My body double

She’s a bit on the stick-straight side. She’s ditzy because her brain, well, it’s just not there. She’s not much of a dancer. She’s not much into anything really. In fact, she’s a horrible conversationalist. But what she lacks in brains or talent…or a head, she makes up for in style.

It’s my body double. V². Thank you(!) to my mother who always wanted twins.

Oh how cute. We already match. I swear I didn’t plan that. That’s how doppelgänger she is. I better quit there, seeing as I called her a ditz and pretty much lifeless earlier. Look at her trying to be just a little bit taller than me. Jealous.

I had to dress her down and cut her down to size. Har har.

Sigh. Enough already. I’m so excited to finally have a dress form. I mean, ever since I’ve been watching Project Runway it just hasn’t felt right to not have a form. All legitimate designers and seamstresses have one. Follow my logic trail.

The thing is, I’m not quite sure where to go from here. I see professional sewers (that would be people who sew, not sewage drains), using them to create garments like these:

This is a beautiful frock the lovely and cute Carol Hannah created for her Bryant Park collection. Let me just be honest. If I could create this you better believe I’d be wearing it everywhere. Even to the grocery store. And to the girls’ dance classes. And to dentist appointments. And play dates. I’d be the one they talk about…even more.

But I’ve never seen someone like me learn how to use a dress form. And we all know how cheap frugal I am. I don’t want to spend good money on fabric, even cheap fabric, and not have it turn out to be prêt-à-porter and runway ready. Add to that my tendency to want my craft projects to be perfect and I’m kind of paralyzed right now. I cannot put needle to fabric for fear that it won’t turn out right and I’ll have wasted money, time and energy.

Isn’t that what learning is about though? I mean, it took me months to get up the courage to just go ahead and make a diaper bag for myself for crying out loud. I had to literally talk out loud and convince myself that if I messed up, then that was a step in the right direction because I would be learning.

I hate using patterns. I created this diaper bag without one. I am almost always forced to use a pattern when sewing clothes though. Two skirts I have made without patterns.

Both I learned to sew by reading the Xtreme-knitting blog (she is pretty inspiring). This was in March of 2005.

I’m hoping that V² will allow me the ability to drape and fold and pleat and pin and tuck without a pattern. And more than a skirt. That would entail actually buying some fabric though. And getting over my fear of failure. And actually enjoying the learning process.

So, what should my first challenge be, if I can be so bold as to put it in Project Runway terms? And no, Kelly, I will not be making an outfit for Ashlyn using Cheerios and fruit leather. V² would get all sticky. And she’s all about me anyway.

Monsters and snot

So, the girls and I are in a checkout line at the dinky little store on b@se. I’m already on edge because…

  1. just going near this place gets me that way
  2. the parking lot is so full people are drive-stalking shoppers as they exit heading towards their cars
  3. we got 2 feet of snow dumped on us last week and it hasn’t been cleared. In fact, piles of it reside in every other parking space of this lot
  4. I have two girls with me who are going to want to eat the greasy cardboard labeled “pizza” in the food court and who will want to look at every single toy on the toy aisle, even though in just two days it would be Christmas. Thankfully the toy aisle is only half an aisle in this store. So I’m going to have to be the Mean Mommy who simply parrots the word, “no” every twenty seconds. No. No. No. No. Come back here. No. No. No. Stop asking questions. No. No. No!

On. edge.

As we’re waiting in line…oh, wait…I picked this line because I thought it would be the fastest. I had three choices. Lane 1 was already backed up. Lane 2 looked promising with a lone guy and his pack of shirts or something, so I glanced at Lane 3–an elderly lady with a cane and a complicated order. Lane 2 it was. So as we’re waiting there I’m already mortified because the latest issue of Cosmo is promising something like “the hottest, craziest $ex you’ve ever had”, or “72 $EX positions you’ve never thought of”, or something completely inappropriate for my seven-year old daughter to read. And guess which article I think I see her eyes studying. I would like to blow up Cosmo right now, but it’s the Christmas season and that wouldn’t look that Christian.

