Year of Pleasures: Gourmet snacks

In all my years of crafting, I’ve gotten one reaction a whole lot – “You must have a lot of time on your hands!” – but once I became a mom, that statement started being tinged with suspicion.

We’ve talked about it here, I get a lot done. And so people are always asking me how I manage that. (Hint: It’s mental illness) Sometimes people really want time management tips, other times they want to find out where the catch is. I must be a phoney, there must be something I’m neglecting or some help I’m getting that they’re not. If I sense that they’re sincere, I’m happy to talk tips or confess to how many days a week I go without changing out of pajamas, but they’re rarely sincere. Usually they only want to press me until they find something they can hold against me, or use to discount my accomplishments in their eyes (hey, if mental illness won’t do it, what exactly are they looking for?). It’s a weird position for me to be in – I believe that it is my moral responsibility to be as authentic and truthful as possible, but I don’t exactly want to hand these people my weaknesses for ammunition.

I’ve gotten this reaction so, so, so much, that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, and I realize it rarely has anything to do with me. Now whenever someone says it, I recognize it as coming from a place of insecurity. They recognize that my quilts or jams or whatever takes time and thought and care and they feel insecure about their own efforts. They wonder why I am able to do these things that they’re not doing, and instead of feeling secure about their own priorities or deciding to try harder in areas that matter to them, it’s easier to try and attack the efforts of someone else.

I can’t do anything about these people, only steer clear once I recognize a diminisher, but since I hate it when people do it to me, that means I have to be on the lookout for the times I do it to someone else. Because we all do it. We all have our insecurities, we all question our priorities and wonder if someone else has got this whole thing figured out.

Whenever I catch myself wanting to dismiss someone else’s accomplishment, I have to force myself to stop and run through this little quiz.

Why do I want to dismiss what this person did?

Do I think they did something stupid and inconsequential?

Fine.

Did it hurt anyone? Was it unethical?

No.

Then let the person have their accomplishment and don’t be a dick about it.

If I don’t think it’s stupid and inconsequential and I’m still wanting to dismiss it, that is a big red flag that I have some work to do to be secure in my own choices. I could find a way to participate, or I could evaluate a few things and decide that it’s not a priority after all. And once I’ve made that decision, I actually find myself able to enjoy my friends’ accomplishments without jealousy.

I have a ton of runner friends. And I hate running. Hate it with a passionate fire. But I don’t want to. I want a hard runner’s body and the endorphin rush and the fun events. But after evaluating my priorities and my body’s ability, I’ve decided running is just not something I can take up right now. But I can cheer my friends on. I can donate to their races, I can support them on facebook, and every time a friend finishes their first marathon, I feel genuinely happy for them.

Diminishing the world to bring it down to your size is such a temptation. It’s a quick fix to feel instantly better. But ultimately it’s a prison. You’ve made a world with no room to grow and nothing to aspire to. It might make your jealousy feel better, but in the long term it’s poison.

Overcoming diminishing statements

Modesto gets a bad rap. My own father-in-law hates it and calls it a “dirty little town.” Whenever I’m travelling and say where I’m from I’ll get pity in return. There’s even an extended rant about how bad it is by a comedian I really like. But I loved it.

The day I took this picture of Atticus, we had decided to have a family picnic at a nearby park. It was one of the rare days when we were all home together and had the energy to tackle an outing, so we packed up toys and our giant picnic blanket, stopped for sandwiches, and enjoyed being outside together.

Modesto is in a valley, and when the sky is blue it is electric blue and goes on forever. I’ve never been to Montana, but I feel like I understand “Big Sky Country” from living here. Bright blue skies and shocking green grass, broken up by the nut and fruit orchards or grape vineyards. If this place is a dirty little town, it’s only because dirt is necessary for things to grow.

On this day we were enjoying the perfect weather and watching as another family played nearby. It didn’t take long before the grandmother struck up a conversation, asking us about Atti and where he went to school, telling us her history as an aide in an elementary school, and offering us her hard-won wisdom in how to advocate for children with disabilites. That’s something I’ve always been able to count on here. The people.

There’s something about living in an agricultural community that makes people connected in ways I’ve never experienced anywhere else. When everyone is a farmer, their livelihood depends on one another – helping out during harvests, loaning materials, offering their expertise, pitching in. And that spirit seems to have carried over even when the farms aren’t the main employers anymore. If someone can help, they often do. And I just haven’t found that other places. Here cashiers will ask for my phone number so they can bring me plant cuttings. Neighbors will bring me vintage blue mason jars because they know I bottle. Teachers will send Atti home with lemons and blackberries from their garden.

Modesto certainly has its problems. The economy has been hard, there aren’t a lot of opportunities for education, and we have the rash of problems you’d expect from a place dealing with poverty – obesity, crime, drug addiction. But we also have roots. Having lived so many places around the country, and so many places where everybody was from somewhere else, it was a revelation to come to a place where people have lived here for generations. Where they return to run family businesses. Where the church pews are lined every week with parents, grandparents, great-grandparents. This isn’t the only place that fits that description, I have a feeling I’m going to find that same thing in Placerville, but Modesto was the first place that offered it to me, and for that it will always have my heart.

