when you reach the end, you can attach them to each other and then finish up attaching it to the circle.
Step 11: Turn the sheet right side out and double check it fits your mattress. It's pretty much done at this point, you just need to put in the elastic to keep in it place.
Step 12: Hem the raw edge of the sheet, I did mine about a 1/4"
Step 13: Pin the hemmed edge under again to create the casing. I did mine about 1" because I wasn't sure what elastic I was going to use and I wanted plenty of room. Sew the casing, remembering to leave a little bit open so you can get your elastic in there.
Step 14: Figure out how much elastic you need by getting hold of some elastic and seeing how short it can be while still comfortably fitting around the circumference of your mattress. This will vary with different elastics. Just hold on to one end of the elastic and pretend your putting on a fitted sheet with the rest. You want it snug but not impossible.
Step 15: Use one safety pin to anchor one end of the elastic to the casing opening. Use another attached to the free end of the elastic to make it easier to thread through the casing. After you've threaded the elastic all the way through, sew the elastic ends together and close the casing.
DONE!
Monday, April 30, 2012
I Kant Remember Who I Was, or, Blog Entry of a Mad Woman.
I come to you tonight in a haze of motherhood. Lost somewhere between showing my toddler's stuffed otter how to use the baby poddy four times in twenty minutes (at F's insistence) and feeling too large to actually fit in the half bathroom while getting the door closed, is my sense of individuation.
I am my children.
I am the digestion process: the food, the fullness and the baby potty, all.
I am the books; I am one with the not-yet-verbal.
I am asleep and awake simultaneously. I am both unproductive and reproductive.
I don't think, therefore I am everything.
Which reminds me. Tomorrow, I'd like to be the bed, the computer repair and perhaps the sugar free caramel frappuccino.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Some Comfort For Me In My Time of Beached Whale-dom
The Beautiful
Three things there are more beautiful
Than any man could wish to see:
The first, it is a full-rigged ship
Sailing with all her sails set free;
The second, when the wind and sun
Are playing in a field of corn ;
The third, a woman, young and fair,
Showing her child before it is born.
by W.H. Davies
Three things there are more beautiful
Than any man could wish to see:
The first, it is a full-rigged ship
Sailing with all her sails set free;
The second, when the wind and sun
Are playing in a field of corn ;
The third, a woman, young and fair,
Showing her child before it is born.
by W.H. Davies
I don't feel small.
I'm officially ten weeks off from being overdue with this baby, and I already feel huge. That said, twice in the past three days, people have said to me "But you look so *tiny*!!"
The thing is, I don't look tiny. First of all, I'm over six feet tall. I wear size nine and a half shoes. Secondly, I'm quite pregnant. There's nothing tiny about this.
I'm not sure if this is one of those things that people say because they think that if they honestly report what I look like I'll burst into tears or something, but I won't and it's just wrong.
Even F knows it.
A few nights ago, she and I were working on putting her toys back in the bassinet that functions as her toybox. It's a sysiphian task involving me picking toys up and putting them in the toybox while F quickly retrieves them and replaces them onto the floor.
In goes a ball, a stuffed dog, a xylophone, a wooden block. Out comes a ball, a stuffed dog, a xylophone, a...
"Mama whaddis?!" she waves Millennial Barbie over her head. I know she knows what "dis" is, so I return the question.
"You tell me, who is that?" I hand her the tiny brush that she uses to stroke Barbie's hair. "Who is it?" I repeat.
She looks thoughtfully at the Barbie for a second, and then "HANNAH!" she exclaims, beaming at me.
So HC is Millennial Barbie. How sweet, seriously.
P is still trying to convince F to call her "Glamorous Older Sister," which, being the mouthful that it is, has not yet caught on, but she clearly agrees with the underlying message.
The last time F identified something as me it was this picture of Winnie the Pooh.
And there was nothing subtle about it. She looked at the picture, pointed to it, and said "MAMA!"
The time before that, I was a polar bear.
Ah well, at least the girl's honest.
The thing is, I don't look tiny. First of all, I'm over six feet tall. I wear size nine and a half shoes. Secondly, I'm quite pregnant. There's nothing tiny about this.
I'm not sure if this is one of those things that people say because they think that if they honestly report what I look like I'll burst into tears or something, but I won't and it's just wrong.