As I’m on edge and being completely mortified I’m also trying to wrangle Ashlyn from dumping out the magazines on the bottom rack and then rearranging all of the candy. It never really ends for me. As I’m dealing I sense an elderly man file in line behind us. A nice sideways glance and half smile from me to let him know I acknowledge his presence, but am kind of mortified and busy at the moment. I then hear the following, aimed at my two young, uninitiated girls, come from his mouth (said in a slow, whispery voice):

Guess what was in my room last night? As I was going to sleep I thought I heard something come into my room. I felt something jump up on the bed. I felt it as it crawled up closer to my face. THEN! I could see two green eyes. I could feel it’s breath on my face. I was about to scream when it let out a loud…MEOW!

Guess what Grandpa? You don’t tell kids scary stories about even the most precious little things like kitty cats, even if the story ends with a funny little punch line. You wanna know why you don’t tell them scary monster stories? Because they won’t remember the cute little punch line when they’re lying in bed at night and it’s dark and all they have are their IMAGINATIONS! I could just see the endless conversations we’d have about this. Or worse, I could just see Reagan lying in bed afraid to say anything and being haunted by this for twelve years.

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL. Scary Grandpa has a drop of snot hanging from the tip of his nose the whole time he’s telling the story. I’m not even kidding you. In fact, my throat is tightening up and my stomach is beginning the retching process as I’m writing this. I couldn’t even look at him while he was telling the story because I would have gagged in his face. And his face was too close to mine for comfort. So, after the idiotic story he proceeds to take his finger, wipe the snot drop from his nose,and then lick his finger. I only wish I were lying. My stomach is upset now.

All he could do was laugh at himself for telling that story. All I could do was gag the throw up back down and wish we were back at the toy aisle. What was taking so long with the guy in front of me anyway? I practically threw my purchase and credit card at the cashier and got out of there. Blech.

Monsters and snot were exactly what I should have expected though going into that store.

We do “Christmas” on Christmas Eve

When you ask different people what Christmas is about you’ll get different answers.

  • Peace
  • Joy
  • Love
  • Family
  • Traditions
  • PRESENTS!!

Christmas, to this family, is enhanced by those things, HOWEVER, Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Jesus. No, He wasn’t born in the winter. Yes, Christians kind of took over the winter solstice celebrations and the birthday parties of other pagan gods (little ‘g’) when they began celebrating the birth of Christ on 25 December. For us though it doesn’t matter when or why 25 December was chosen. It was chosen and that’s the day we celebrate.

Gift giving has gotten a little out of control, don’t you think? At no other time in history, even though we’re experiencing an economic downturn, have Americans had so much disposable income. Almost every kid is going to get so much crap that they won’t even be able to remember it all when a grandparent calls and asks them what they got. Most of it will be left, forgotten at the bottom of a toy box or in the corner of a playroom, within a month.

We see no problem with giving gifts to our kids. We have, however, chosen to separate that part of Christmas from the celebration of Jesus’ birth. Kids love presents, and so much of their focus is on the presents that no matter how much they love Jesus or know the real reason for the season, what are they really thinking about when there are gifts to open? So in our house, the kids are so excited to wake up early on the 24th. And we run downstairs to see what’s under the tree and sit around taking turns opening gifts on the 24th. We indulge and partake and love the materialism on the 24th. On Christmas Day we do our best to shift focus. It has become tradition to bake a cake for Jesus, visit people in VA homes or nursing homes, and do a family Bible study on the events surrounding that miracle birth. It’s a more relaxed day for us when we can actually reflect on the meaning of the season instead of focusing on who got what, who didn’t get what, who got more and why are there so many plastic tie dealies imprisoning gifts in their boxes…

This will only be our third or fourth time celebrating like this. We like how it is setting up new traditions for our family. We like the fact that it enhances the focus, kind of like fasting does, on what is important. Doing things on purpose gives them deeper meaning.

What about you? Why do you “do Christmas” the way you do? Is it what you’ve always known? Have you given thought as to why you do the Christmas things you do and when you do them? What is the meaning behind your “Christmas” and how do you make it meaningful?

Merry Christ’s Mass!

P.S. If you think that’s weird just wait…we don’t do Santa. At all. And this is the second year that we’ve instituted a “no toy” Christmas (and we’ve been really successful). I know! Maybe I’ll blog about that after Christmas. The no toy issue that is. I’m not going anywhere near the no Santa thing. That’s about as touchy of a subject as homeschooling vs. “outside” schooling. Or breast vs. bottle. Or staying home vs. going back to work. Or living inside the beltway vs. outside.

