A Wednesday in December

Wednesday: the first week in December, 2006

I walked out the door to the babysitters with a heavy heart.  I could still hear Darcy screaming inside, but there was nothing else I could do.  Not quite 8:00 AM; it had been an insane morning already!  My mom had been suffering shortness of breath for a several weeks and was in the hospital for heart tests that day — a thought that I was trying desperately hard not to consider the ramifications of as she was Darcy’s primary care giver when I worked — so I had to get Darcy to somebody else’s house, and get her settled and still get to work on time. 

There seems to be an unwritten law of human nature that it’s the morning you most need things to go smoothly that they absolutely do not.  Late alarm, crabby child, one too many stop lights, the necessity of a different babysitter, an early meeting at work, and the far too common freight train blocking the only road I could get to work by.  On top of the full and difficult morning, it was also the week of the Christmas concert, so I had two rehearsals before Sunday.  By the time I finally sat down at my desk to work that Wednesday, I could feel the tension in my temples.  Great, just great.

I was in the process of scrolling through all the morning’s emails when I saw something from Bob.  Smiling at what was sure to be an interesting and encouraging diversion, I opened it.  The email covered a variety of topics … his years spent in Africa, his parents continued ministry there, and a few other topics random topics.  However, the last paragraph was anything but ordinary.  I stopped, read, and re-read… He asked if his friendly email banter was bothering me, and then …”I want to ask you out on a date…”

He went on to outline how he didn’t know where I was at or if I was potentially already in a relationship with somebody else, but he had put his intentions very clearly.  He wanted to go on a date.  As I write this now, it seems ridiculous that I could have been so unaware of his intentions at the time, but I was …and so I was shocked, and not at all sure how to respond.  My eyes focused on the last line “…so feel free to slap me down” …

I couldn’t handle this today.

But how could I not handle it?  I was going to see Bob at the concert rehearsal that night!  There was no escaping this.

A little annoyed at his insensitivity (How could he not know what a crazy day I’m having?”), I shelved the email, determining to come back to it later that day. 

Later on, I called my mom to see how the tests had gone.  She explained to me through a fog of drugs that the tests went well and that the results were encouraging.  I’d never heard my mom so … high.  However, she wasn’t so drugged that she didn’t question the strain she heard in my voice.  Moms are special that way.  Responding to her query, I mentioned the email I’d received. 

Should I?

Why not?  He’s a nice guy.  Just don’t keep him waiting.

Don’t keep him waiting.  Thanks, Mom. 

I silently wished that I had more time.  Maybe I could stall just a little bit.  Not to a mean or cruel level, just to an “I need to catch my breath” level…

I emailed him back later in the day with a polite acknowledgement of his question and the response that “maybe we can grab coffee sometime”.  Not quite a slap down, but at least a slight stall that could save rampant awkwardness at the rehearsal.

I should have known better … characteristic of a trait I now greatly respect in Bob, he demanded the same upfront behavior of me that he did (and does) expect of himself… 

The reply to my email was almost immediate:

“So … was that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”

So much for my stalling technique …

A Crafty Moment

I’m not a crafty or artistic person, but there are certain times that an idea comes into my head that I cannot banish until I’ve completely worked it out.

Such was the case this week …

Aidan has a little throw pillow he sleeps with, but it presents a constant problem for me.

1. It’s ugly (originally an old decorative pillow from my bed that ended up being neither decorative nor functional, it adorned the top of the wardrobe ’til Aidan found use for it)

2. It doesn’t have an easily removeable / child-proof slip cover for cleaning.

Up until now, I’ve always covered it with the smallest sham cover I had (which was still 6-8 inches too big all around … and made it even MORE ugly) just so that I had something to cover it, remove, and wash.  This week however, I had a the proverbial “light bulb”!

On my sewing desk, I have a couple badly ripped shirts of Bob’s just waiting to be repurposed.  They’re ripped in the arms (my husband; the Incredible Hulk) so the torso/body of the shirt is completely intact.  Not wanting to send my husband out to work like this … (not that Larry the Cable Guy doesn’t have his own unique style … I just don’t know if it would A) work on Bob, or B) work on Bob’s place of employment) …

…I decided that the shirt would make a great pillow cover.

 

 

I should warn you … I had no pattern, I measured no seams, and I don’t even think I cut in a straight line, so don’t look TOO closely. (actually, you can’t even if you wanted to because of the fuzzy/dark picture … oops … sorry)

*BEFORE*

Technical note: You may need to adjust the circumference of the torso, depending on the width of shirt and the size of your pillow.

