Today I rue the candy corn binge of yesterday
Oh, did I ever overindulge. My abdomen bulges and shakes, crammed with 40 grams of carnauba wax and corn syrup. Ow. And we didn’t even get to the trick-or-treating yet!
In the meantime, I pulled a Halloween costume out of thin air.
He wanted to be a Worker Guy, one of those guys in the fluorescent vests who stand by the side of the road and eat lunch (or fix culverts, or whatever it is they do). I obliged best I could. I can see how flawed it is, but when I presented the costume to him, I wish you could have seen his eyes light up. And I wish you could have heard him ask me to make a perry-chicker, or a concrete mixer, because you would have heard in his voice the absolute confidence that his mother was capable of anything.
Better living through candy corn
So many things on my mind these days, not enough time to write them coherently. So instead, I will write down one thought for each piece of candy corn I consume in the next twenty minutes or so.
- Corn #1. I am alarmingly bloated. I did just eat a happy serving of pasta, but still. Alarming.
- corn #2. I baked cookies with Owen yesterday. And roasted a chicken the day before that. And made roast beef the day before that. All this from the girl who could burn water a few short years ago.
- corn #3. I have been reading the tags of everything we own to see where it was made. All of it in China, with the exception of one rocking horse (Mexico), four sweaters (Hong Kong), and two coloring books (USA). I think this is kind of sad. I know it’s a complex issue? But still. Kind of sad. And, in light of the “lead thing,” kind of scary.
- corn #4. Speaking of sad and complex textile issues: I’m trying to find out where some of my favorite fabrics are made. Because while sewing your own clothes can take care of the “made in the u.s.a.” part, it doesn’t really help if that fabric was printed with toxic inks in a third world country by five-year-old children. Anyone have a lead on that info? In the meantime: dioramarama linked to a new line of organic fabric from Michael Miller, which I am enjoying.
- corn #5. I am also enjoying this list of 15 Great Decluttering Tips (via Rockstar Mommy). Item number 10 would give me the shakes, though. And lately I am trying to embrace number 13 and free my inner hippie.
- corn #6. I was highly amused by the Martha Stewart Show this morning, but then incredibly pained because our remote control is on the fritz and I couldn’t hit “mute.” I only watch Martha on mute. I may have a face for radio, but Martha has a voice for blogging.
- corn #7. I have a very long post in Draft about how I have embraced my place in the world as a mother, after almost three years of identity crisis. It is a rambling, poorly-written post. But the sentiment still needed to be recorded, so here you go.
- corn #8. I have begun drinking Tetley tea in the evenings. It has just enough caffeine to see me through to the end of the day. And it reminds me of another post I have in Draft, about how much the old ladies have got it going on in terms of Good Things. Remind me to finish that one. I am serious — we could all take a page or two from the books of the Old Ladies.
- corn #9. My teeth are starting to tingle.
- corn #10. It’s quilting season again. I picked up Cormac’s quilt again yesterday and pieced some more of the top. I work so entirely haphazardly when I piece quilt tops that it’s rather funny. I mean, this is how much I hate math and planning ahead, that I just cut and sew and cut and sew and then lay it out to see what I made. I’m going to need to get some more batting, which means I am going to pester Keet to share her organic cotton batting source.
- corn #11. Pestering people makes me feel bad about myself. I will turn to Google instead and really earn that organic cotton batting source.
- corn #12. Or perhaps I will search for a wool batting instead. I have some old sheets that I’m thinking of turning into a two-tone log cabin quilt, and I want it to be really heavy and really warm.
- corn #13. I’m getting tired. I think I’m petering out on things to write. I’ll wrap it up and then go brush my teeth.
- corn #14. And another thing. I’m realizing that I have screwed up the CSS on this template, resulting in a text overlap on the header. Little white text of title showing through the header graphic. It’s driving me crazy and “text-indent:-9000px” is not fixing it.
- Pause between corns. Know what else I am embracing? My old-fart self. I saw a picture of my little sister on Facebook yesterday and it made me feel about 63 years old and as hip as an orthopedic shoe. But then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I have two children. And a husband, and a mortgage, and a car note. The young’n’fun ship has sailed, but that is all right.
- corn #15. Come on, I can’t have eaten 15 of these. At least, i don’t think I did. God, I hope I didn’t. … Although … *consults Nutrition Information* … a serving size is TWENTY TWO pieces. Seriously? Forty grams of candy corn. (Hey, that’s my gangsta name.) Well. I suppose I could go on for eight more pieces but really, that’s all I’ve got for now.