Why I loved Modesto

The produce

This bead store

The best taqueria ever

and the fact that since Modesto had a big boom in the 50′s, the whole place is stuffed with gorgeous midcentury architecture.

My Favorite Things About Modesto

I’ve been so deep down the unpacking rabbit hole that I’ve had very little time to check out my new neighborhood. But I think that’s probably OK for now. Before I move on I wanted to spend the rest of this week remembering the things I’ve loved about Modesto. There are already so many things I love about our new place that it would be easy for me to jump right in without looking back, but Modesto has been good to me, so I want to say goodbye.

These roses were technically my neighbors, but they managed to push their way through the fence and grow on my side of things. Which I thought was perfectly appropriate for yellow roses – a sign of friendship.

Year of Pleasures: Friendship Roses

Our new place is amazing. Like dream house, crazy gorgeous, amazing. It’s got tons of light and space, it’s got wide hallways and wood floors that are perfect for Atti, and also make Boo stop flailing around the place like a crazy animal and instead walk gingerly around so her feet don’t slide out from under her like Bambi on the ice. Who needs a dog trainer? We just need to keep her on a constantly slick surface.

Once again we were down to a matter of days before we had agreed to move and we still didn’t have a place to move to. We have had a lot of bad luck on that front, but apparently we were earning karma because the last minute could not have worked out better for us. This place is so fixed up and I can’t figure out why – it’s always been intended as a rental property and yet it’s more done up than most people’s houses. The garage has built in cabinets that hold all my over the top Christmas stuff. Who does that? Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.

The craft room is back in the house now, which is both a pro and a con. I got awfully fond of having so much space, including a designated photo set up, but the temperature was nearly always a problem. It’s no fun to sew a quilt when you’re so hot you can barely stand to wear clothes. This room does have a double wide closet, however, so what it lacks in square footage compared to my garage space, it makes up for in ability to store messes.

The best part about the inside of the house, hands down, is this tub. A jacuzzi tub. I’ve already used it more than I’ve used the shower. And it’s going to be heaven sent in dealing with my chronic pain issues. Just last night I was experiencing some pain so I popped two aleve and climbed in the tub, turned on the jets, and in a half an hour I was OK. It’s a miracle.

But the best part of the whole place is easily the backyard.

At the top of those stairs? There’s walking paths. In my backyard. This is totally crazy. I already went to IKEA to buy a little cafe table and I have plans to eat my lunch up there every single day. On the side of the house Boo will get a dog run so she doesn’t destroy all this beauty, and over the summers I have plans to just stock this place with furniture so I can spend as much time out here as possible. Just to the left of this picture is a fire pit, you guys. Right? How did I…? What’s this now? Everytime I open my back door I break out in giggles and tears. I cannot believe I get to live here.

On the other side

I have three more days of solo parenting, and in that time I have to prepare an hour and a half presentation for a women’s retreat I leave for on Friday. I not only missed teacher’s appreciation day, but I also missed the last day of school deadline for the presents I had in mind. Atti’s teachers have had him for nearly three years. They deserved quilts, but those are all still lying in pieces all over my living room as Atti crawls over them singing and pretending he’s a little baby that needs to be wrapped up in a blankie. I ran around town Friday morning scrambling for a plan B and came up with cheesecake cupcakes and gerber daisies.

The movers get here on Thursday, we move in to the new place a week from Monday, and then I can begin letting out the breath I’ve been holding for the last two months. We’ll still have to deal with all the red tape of getting Atti’s services started up in a new county, finding new doctors and a new school, and of course all the details that you never think about except when you have to move, but at least we’ll all be together again. The new house has a big bathtub and I plan on using it. I might even wait until the movers are done.

I’ll see you all on the other side of this move. I love you all for your patience and support. There’s light at the end of my tunnel.

Callin It

I don’t really have any decor for summertime. You all know I’m crazy for Christmas, and Thanksgiving and Halloween get special attention, but the rest of the year doesn’t bring much change. Now that Atti’s in school, I’ve been paying a little closer attention to the changing seasons and wanting to celebrate all the ones I’ve been ignoring. This little foam sandcastle is my first nod to bringing a little of this season indoors.

I bought craft sand, but you could always use sand from whatever beach you like best, or even from your backyard sandbox. Then you’ll just need some white glue and a bunch of this green floral foam. Not the white styrofoam, you definitely want the green stuff.

The green foam, as opposed to the other kinds, cuts beautifully. I just used a regular kitchen knife and chopped a brick into pieces to make myself some building blocks.

Then you take your building blocks, assemble them into a castle shape and glue them together. This design took five bricks. Two stacked for the middle, two upended for each tower, and then one cut into pieces to make all the turrets.

To make it look even more like a sandcastle, I needed to make some doors and windows. That’s super easy with this green foam. All you have to do is use your finger to indent the foam and what you’ve pressed crumbles away.