Even F knows it.
A few nights ago, she and I were working on putting her toys back in the bassinet that functions as her toybox. It's a sysiphian task involving me picking toys up and putting them in the toybox while F quickly retrieves them and replaces them onto the floor.
In goes a ball, a stuffed dog, a xylophone, a wooden block. Out comes a ball, a stuffed dog, a xylophone, a...
"Mama whaddis?!" she waves Millennial Barbie over her head. I know she knows what "dis" is, so I return the question.
"You tell me, who is that?" I hand her the tiny brush that she uses to stroke Barbie's hair. "Who is it?" I repeat.
She looks thoughtfully at the Barbie for a second, and then "HANNAH!" she exclaims, beaming at me.
So HC is Millennial Barbie. How sweet, seriously.
P is still trying to convince F to call her "Glamorous Older Sister," which, being the mouthful that it is, has not yet caught on, but she clearly agrees with the underlying message.
The last time F identified something as me it was this picture of Winnie the Pooh.
And there was nothing subtle about it. She looked at the picture, pointed to it, and said "MAMA!"
The time before that, I was a polar bear.
Ah well, at least the girl's honest.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Valentine's Day
In my usual timely fashion, I thought I'd share with you how seriously we take Valentine's Day at our house.
Very. Seriously.
P was up late the night before, so he needed to sleep late on the big day. I'd been up for hours when he finally emerged. His expression and demeanor hovered somewhere between Rip Van Winkle and "I eat brains."
Standing unsteadily in the kitchen, he pulled a yellow post-it note out of the sleeve of his robe with a mournful expression on his face.
"I made this for you last night while you were sleeping. I wanted you to see it when you woke up. I was going to put it someplace special. And bring you tea in bed. I guess it didn't work out."
He shuffled over to F, who watched him quietly from her highchair, bottle in mouth.
"There." He said. "Now it's someplace special."
In case you can't see it, it's a cat face hidden by an enormous heart. PRECIOUS.
What did I get P, you ask? A jar of pickled onions, duh.
SO ROMANTIC.
Very. Seriously.
P was up late the night before, so he needed to sleep late on the big day. I'd been up for hours when he finally emerged. His expression and demeanor hovered somewhere between Rip Van Winkle and "I eat brains."
Standing unsteadily in the kitchen, he pulled a yellow post-it note out of the sleeve of his robe with a mournful expression on his face.
"I made this for you last night while you were sleeping. I wanted you to see it when you woke up. I was going to put it someplace special. And bring you tea in bed. I guess it didn't work out."
He shuffled over to F, who watched him quietly from her highchair, bottle in mouth.
"There." He said. "Now it's someplace special."
In case you can't see it, it's a cat face hidden by an enormous heart. PRECIOUS.
What did I get P, you ask? A jar of pickled onions, duh.
SO ROMANTIC.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Doggy Comforts
Normally, F is a sparkling little cannonball of sociability, powering around, campaigning for Most Beloved Empress of the World. She's not afraid of strangers. She doesn't bat an eye at being left with a babysitter. Airplanes and restaurants are just more opportunities to greet her adoring public.
This aspect of her personality is truly delightful, even to me, the Mother-in-waiting with decidedly hermit-like tendencies.
I say normally, because we all have our off days, apparently.
Last Tuesday when I got F out of her crib in the morning she was her usual cheerful, bubbly self and we discussed the day ahead of us. I asked her what she wanted to wear and she expressed no opinion but wanted me to understand that her favorite stuffed animal, Aye the otter, should be included in the conversation. On the topic of breakfast, she communicated a desire for an egg, cheese and some cheerios. Then, I asked her if she wanted to go play with the other kids at storytime.
She looked me directly in the eye and said, "No."
F only learned the word "no" a few weeks ago, and she uses it quite liberally, even when she actually means "yes". "No" with F doesn't always mean "no", no matter what they tell you in school.
So I ignored her and continued with preparations for our outing.
Cleaned, fed, dressed and ready, we arrived at the library and slipped into storytime without a second to lose. We sat down next to a little boy F's age and his grandmother, two of the regulars of whom F is quite fond.
