Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Friday, July 23, 2010

My Lost Week

So, I forgot that my blog does not transmit directly from my head (if someone could invent that I'd really appreciate it, 'kay).  I must now attempt to recap, without getting all epic in length or sacrificing my charming story telling style.

My niece and nephew came to visit. They normally reside in Arizona, where I've been told the heat is dry and the scorpions are like 99% guaranteed NOT to get in your house.  Mosquitoes and humidity were a frequent topic of concern for the kids, especially the boy, who seemed to have a leaky faucet attached to the top of his skull and a new welt every 10 minutes.


Violet had a birthday and a party and got very little direct attention from her mother for approximately 6 days and appears to be unharmed by the experience. Of course, she crawled into my bed almost every night, so I guess I shouldn't start weeping for the loss of my sweet, needy baby just yet.


This innocent fun is totally and completely illegal in Arizona. Like, zero tolerance illegal, not Ohio (we look the other way one weekend a year) illegal. The box of cheap sparklers we bought could potentially burn down the whole state.  The kids were elated and felt like they were doing something naughty. It was pretty entertaining to watch.

We also spent a day at the water park, for which there are mercifully no photographs. Aaron and I brought home black and blue souvenirs on the shoulder and ass respectively.  Water slides really are built for young people. Violet learned that the lazy river is a dangerous hazard, where you cannot even trust your own mother to prevent you from drowning. Also...peeing in pools is totally okay in Grandma's book, but that's a post for another day. 


We left the water park just as it started to storm and headed straight to the refuge of Bob Evans, which is an Ohio temple of senior citizen cuisine and all-day breakfast. The girl was excited to try something new and by "new" I mean enough food to feed a girls' softball team. She ate bacon, eggs, potatoes, stuffed cinnamon pancakes, one of her brother's chicken fingers and a hunk of my chicken fried steak. It was a sight to behold!
We went bowling.  We walked. We dressed the girl up in my senior prom dress and forced her to pose for pictures in the 90 degree heat. We visited the art museum and played corn hole. We got comic books and made photo albums and schemed about ways to make money for future plane tickets. We watched challenging movies and talked about important stuff and stupid stuff equally. There was some farting and squabbling and whining, but it was a good time.

Today, I packed them up and sent them back and tried not to cry.

The End.
 

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Wardrobe Wednesday

Violet's baby cousin turns one this month and after the success of my Christmas monkeys, I decided I would make Baby K's birthday gift.  Now lest any new readers think I am some sort of overachieving Stepford Mommy; I craft for my health and finances being what they are my therapy must double as gifts for family and friends.

I had the opportunity to raid the clearance rack at Jo-Ann Fabrics a couple of weeks ago and found this gorgeous blue fabric. There wasn't much left on the bolt and Violet would have refused to wear it based on the grounds that it contained no pink, or pink derivatives.  It was just the right amount of fabric for a baby dress.

I used two patterns from the book Weekend Sewing by Heather Ross; the Flower Girl Dress and Ruby's Bloomers.


I added the felt flowers to disguise where my sewing machine attempted to eat the dress... I don't to want to talk about it...

I am 100% convinced that this dress is not going to fit, now that it is complete and I have spent all my patience for alterations.  There is no elastic, or working fasteners. It just slips on over head.  We'll see what happens.

Now these bloomers will fit, of that I have no doubt. 


I was going to make the bloomers out of the same fabric as the dress, but there wasn't enough of it. I'm glad because the white eyelet really looks cute.  Ahem, now between you and me the fabric for the bloomers is, shall we say, reclaimed.  I was at the thrift store and spotted a ladies plus size top made up in white eyelet.  It had never been worn and was still crisp from it's original owner.  It was, in a word, hideous.  I feel like I not only crafted something beautiful out of trash, but prevented some poor woman from making the mistake of wearing that caftan of eyelet.  I also reused the elastic from the cap sleeves to make the leg ruffles.