Meeting an old friend for the first time

Well, she’s not old, and I guess she’s only an old friend in the new technology sense in that if it happened last week it’s already old news and, like, that’s so moments ago. I thought it was a catchy title.

Julie, of My Life With Boys…, and I are blog buddies. I think we met through Blog Around the World (no longer active). I was fascinated that she lives in Hungary because my maid of honor’s parents are Hungarian and Du and I got to spend some time in Budapest when we lived in Germany (ask me about it sometime, I never shut up). So, I was intrigued to read about her life. I’m sure she got sick of my “I remember when…” comments detailing the all of five days that I got to spend in her part of the world, whenever she would mention something about Hungary that I happened to be remotely familiar with. But being the nice girl she is she would answer me and visit my blog.

Imagine how excited I was when I found out she’d be coming back to the states to visit, and that she was actually coming very close to where I live. I know! A bloggy meetup just waiting to happen! Her peeps got with my peeps and we arranged a play date of sorts that would allow our kids to have fun while we could meet and catch up and get to know the person that we already felt like we knew. At least that’s how I felt about it. Julie might have thought she was meeting a crazy person and that’s why she chose such a public place…

Here we are with the lead weights we had to carry as we ice skated around. Notice the two little sugarplum fairies have skates on as well, but they thought it’d be more fun to give their mommies back problems.

Julie, do you believe in courting instead of dating? ‘Cause I do. We could let them get to know each other during furloughs. Ahem.

The kids who were too big to hang on mom’s hips had to venture out and try it on their own. And lo and behold, they both learned to skate without holding onto the rail! I think this was Eli’s first time. Reagan’s 7th birthday part was at an ice skating rink, but this is the first time she got off the wall by herself. They were good motivators for each other. We were both proud mamas.

We got all the kids looking in the same direction! With smiles on their faces!

After working up an appetite on the rink we headed over to Cosi for lunch and S’mores. Look at the cute tabletop S’mores kit! I know! Julie, I ended up ordering one of these. It came today and so tonight I thought of you as we enjoyed S’mores in our own living room. During lunch poor Jasper burned his finger on the lava-hot little grill thing and so our meeting came to an abrupt end.

Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me Julie! I had a great time and it felt like when we first met we were continuing a conversation that had left off at a previous time. Gush. Now she really will think I’m psycho. I hope we’re still here when their next furlough brings them back to the states.

Next bloggy meetup…Ronnica? Allison?

NB – After thinking about it I have met up with a couple irl friends (in real life) in the recent past who also write blogs. I went to high school (and junior high and elementary school, right?) with Tori and went to New York with Heather. Neither in the recent past, but, you know what I mean. Is there anyone else I’m forgetting to mention?

Retro champions

I was excited the minute I found out my husband’s office Christmas party was going to be themed. I love to dress up be it in a beautiful formal gown or a period costume (you know what I mean there, right?). The options for the Christmas party were to come in semi-formal dress or to come in an outfit inspired by the 1940s WWII USO swing dances. Was there any question?

I set out in search of our outfits. The internet is such a great invention (thanks Al!). I not only learned a little about 40s fashion, but I also found out how cool it was. Ebay became my best friend. There are sites out there that sell vintage clothing and reproductions, but they are pricey for what we were looking for. I am kind of considering becoming one of those women who only dress retro after seeing all of the great dresses of the 40s and 50s that can still be found. But seriously, can you see me wrangling to girls while wearing a poodle skirt or a snood? (For the record, I do know that there are other fashion choices for those two decades.)

So, here is what we came up with:

You can’t see my hose or shoes, but they are vintage. Well, the hose aren’t, but they do have the seam running up the back (straight). The shoes are a silver woven leather mesh look. I had a dance instructor who does hair for dance competitions do my hair.

Mmmhmm, there’s my handsome husband. And look, there’s some of my house! His uniform is from a soldier who fought in an ordinance division in Normandy. It even came with the soldier’s discharge papers. How cool is that!? The uniform is in great shape. I only had to zig zag stitch a two-inch slice in the upper pant leg…a knife wound, obviously. Or not.