Be safe this Devil’s Night and have a lovely Halloween. I’ll be waiting patiently for my sugar coma.
It’s OK to be a little jealous
I got my loot from my scrap & patchwork swap partner, Kim, of the spotted elephant. I couldn’t have picked a better assortment of scraps myself.
I mean, really. There’s an excellent span of reds, which I love, plus some vintage-looking pieces, some really excellent prints, and a great, GREAT little squirrel print. They’re all entirely to my taste. I’m hopping from foot to foot trying to decide what to make. Plus! She added a skein of handspun yarn, which I’m already swatching out. I’m thinking hat?
Whee! All in all, she made for a great first swap experience. Thanks, Kim!
That germy sweet spot
There is a narrow slice of time between “healthy” and “call the pediatrician” when your kids sleep in an hour later, take an extra nap, and dial it down from 11 to like, 4. A pretzel rod, some OJ, and Dragon Tales are all that they require. They are cheerful, quiet, acquiescent. It’s before the Niagara Falls of snot begins, when only the merest, most adorable pink-cheeked flush is your clue that life is going to get miserable pretty fucking quickly.
We’re in that sweet spot right now and I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth (Sesame Street is on next!) because by the end of the day, both tots will be up to their ears in boogies, burning like my lasagna, and sounding like Zsa Zsa Gabor.
How to sew a patchwork kitchen towel
I love to gussy up kitchen towels and plain cotton burp cloths with a little patchwork to be given as gifts. This is the way I do it. And, like everything I do, it involves as little math or measuring as possible — guesstimation is your friend. Or my friend, I suppose.
You’ll need: A towel, fabric for patchwork (2 or more prints/fabrics), thread, sewing machine, rotary cutter/mat (or scissors), ruler.
And: Prewash! Prewash the towel and prewash your fabric. Towels are the sorts of things that get used hard and washed often, and prewashing everything will mean that your creation won’t warp out of shape the first time it’s washed.
OK, to start. First, your towel. I am using a microfiber waffle-weave kitchen towel that’s super soft. It’s very nice. I still might recommend more of a cotton feedsack-type towel, but this is entirely up to you.
Measure your towel to get a rough estimate of how much fabric you’ll need. This towel is about 15” wide, a pretty typical size. For this project, I am using 5” charm-pack squares for patchwork — four squares are enough to reach across the bottom of the towel and still leave room for your seam allowances (1/4”). If you’re using scraps, lay them out and overlap them by 1/4” to get an idea of how many you’ll need.
I also trimmed the squares to be about 3.5” tall, which will result in a 2.5” strip of patchwork. Lay out your chosen fabrics to get an idea of how deep you want your patchwork strip to be and in what order you’d like the prints to be arranged. Also decide if you’d like to leave a little breathing room under the patchwork strip or sew it right along the bottom edge. I like to have mine a couple inches away from the bottom.
Now, the good part. Start sewing. Take the leftmost piece (let’s call it A) and sew it, right sides facing, to the piece next to it (call it B). Use a 1/4” seam allowance. Don’t worry about backtacking at the beginning and end of your seams when piecing.
Press the seams open.
Continue sewing pieces together, right sides facing. Then, join your pieced pieces to form one long strip. Be sure you join your pieces in the order in which you’d like them to appear.
All right! Now, double check your work. Is your patchwork as wide as you estimated (or, you know, measured, you silly person you) it would be?
Excellent! A-plus for you. Now, to get rid of all those nasty raw edges before attaching it to the towel. First, press under the long top edge about 1/2”. Then press under the long bottom edge about 1/2”. Don’t waggle the iron, just press down. If you are using 100% cotton (recommended), set the iron pretty high, but not scorching. Maybe at about a 7. Spray a little water if you like a good crisp edge (and who doesn’t?).
Carefully fold in the short edges at either side and press. If you have more than, say, 3/4” hanging off the edge, trim it before you fold. (I always save what I trim, because you can later piece the saved bits together for a matching coaster or potholder.)
Now, pin the short ends to the very edge of your towel.
Make sure your patchwork strip is parallel to the bottom edge, and pin along the length if it makes you feel better.
Starting at one corner, stitch close to the edge with a medium-length stitch. You do want to backtack at the beginning of this. Stitch all the way around, being careful not to let your line of stitching waver off the patchwork or too far in from the edge. Go along the long side, the short side, the other long and the other short side, meeting where you started, and backtack to finish.
Ta da! Pretty!
Now, wouldn’t you like to dry dishes with that? Or at least set it next to the dishwasher to be admired?