Make sure you brush off all the foam dust from your arches before you start gluing. Then cover the whole building with glue, sprinkle the sand on the top,  shake off the excess and let it dry thoroughly.

I used two coats of sand, which worked out nearly perfectly to be one of the bottles I bought. If you want to dress this up a little more you could mix a little glitter in with the sand you’re using, or seal it with a coat of spray glitter.

Since this is basically the easiest version of building blocks ever, this is a great project for kids. I bet some real lego enthusiasts could come up with a version that would blow mine out of the water.

Summer Sandcastle Centerpiece

My sewing machine broke a while back at the very worst possible time, and the guy at the repair shop just shook his head at me. There was no hope. So he gave me a total steal on the fanciest sewing machine I’ve ever even used. It’s incredible. So quiet and smooth, and it both sews and snips thread with the push of a button. It almost doesn’t need me. I love her.

Year of Pleasures: New Sewing Machine!

Sunday night was the big Listen To Your Mother show and it was magic and empowering and has changed everything for me in so many ways. But I can’t even begin to process it because something else happened Sunday night that has me kind of reeling. And emotional. And giddily happy. And then scared silly. And then weeping with joy.

My youngest sister Dee flew in to watch me perform. She didn’t tell me, we hadn’t even talked on the phone in ages, and she wasn’t even sure if she was going to surprise me at all or just leave after the show – she was that unsure of what to expect from me. That last time I saw this woman she was ten years old. She got married nearly a year ago and I wasn’t there. I wanted to be. Desperately. But I knew that fractured family relationships would bring disaster on a day that she deserved to have for herself. So I put my dreams for her back in the spot in my heart where they’ve been locked for all these years. Hoping that a day would come when we could be together without the web of family dynamics.

She called my name as I was walking across the theater lobby and I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. She was crying, I was crying, my friend Sarah was snapping pictures while crying. I immediately made her and her husband Chris come back to my house where we stayed up until 4 am talking and crying and eating and then after a little more time on Monday they were back on a plane and I’ve been walking around in a stupor ever since.

When I ended my relationship with my parents, it was the wisest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it carried heartbreaking consequences for my relationships with my siblings. I have two sisters I don’t talk to, both for different variations of the same problem – repeating destructive patterns in our relationships that were set up for us by our parents. I wish nothing but every life’s happiness for them, but I am unconvinced that that includes each other. We all see our upbringings very differently and after years of sad experience I don’t think it’s possible for me to have a relationship with a sibling that denies my truth. I am rarely upfront about the pain I feel, I usually mask it under black humor and defiance, but this discovery was made at a cost so dear I didn’t think I could bear it. Some days I still don’t. I have to be careful what movies I watch or music I listen to because anything that reminds me of my siblings will send me into the dark place for weeks. This also means that I have kept the two siblings I do talk to at a distance. I am the only one who doesn’t have a relationship with my parents and after years of heartbreak so intense there are no words for it, I am wary and scared that all the hard work of healing I’ve done will be undone by getting too close to people who don’t see what I see. Not that I expect everyone to accept my way or no way, it’s just that for the sake of my emotional health I at least need people to let me have my own experience and not rewrite it into what they need.

Dee called me out on some of the ways I haven’t tried enough with her. And she was right. Because it is so so much harder to have hope than to just close the door and lock it. And she wasn’t quite right, because for most of her life she was too young to deal with this stuff. She was dependent on my parents and siblings and my own stuff would have been completely inappropriate to dump on her. Plus, I desperately wanted to believe she would never need to. That somehow it would have all magically gone over her head and I could pay the sacrifice of giving her up to keep her from ever feeling it. But I see now that I wasn’t giving her enough credit. She’s 24 now, not the 10 year old still living in my heart.

I think the thing that was the most surprising to me in all of this was her reaction to me. She was so happy and so emotional and something as simple as me inviting her back to my house meant so much to her, it all made me realize I had no comprehension of what I meant to her. I’ve seen myself from afar, loving that little girl I helped raise like she was my own, tortured by the loss of her in my life, and I never once considered that she felt that way about me. I was going off of the experiences I’d had with my other siblings and I never suspected that she would miss me like I have missed her. And I don’t think she had any comprehension of how much I did. By climbing on that airplane she was taking a big vulnerable leap into the unknown and hoping that she wouldn’t be rejected. At first I was shocked she would feel that way, and then I thought, of course she did. Why don’t I pick up the phone to call her? For the same reason. Only I let it stop me.

When you see these feel good stories of friends and families reunited, they always stop at the hug. And there’s a reason for that. What comes next is pretty terrifying. We both have a lot of work ahead of us to forge a relationship that is free from the reins of family dynamics and is one that serves us both. We have a lot of time to make up for and a lot of assumptions to unlearn. But I feel so hopeful this time around. Any of the other times I’ve been here I haven’t felt matched. It always felt great, but dangerously one-sided, and sure enough, it was only a matter of time before the patched plaster cracked and the fractures returned. This time, I think it might actually stick.

No words.