This whole project is a triumph of thrifty-ness. Of course, if it doesn't fit the baby I am going to have to buy a doll big enough to wear it. So, let's all cross fingers, shall we?

Monday, December 28, 2009

Christmas In a Nutshell

'Twas the Night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was sleeping...because mother and child have a genetic commonality that makes it impossible to turn one's brain off after reaching a certain critical mass of anticipation. There was no way that was ever going to rhyme, but like I said I haven't gotten enough sleep in the last 10 days, so I'm a bit punchy.

I engaged in a crafting sprint to the finish on Christmas Eve. Photo cubes, magic wands, monkeys and matching nightgowns for Vi, Knuffle Bunny and Baby Rojo.



It was my intent to totally exhaust myself, so that I would fall asleep easily, but it didn't work.  We were awake at 5:30 AM on Christmas.  The smell of my crockpot breakfast casserole probably did not make it any easier to stay in bed, so we all stumbled down the steps at 6 to see what the big guy left us.



I was an orgy of wrapping paper and glitter. The glitter has been so thoroughly tracked through my house that I am now finding it in my underwear.  NEVER leave a craft happy four year old alone in a room with a vial of gold glitter.  Daddy has born the brunt of the glitter onslaught, largely due to his Christmas bling.


Violet said Daddy needed a "big ol' Daddy necklace" for Christmas. Done.

Mommy got this little hunk of high tech crack after Daddy bullied T-Mobile into letting us upgrade a month ahead of schedule.


It's a Samsung Memoir and IT IS FULLY AWESOME!

Despite family wide fatigue, we continued the day's festivities with my in-laws.  There were more presents there and Violet and her cousin showed definite signs of Holiday PTSD.  Fabulous gifts were unwrapped and met with cold, blank stares. Later, the girls could be seen rending their garments and crying out for a nap.

The monkeys were a big hit though and my faith in love and humanity was restored.


I was asked by Aaron's Aunt to take family portraits for her.  I'm telling you. You buy a big fancy camera and suddenly everyone recognizes your artistic genius.  They turned out nice, but I'm not going to out the in-laws online, so here is the photo I am sure certain people wish we would have used on our Christmas card.


Notice how my child looks like a drunk sorority girl after a Halloween party. That's when you know it is time to go home and take a rest, before the next round of gifts.



Christmas continues for us this coming weekend, when the out of town presents get opened at my Aunt's house.  Hopefully, Violet will sober up by then.  For now, she's recuperating with her most extravagant gift.




Oh, and this also happens to be my 400th post.  Thanks for reading and commenting and generally validating my very existence.  There will be many more to come in 2010, unless someone convinces me to shut up. 

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

When the Voices in Your Head Don't Calm You Down...Blog

Thanks for the pep talk about my Christmas cards. Before I got my own blog, I would have stewed about this little incident for days and days. Talking to one's self does not provide the positive feedback necessary for a speedy emotional recovery, no matter how much you agree with yourself. 

To celebrate my acceptance of the rejection of my offensive Christmas card (see how I can laugh about it now), I have hand crafted gifts for the two littlest people in our family.  My family is all about homemade stuff and personal, sentimental type gifts.  My husband's family (whom we spend Christmas with) is not terribly comfortable with such intimacies. In the past, I have tried my best to respect their quirks, but I HAD to make these.


I found the pattern for Molly Monkey on a blog called mmmcrafts. I would show you how I put them together, but the pattern itself does a much better job. It is truly idiot proof.  I made them out of all one fabric, instead of scraps like the pattern calls for. The crown was my idea and the green tutu is one of those fabulous no-sew numbers rendered in miniature.  The polka-dot monkey is made from flannel and has a crinkly belly and a jingly tail, as her soon-to-be mama is but a scant 9 months old.  They aren't perfect, but Violet immediately requested her own when she saw what I made, so they must be okay.  Is it stupid that I'm nervous about my gifts to a 3 year old and her baby sister? 