Weekend report: Please Send Vodka
We’re back!
Yes, I drove like 400 miles to hang out with people I met on the internet. And I am so glad I did.
I’m not sure what to write here — the people who were there already know just how amazing it was that so many of us were there, live and “in 3D,” as one of us put it. They know that I love them even more than I did before, that I want to scoop them up and keep them in my pocket, that rarely do I feel as welcomed and accepted as I did this weekend. I have already apologized to them for bursting into tears when I arrived and for asking them to hold my baby while I used the bathroom and for any one of surely hundreds of little faux pas I must have made. And they forgave me! And held my baby anyway!
I mean, I just. Wow. They are so. Just. Wow.
I wish I had gotten more and better pictures. I wish the ones who couldn’t be there could have been there. I wish I had remembered my sling. Or my backup sling, or my backup-backup sling. I wish I had had time to have quality face time with every single person, including the husbands, who were pretty cool. I wish my own husband could have come and met everybody and held my hand. I wish I could have held all the beautiful, fat little babies and petted more wispy toddler heads, but they were having too much fun bouncing and eating chocolate and holding hands.
I wish I had a picture that showed just how freakishly comfortable it was to be there. Or a group shot. This is the best I can do for either.
I can’t thank Nicole enough for making this happen: PSV in the first place and this weekend in particular. Well, Nicole, and Al Gore, who invented the internet. I’da given him a hug, too, if we had thought to invite him.
edited to add toyfoto’s account of the party.
The weekend, in sum.
Crazy. Bouncing. Kids. Jammies. Awesome.
More later.
I’m going to be with my peoples
This weekend I am taking a big old road trip up to New England with the boys. We will be visiting some old family friends and also meeting some old internet friends in person for the first time.
The family friends I have known since I was eight. We used to live in the same neighborhood. We call each other “cousin” and strangers think we are blood related. It’s crazy to me that I am no longer eleven, that I am old enough to be married and have children of my own but that we still gather when we can.
The internet friends — what can I say about them? They are all mothers. They are transglobal. They are sharp — sharper! — than tacks, wits like razorblades, quick to laugh at your joke or light up your smoke, figuratively speaking. You know how it is when you meet someone who really gets you? I mean really, really understands what it’s like. That’s these guys. I’ve known them for two and a half years now. They absolutely saved me from post-partum insanity and made my life as a mother 800% more enjoyable.
Plus they are sweet and nice and have great hair.
Anyway, a great lot of us are all traveling to Boston this weekend to meet up. Some of them have met before and some, like me, will be meeting face to face for the first time. I’m so excited I could plotz.
And we’re bringing our kids, too, and let me tell you, Flickr is going to IMPLODE.
Bad as it may seem, it could always be worse
Boy! I am having a hard time writing about my feelings these days. This very minute I am feeling full of vim and Ovaltine, but here are a few worries I have had over the last two weeks.
What if:
- That canned fruit I just ate is infected with botulism?
- I have a large cancerous tumor but don’t know it yet?
- Iain’s just been in an accident?
- A tree in the backyard is about to crash through the house and squash both my babies while I am unstacking the dishwasher?
- Western civilization is on the precipice of self-destruction?
- That guy picking cigarette butts out of the trash is holding a sack of quarters and is about to bludgeon me?
- Someone just broke in to the house but I couldn’t hear it because I was playing Warren Zevon too loud?
- My son has rickets?
- My other son has a hearing impairment?
- That’s not a double chin, but rather a goiter?
- There is a terrorist attack on New York City at the precise moment I am crossing the George Washington Bridge*?
- I catch salmonella from wearing my wedding band while preparing raw chicken?
- My son catches salmonella because he touched raw chicken when I wasn’t looking?
- The reason my wedding band fits funny is because I have the rheumatiz, and soon will have two gnarled lumps for hands and won’t be able to type or knit or sew or pluck my eyebrows?
- I were to die, leaving behind only some Sweet Valley High books and a half-finished sweater as my inheritance? What kind of legacy is that to give to my children?
- Our house has termites but we only find out when we go to sell and discover that the house has been balancing precariously on a few toothpicks’ worth of foundation?
I have, in more recent days, become a bit more circumspect. Which is good. Anxiety is always battling for space among my brain wrinkles, especially since I became a mother. But sometimes it gets a little out of hand.
*It has since been determined that I will use the Tappan Zee. ** Still, scary.
**More on that later.
The barber stole my baby
Owen had his first “real” haircut this week, at Phil’s, the same place Iain has been going for years.
Look at that. I sent in a toddler and got back a pre-schooler.
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