Peyton, the little boy, was delighted to see F and ran up to her in greeting. She wasn't having it.
I didn't push her, but hoped that she would warm up when the music rattle-shaking started. We all got in a circle. F got wide-eyed and serious. I ignored it outwardly, but inwardly couldn't help but notice her changed personality; I'd never seen her act this way before.
It wasn't until "Ring Around the Rosy" when the father to our right reached out to F and she literally curled up in a ball, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears with her hands, that I realized we should really just go home. It was an off day.
Why? I have no idea. I'd never seen it before and I haven't seen it since. But F knew the moment she got up that she was in no mood for socializing, and she even warned me.
I have three thoughts about this.
One is: Oh Girl, I know. I have that feeling like 5 days out of the week. It's ok. I understand.
Another is, I'm really blessed not to have a temper-tantrum-throwing child. Despite the fact that everyone likely thinks her fetal-position-blocking-out-all-sensory-data is indicative of some sort of abusive homelife, she didn't disturb the library's "Shhhhhhhh!" policy. That would just be rude.
The final thought is: YOU'RE EIGHTEEN MONTHS OLD! What is with this sophisticated emotional life? Don't I get at least another 12 years before I have to deal with this?!
When we got home, she immediately sat down and looked at books silently for about 10 minutes until I let Ulrich von Dog in, and then she made a bee-line for him. He was tired after a long walk with P and flopped down on the floor.
This is what happened next: she laid down on the floor next to him, cheek to the stone and just looked into his soft brown eyes. The two of them stayed in this position for several long minutes.
This must be why families need pets.
This aspect of her personality is truly delightful, even to me, the Mother-in-waiting with decidedly hermit-like tendencies.
I say normally, because we all have our off days, apparently.
Last Tuesday when I got F out of her crib in the morning she was her usual cheerful, bubbly self and we discussed the day ahead of us. I asked her what she wanted to wear and she expressed no opinion but wanted me to understand that her favorite stuffed animal, Aye the otter, should be included in the conversation. On the topic of breakfast, she communicated a desire for an egg, cheese and some cheerios. Then, I asked her if she wanted to go play with the other kids at storytime.
She looked me directly in the eye and said, "No."
F only learned the word "no" a few weeks ago, and she uses it quite liberally, even when she actually means "yes". "No" with F doesn't always mean "no", no matter what they tell you in school.
So I ignored her and continued with preparations for our outing.
Cleaned, fed, dressed and ready, we arrived at the library and slipped into storytime without a second to lose. We sat down next to a little boy F's age and his grandmother, two of the regulars of whom F is quite fond.
Peyton, the little boy, was delighted to see F and ran up to her in greeting. She wasn't having it.
I didn't push her, but hoped that she would warm up when the music rattle-shaking started. We all got in a circle. F got wide-eyed and serious. I ignored it outwardly, but inwardly couldn't help but notice her changed personality; I'd never seen her act this way before.
It wasn't until "Ring Around the Rosy" when the father to our right reached out to F and she literally curled up in a ball, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears with her hands, that I realized we should really just go home. It was an off day.
Why? I have no idea. I'd never seen it before and I haven't seen it since. But F knew the moment she got up that she was in no mood for socializing, and she even warned me.
I have three thoughts about this.
One is: Oh Girl, I know. I have that feeling like 5 days out of the week. It's ok. I understand.
Another is, I'm really blessed not to have a temper-tantrum-throwing child. Despite the fact that everyone likely thinks her fetal-position-blocking-out-all-sensory-data is indicative of some sort of abusive homelife, she didn't disturb the library's "Shhhhhhhh!" policy. That would just be rude.
The final thought is: YOU'RE EIGHTEEN MONTHS OLD! What is with this sophisticated emotional life? Don't I get at least another 12 years before I have to deal with this?!
When we got home, she immediately sat down and looked at books silently for about 10 minutes until I let Ulrich von Dog in, and then she made a bee-line for him. He was tired after a long walk with P and flopped down on the floor.
This is what happened next: she laid down on the floor next to him, cheek to the stone and just looked into his soft brown eyes. The two of them stayed in this position for several long minutes.
This must be why families need pets.
 |
| Ulrich, you're the only one who understands me. |
 | |
| I'm here for you, kid. |
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