I think I might need to make myself a batch of high octane egg nog. Clearly, my nerves are shot.

Friday, December 18, 2009

The War on Christmas Comes Home

*Sigh*

I generally stay above the fray on the topic of the "true meaning" of Christmas; fingers in my ears, dancing on the couch and humming Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  We celebrate the holidays in the most secular way possible. Sure, a few hymns bust their way into our playlist, but nostalgia and a good orchestral arrangement cannot be denied. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen can really rock the house when done right.  I'm digressing. 

We, The Heathen Family, couldn't care less how you choose to greet us this holiday season.  We like 'em all. Everything is eat, drink and be merry as far as we're concerned.  Too much commercialism? Bah!  If you don't want to buy s*#t, don't buy s*#t.  Hell, I make half the gifts I give. If you are offended by holiday music, stock up on groceries in October and hope for the best. Does the GAP make you mad by blatantly disregarding the superiority of Christianity during this season of wonder? Well, they'd love you to boycott them. It's great for sweater sales. 

Or, or... maybe you just stop whining and eat some damn cookies.

Why so scrunchy Kelly? Why? The holidays never seem to get you down.  Who peed in your egg nog?

I spend a lot of time thinking about, planning and executing our holiday card every year.  Usually, I have my pictures printed by October, when I cash in my free prints on Shutterfly. Since I'm not going to be proclaiming my love for Christ with these cards, they tend to be funny. We're a funny family. The holiday card is our way of sending everyone we love a wee bit of our happy, goofy selves.

For Violet's First Christmas we sent this photo out:


We were forced to assure everyone that we did not actually hang Violet from the mantle. True story.

Last year, I couldn't find a decent photo of the three of us together so I photoshopped this instead:


I can see now that omitting the Christ in Christmas was my downfall, but I really couldn't fit the whole word in that spot.

This year, we made a genuine effort to take a real family photo for our Christmas card. A friend met us at a park and started snapping. Almost none of the photos were flattering of the old married people. Violet could look radiant covered in her own vomit, but I am VAIN. Yes, I said it. I am vain and if I am going to look less than my best, I am going to do it with a sense of humor (the husband feels this way as well).  Luckily, I brought Groucho glasses to our photo shoot.  We all had a good laugh. We Heathens crack ourselves up. Apparently, others were not so amused.

Behold, the most offensive Christmas card we have ever sent:

It's ironic, faux vintage and utterly ridiculous. It is also a clear sign of our rapid decent into hell. We are being prayed for. True story.

So, I guess I need you all to tell me what you think.  What is it about this card that is so offensive? Do we look like Hitler impersonators? Is it the yellow-y vintage effect on the image that is unsettling? Someone offered me the criticism that the photo is just "not Christmas-y".  Perhaps if we had stood in front of a noble fir, festooned with twinkly lights this discussion would never have happened?

Ah, screw it! I think it's funny.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

A Good Time Was Had By All

I am a reluctant traveler. Sure, I fantasize about visiting far flung locales, but I am all talk. A four hour drive to a place where I am welcome (and expected) to spend most of my visit in my pajamas is taxing enough, so visiting a foreign country would be a little outside my comfort zone. Thanksgiving is the only holiday I spend away from my adult home. When I was pregnant with Violet I bid a tearful goodbye to Christmas travel. I made a bargain with the vomit-inducing bean in my belly, that if she could just let Mommy digest enough food to stay upright, she would never force her to wake in a strange bed on Christmas morning. It was the first and most painful sacrifice I made as a parent, because even though I HATE the drive, I LOVE Christmas Eve at my Grandparents' house. Of course, the family dinners of my youth are all but a foggy memory and surely not everything I made them out to be.

The past couple of years have been difficult as far as family togetherness goes. Everyone has been grumpy and unable to find common ground. The tension over the turkey was THICK last year. It is always with a mix of dread and hope that we approach our trip home for Thanksgiving. When things are good, we all have a marvelous time. When things are bad, people threaten to defect to their in-laws' house for the next holiday.