When we got to the party we were quickly aware that not very many other people decided to go with Option B. Most people chose the semi-formal route. Who wouldn’t want to dress retro though?

And lo and behold, because only seven other people were dressed 40s style, we won the prize for best dressed! After dinner a couple who moonlight as dance instructors (it’s probably their full-time job, actually) taught the crowd several steps of the East Coast Swing. Du and I have taken lessons before (that would be about 12 years ago) so we caught on quickly and were cutting a rug with the best of them. Kind of. And my sixty-year-old shoes held up. All I can say is thank You, God, for giving people the brains to create a) mole skin for my feet and b) hollywood tape that keeps certain things well hidden within the dress.

So, if you happen to be around town and see a lady carting her kids from one activity to another and she looks like she should be an extra in an old-time movie, or she’s wearing a hat and red lips or it looks like she may just have a crinoline on under that belted dress…it may very well be me.

Open letter to the mall kiosk salespeople

Dear mall kiosk salespeople,

Oh my freaking word. If homicide were legal I think I’d be a professional. I wish my looks could kill because then you’d be gone and I wouldn’t even have to wash my hands.* I’m not sure if you’ve ever considered this or not, but when I go to the mall I go to shop for things that I want. I’m sure you think you can convince me that I want need what you are peddling, but I can assure you.

You. will. fail.

Because, I. am. cheap frugal. That wasn’t on my list so I ain’t buying it. Please, for the sake of pleasant-shopping Vicki, STOP bothering me!

I go to search for things. I don’t go to have things brought to me. It’s about the hunt. If I wanted that kind of shopping experience I’d go to New York and hire a personal shopper who would bring me things while I sipped chai teas and ate finger sandwiches. Or, I’d feign interest and actually walk up to you and stand there waiting for you to peddle. I wouldn’t turn my head, or pretend to talk on the phone, or pretend to be listening to what my daughter is rambling on about, or pretend I’m looking for a store, or pretend I’m really in a hurry, or pretend I’m listening to my iPod, or pretend I’m looking for my keys. You see, I never really am doing those things. It’s all a ploy to make you think I’m too busy for you.

I’m sure you are given training in how to deal with and get around shoppers’ avoidance tactics. I’ll let you in on a secret though, your attempts to subvert our subversive maneuvers just tick us off. This just doubles the chances of you failing in trying to get me to buy your crap.

Honestly, I just don’t want what you’ve got. I know, shocking!

I don’t need the latest and greatest hair twisty thing or back cream or eyebrow threading torture or fake designer purse or week at the Dead Sea. I don’t even need a lecture from some poor UNICEF worker who’s been stuck at the mall trying to get female shoppers to care about more than the latest lip color and shoe trend.

I actually do not understand why mall management even allows you kiosk people in the hallways. Do you pay that much rent? Because I’m ready to give up on inside malls and either shop the new fangled outside malls or just shop online. I’d rather freeze my butt off running from one store to the next than try to dodge you and all five thousand other holiday shoppers who are also trying to dodge you. It’s like a demolition derby with all of us trying to stay as far way from the middle of the mall halls as we can.

And you are persistent little buggers too. One of your cohorts even stopped me tonight as I was quickly rushing by him, almost giving my kids whiplash as I tried to get out of your reach. I was not fast enough. He claimed to know I was busy and didn’t have time tonight but then went into his spiel anyway and asked me to come back and take a look at his table when I had more time. As if. You just wasted those minutes buddy. You’ll never get them back, and neither will I.

Can you do us all mall shoppers a favor and just please cease and desist? It would provide so much more walkway space. It would increase my mood immensely. And I promise you, if I ever do need the latest and greatest hair twisty thing or back cream or eyebrow threading torture or fake designer purse or week at the Dead Sea I will seek you out and give you all my money. Because that’s what shopping’s about–the hunt, the find and the kill. And we all know how I feel about that last one…

I do mean all of this in the nicest way, and I’m sure I am speaking for all shoppers who dare to continue to visit malls.

Your on-the-edge shopper,

*For those of you shocked that I would wish someone dead, come on now. You’re smarter than that right?