*AFTER*

2nd Technical note: I made an executive decision (my favorite part about creating projects) to use the buttons to seal the cover and to leave the shirt in a very “shirt-like” (read: “authentic”) way even as a pillow case so that you can see part of a seam and a pocket:

Result? Aidan loves his old new “Daddy Pillow” and I finally have a good, removable, and washable cover! Added bonus: Aid always has something of his Dad’s very close to him.  Repurposing? Check.  Sentimental Value? Double Check.

The finished product: shown here with Charlie and “Didi” [pronounced “dih-dih”] … the other two items that never leave Aid’s side.

Final notes on the project: After over 24 hours of use, it has become apparent that having a pillow that buttons is also a really great way to teach your 2 year old how to button and un-button things (if they didn’t know already).  Apparently, it’s also an excellent place to store trains.  [True story: I found 3 small wooden trains and 4 pieces of track stuffed into it before his bedtime last night … now that would have made for a comfy sleep.]

Are you a repurposer of fabric?  I have a whole stack of items I’m just itching to find a use for — let me know some of your best / most fun projects!

Do You Know What Part You Sing?

“Do you know what part you sing?”

The conductor’s baton was leveled at me with a smug superiority; the voice was full of condescension as it assumed ignorance.

Nothing had been resolved with the question of the music intern and now, as I attended my first Christmas concert rehearsal in over a year, I was feeling rather self-conscious.  And I was not-a-little annoyed as he proceeded to single me out. What I wanted to do was stand up and say, “Listen here, Choir Boy, I’ve been in multiple choirs and have over a decade of music training to my name, but yes, I clearly need you to tell me where ‘middle C’ is!” But I swallowed what I wanted to say and just nodded.  His behavior only confirmed my perception of professional artists: condescending, snide, aloof.*

My sole (and disastrous) relationship had been with a concert pianist, and I was done (DONE!) with musicians.  As far as I was concerned, they were all terribly high-maintenance and not worth the trouble.

6 weeks later… “Facebook?  What’s Facebook?” At the sound of my question, my youngest sister Carrie snorted and replied, “What?  It’s, like, this ridiculous MySpace-thing, but it’s supposedly for college kids.  Why?  How did you hear about it?” The emphasis on the word “you” had the intended affect of making me feel every one of my 80 years. (at least, I’m pretty sure that’s how old my baby sister thinks I am) I stared back at the computer screen, again reading the Facebook invitation sent to me by Bob, the music intern.  (because his name was Bob, and I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that in this story line before)  Initiating contact, even over the Internet, made me slightly nervous.  What was he up to?  But I was also curious.  Had he taken my e-mail off the choir list? Why?

2 weeks after that… having emailed each other several times (and having a newly established Facebook profile), I was coming around to the idea of Bob.  He was nicer than anticipated, and not as high-maintenance as I’d assumed.  We even had a lot in common!  I was happy to have made a new friend.

He was genuinely a nice guy, and he would undoubtedly make some nice girl a good husband at some point…


 

*Bob is always my editor on these life posts, and in reading this one, he would like me to specifically indicate to the reading audience that he feels he was not condescending or aloof in ANY way.

State Of The Cloth Union

Our one year cloth diaper anniversary occured some time in March; which was when I originally determined to write a post about this.  I thought about it all Spring, actually wrote my first draft in June … and now it’s August.  I’d love to say I was editing it especially for my readers, but I’ve already blog-confessed several times about my procrastinating ways, so I doubt anyone would believe me.

Aw, there are the little guys when we first started … I forgot how cute they used to be!  [mother moment]

Moving on … Here are my thoughts on cloth diapering after surviving it a whole year.

I have found cloth diapering to be intense and not unlike many relationships in life; a commitment that needs to weather the good, the bad, and the disgusting.  (that last word is more about the diapers and less about my relationships, FYI)

The Bum Rap: Many households have “stashes” that they add to over time.  Because my primary reason for getting into cloth was financial [3 children 3 and under in diapers; see also: complete insanity], I haven’t added a thing.  Confession: I’m still using the same 30-35 diapers I was when I started.  Bob and I researched the brands we liked, bought one or two of the top three and in settling on the Bum Genius One Size Pocket diapers, purchased the “Trusty Few”.  They’re still workin’ away.  Anyone want to guess how often I do a load of diapers?

The Equality of Detergents: Frankly, there isn’t an equality of detergents.  Repeat: detergents are not created equal.  To phrase it another way, there are certain kinds you SHOULD NOT USE!  (take it from someone who has mistakenly used most of the ones you should NEVER use).  After some pretty stinky trial and error and trying several all-natural (no “ites” or “ates” included) options, my favorite by far; and the most effective is Shaklee detergent and whitening powder.