The planets aligned for Thanksgiving 2008 and we acted like a normal family for the day. The boy cousins who had drifted apart through starkly different high school experiences, were busy talking shop about how to keep their respective jalopies up and running. Violet held court with the younger boys and filled the house with her giggles. Everyone talked and ate and teased each other like the "old-days". I am grown-up enough now to realize that the good old days are a figment of nostalgic imagination, but we came pretty close to that this year. I think we had a collective epiphany about the state of the world and decided to be thankful for the imperfect love of family. A good time was had by all and now the Heathen Family introverts are recovering from all that lovely conversation and laughter with a much needed week of napping.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

The Heathen Family Marriage


On October 20, 2000 I turned 24 and I got married. It was a Friday and I had known my groom for approximately 6 weeks. The ceremony was conducted at the home of the newly elected Mayor of Huber Heights and the only photographs were taken by the mayor's wife Barbie on a digital camera with a quality level similar to that of a Commodore 64. I have spent the past eight years attempting to turn these pixelated images into actual photographs. My latest and most desperately abstract effort has inspired me to ponder the fantastically, unlikely success of my marriage. It's good practice for when my daughter wants to know why it was okay for her parents to get married so impulsively, but it is not okay for her to do the same.

I moved to Dayton, Ohio in June of 2000. I had recently graduated from the University of Toledo and due to a series of catastrophic errors in judgment, I was living with an asthmatic pothead who also happened to be my boss at a job that didn't pay enough to allow me to live on my own. My beloved Aunt invited me to come live rent free in her newly acquired house and I was on my way to a fresh start. I had been to Dayton numerous times visiting my Aunt, but I had no social network to speak of. It was a glorious rebirth for me. I got a job in a bookstore and started building a mystery as Sarah McLaughlin would put it. It was great fun weaving the tale of my glamorous past as a collegiate actor, dysfunctional daughter and perennial smart-ass. It gave me an opportunity to write hundreds of pages of self-indulgent poetry alongside my hippie/poet Aunt and her stable of poet friends. It wasn't long before I caught the eye of a fellow bookslinger, who had a reputation for seducing the new female hires. I began dating the bookstore Valentino in earnest. I was keen to get the relationship underway because I had a prophecy to fulfill.

During my first weeks in Dayton, I spent a lot of time doing research on being a bookslinger. It was my little dream. In hindsight, I can see that I was desperate to set a goal for myself that might appear lofty, but was in fact ridiculously attainable. I was hanging out at a Border's one day when they had a psychic doing readings in the cafe. My future was wide open and the suspense was killing me, so I plunked down $5 and waited to hear about the fabulous things to come in my life. I got a little more than I bargained for. It turns out that the woman who did my reading was a very well-respected medium/spiritual counselor. She began telling me about the strong female ancestors who were buzzing around my aura, silently guiding me and protecting me. I don't believe in Jesus, but boy am I sucker for this supernatural crap. The psychic went on to generalize about how important children were in my life (I had just left a job working with kids) and that I would have children of my own very soon. I'm sure my eyebrows went up at that point as I thought to myself, Please let them be legitimate. She went on to explain a complicated romantic plot. I was going to meet my future husband very soon, but there would also be another guy hanging around and I would have to choose. Supposedly, the right choice would be clear to me when the time came to make my decision. I felt electric and immediately began imagining passing strangers as my groom.

Cut to my budding romance with the bookstore Valentino. Valentino was heading out of town to visit a friend in Wisconsin and I was feeling strange about the whole thing. We hadn't been dating long, but we had slept together and I was a little surprised that he would leave me so soon. It had always been my experience in matters of romance that my hot body was so irresistible that any man who was permitted near it would cancel his whole schedule and bend to my will. No sooner than Valentino was out of town, I met the Sloppy Guy. Sloppy Guy was getting ready to quit the bookstore. He had a real job as a security supervisor with Delphi and he was tired of being tired. Why would you work two jobs if you didn't have to? Ah, Sloppy Guy had taken a second job to pay for his (called-off) wedding. In between bursts of flirty, witty banter, I learned all about the Sloppy Guy's recent personal history. Like, how he had supported his fiance through college and was supposed to quit his jobs after the wedding and take his turn at school. Or, how his fiance announced that she couldn't marry him and he had to sit in the rain at the wedding venue and wait for any stray guests that might show up expecting a ceremony. And then there was the matter of getting his real job back, since he wouldn't be going to college after all. The final red flag was Sloppy Guy's admission that he had just bought a dog to help combat his loneliness. He was totally and completely broken. My first instinct was to resist him, for obvious reasons. I had a long-standing record of dating men who were chubby physically imperfect and disheveled. I thought it was important to love people who were beautiful on the inside and it had been my experience that men who paid too much attention to their physiques were assholes. This flawed generalization got me into trouble with the pothead back in Toledo and now I was a little gun-shy about Sloppy Guy's sloppiness. Still, I had a prophecy to worry about and Sloppy Guy was soooo charming, even when he was telling me his mournful tale of love gone wrong. I was also on a deadline. Sloppy Guy's last day was fast approaching. I decided to let things happen.

My first date with Sloppy Guy Aaron was on Labor Day. I met the dog, I saw the nearly unfurnished apartment he had been banished to by his breakup and I didn't run away. We had a nice dinner at the Olive Garden and went back to his place to watch Ferris Buehler's Day Off. It was the most subtle romantic gift I had ever been given. I had mentioned only once how much I love that movie. I fell fast and furious and for real. The idea of becoming engaged never felt right. I had been engaged before, so had Aaron. In both cases, the arrangements were really just last ditch efforts to keep together doomed relationships. I didn't think anyone would take us seriously if we announced we were engaged after only a few weeks of dating. I wanted no speculation, no doubts spoken aloud. Aaron asked me to marry him everyday that we were together until one morning in the shower I looked him in the eye and said yes and meant it. We agreed that we would get the marriage license and if we chickened out, it would expire with no harm done. Incidentally, the clerk who did our paperwork was the same clerk that did Aaron's other, recently expired marriage license and yes, he remembered Aaron.

Aaron and I did not chicken out, but the doubts and speculation came anyway. There were quite a few bets made by our co-workers in the book world. Valentino must have been more than a little bit confused, but we've never spoken of it. He is a dear friend to our family now and has been dating the same girl for as long as Aaron and I have been married. I like to think that I shook him up a bit. My various parents/grandparents were not very happy with me, but I was participating in a family legacy of secret, runaway marriages and they could only complain for so long. Now, everyone loves Aaron so much that they are embarrassed to admit that they once feared he was going to chop me up and bury me in an abandoned lot.

The fact is, we were both at the bottom of our respective barrels. We were both starting over from scratch. Aaron and I were taking advantage of a rare opportunity to reevaluate who we really wanted to be and how we wanted to live for the rest of our lives. I had unpacked baggage everywhere and so did Aaron. It was easy to see how our foundation should be put together, what with all the parts laid bare at our feet. It was hard work, but we never saw any reason to be insecure about the path we were on. Of course, we had absolutely nothing left to distract us from the task at hand.

So, what will I tell Violet about love and relationships? The same thing I was told, I guess. A successful marriage has done nothing to improve my eloquence on the subject.

When you know, you know. You know?