Gathering of Information: So much of this process is subjective trial and error … your washer, your diaper brand, your kid’s waste, etc, etc.  I can’t and don’t presume to put myself in your shoes (I kinda like my own…) but two sites I’ve found super helpful are:

www.clothdiaperwhisperer.com

www.pinstripesandpolkadots.com (especially the detergent rating page!!)

In addition to these websites, nothing beats hearing real life stories, so, if you have people around you who are seasoned people of the cloth, sit at their feet and beg them for their wisdom.  Or, you know … do something less dramatic and sit down over coffee.  You know … whatever.

What About The … you know?!: The poop?  Yeah, it’s gross.  There’s no way around it.  It just is.  However, there are some ways to make it easier to handle.  For instance, this (a diaper sprayer): is a mad, crazy, awesome life saver.  There are a lot of accessories you can purchase if you decide to cloth diaper but this is something I would consider a necessity.  You’ll find a lot of wonderful tutorials online for its proper and non-spraying-all-over-your-bathroom usage, so I won’t waste your time with that here.  Haha, waste … get it?  Added bonus: it’s a great conversation starter as bemused house guests emerge from a first trip to your bathroom asking “What is that THING?”

What’s That Smell? :  Once of the biggest things I’ve battled is the “diaper smell” on my BGs even when they’re clean.  Playing with my detergent has helped a lot, as has a few extra rinses when I wash them.  Other than that, I’ve found that nothing beats a little fresh air and sunshine, so line dry your diapers as often as you can.

Energy What?: I’m still trying to figure out the “green angle” to this whole experience.  Yes, I am no longer a mass contributor to landfills, but honestly, there are days and seasons when I feel that the amount of extra spraying out, flushing, washing, and rinsing I do somehow rivals the water capacity of Niagra Falls and I’m left wondering how that is remotely good for the environment.  Ah well … if I ever meet Al Gore, I’ll ask him.

So these are my highlights to date.  There are so many blogs that address much more and in far greater depth, but this is based on what I do and it’s simple.  It needs to be simple for me right now.  I greatly admire those on a grand cloth quest, but I am not one of them.  This is a stage where I need things to be easier, not more involved, and that in and of itself is one great beauty of cloth diapering: it can be as simple or involved as you choose to make it.

Goals: What are my goals for next year?  With the addition of another infant in the Fall, I hope to report that the cloth is still working, that I still have the same diapers, and that I’ve found the perfect overnight insert combo that no longer leaks … EVER.  If I can do that, I just may run for president.

God bless you, and God bless America.

[Sorry, I just couldn’t resist]

Have a cloth diaper question to ask or an experience to share?  Please comment!  I’d love to hear from you.

Lost In Translation

The problem with even the most learned and verbose 2 year old seems to be the epic gap between what you tell them and what they repeat to others.  Clarification: NOT qualifying my son among the most learned … most verbose?  Possibly, but not so much with the smarts at this point.

Example of what I mean: an altercation between my boys this week …

Chase and Aidan had both been standing in the doorway of their room and Chase wanted to leave the room, so he did.  Problem: Chase is unaware of his size or anything he comes into contact with as he moves towards a desired goal.  Therefore, it’s not unusual for him to literally walk into, over, and practically through either of his siblings.  Aidan, perceiving a physical grievance (is accidental body slamming a grievance?) screamed and said “Chasey hit me!”.  Having seen the entire thing, I could vouch for Chase’s having NOT hit him, but rather steam-rolled him.  However, semantics are immaterial in the face of 2 year old indignation.  In other news, “hit” is apparently a term used for all physical contact.  [Must file that one away in the parental memory bank.]

Putting my best parental foot forward, I spoke with Aidan about how his brother hadn’t meant to hurt him…that it had been an accident, but that he could and should go and talk to Chase and tell him that he’d been hurt.  [Pretty sure all he heard was “Aidan, blah, blah, accident, blah, blah”] 

The next thing I heard was Aidan tracking Chase down in the living room for a brotherly confrontation: 

“Chase!”

“Uh!” [this is how Chase responds to Aidan screaming his name across the room – I think it’s a cross between “What do you want?” and “Really? If you wanted to talk to me, you’d come sit on me, so as you’re still across the room, I don’t care yet”]

“Chase, you are an accident!  Did you hear me, Chase?  You are an ACCIDENT!”

“Uh!”

Hmm, I think we missed something …

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