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

It's All Over Now

This is how Violet spent most of her third birthday. After a week of playground hopping with her Arizona cousins and a trip to King's Island amusement park, she simply hit the wall.  She was gracious in defeat. There was no screaming or tantrums. Violet's eyes got heavier and heavier and then she simply laid down and fell asleep. It's probably my fault. I was so desperate to keep moving and avoid sitting still in a room with my mother, that I forgot to take it easy on the baby. The party went on without the guest of honor. My sister and her kids attempted to defeat my Grandmother in a game of Corn Hole.  *I will reassure those of you not from Ohio or Kentucky, that this is not prison-related. Deb continued to tell anyone who couldn't get away from her all about her back surgery and how many times she has fallen down in the last 2 weeks. My Dad spent some time staring at Deb and trying to figure out how she managed to eat the woman he was married to 30 years ago. My mother and father are so rarely in the same room together that it is hard to imagine them as a couple. In fact, the idea is kind of nauseating. I was never one of those  kids who tried to pull off The Parent Trap. So, despite catastrophic toddler break-down, a good time was had by all. Violet got to enjoy all of her gifts when she woke up (she had no memory of her friend Kyra opening them all for her). Also, there was no left over cake to tempt my soul for weeks to come, because it was so blazing hot that the buttercream turned into a limp puddle. Ah, summer!

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Freecycle


I believe in karma. I know that all the energy I put out into the universe is reflected back on me and that means the more good I do, the more good I get. I have a great generosity of spirit. Really, I know that sounds like bullshit, but I like to do nice things for other people. I do not however strive to MAKE people happy, but that is a different session on the couch. As I was saying, I have a generous spirit, but I am also extremely selfish with my time. I have always found volunteering hard to fit into my life. I don't have the motivation to create an unpaid scheduled event in my life. I don't even like having a paid job. I've tried volunteering and I always end up disappointing people. I have always given to charity, but we rarely have any money, so it doesn't feel like it makes much of a difference. Taking things to the Goodwill is wholly unsatisfying, especially if the attendant acts as if you've just brought him a steaming pile of dogshit. Also, the mark up at thrift stores really benefits the charity, not the people who are looking for used goods. Psst, just a little clue for you -- Goodwill and The Salvation Army end up throwing away stuff that won't sell,unless they can foist it upon yet another charitable organization. Don't think that you are saving that 50 year collection of National Geographics from the landfill, just because you donated it to your favorite thrift store. At some point, every piece of junk takes it's place in the garbage heap, unless someone actually wants it. This has always been the problem with stuff. Stuff is actually junk, until someone covets it and then it is worth 500% of it's original value on eBay. There are only so many forgotten "treasures" that people are willing to pay for, so what do we do with the rest of it? After you have schlepped your unwanteds to Once Upon a Child, Play-it-Again Sports and Half-Price Books, what do you do with what they deem unsellable? Give it away? No, you jest? When I discovered Freecycle, I immediately had dreams of finding marvelous free stuff just waiting for me to pick up. Freecycle is a community of like minded folks who would prefer to keep their junk out of the landfill, you know to protect our earth's precious resources. The reality is, Freecycle.org is a local network of people either desperately looking for the things that might make their life just a bit more comfortable or people who are desperately trying to get some junk out of their lives before it consumes all of their living space. It is the most perfect symbiotic relationship. Of course, there are those people who post Wanted messages for things like xBox 360s and cell phones of a specific color and brand, but those people never get what they are after and quickly move on. I am addicted to Freecycle and I have only received ONE freebie in six months of participating. The freebie I did get was so fantastically generous (from my perspective) that I couldn't wait to pay it forward. So now, instead of hording a pile of clothes and what-not for a future trip to the ungrateful Goodwill, I cut out the middle man and hand my goods directly to someone who will be ecstatic to get them. I get the added benefit of never needing to haul stuff to a donation site. The process is an incredibly powerful reminder of how fortunate I am. I know, cue the sappy music, but when I release my daughter's second hand clothes to a mother of 12, who actually has a naked child at home waiting for new pants; I feel wealthy indeed. You know an item has much more value in use than it does in resale (consider what happens when your 1986 Cavalier gets totalled and they hand you a check for a $100 to replace it), so keep the ball in play. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.

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