tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43898670433742182052024-03-14T14:49:22.763-04:00jaimalayajaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.comBlogger493125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-54698673935409816062017-07-14T14:26:00.001-04:002017-07-14T14:26:47.450-04:00Sew all the things: Birkin Flares<br />
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The most satisfying thing of all to sew is a well-fitting pair of jeans.<br />
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This is my sixth pair of <a href="http://www.basteandgather.com/shop/birkin-flares" target="_blank">Birkin Flares</a>. (I know. It's ridiculous). I can't seem to move on from this pattern because it's just perfect for me. High waisted, curvy (my waist is about two sizes smaller than my hips so everything normally has to be adjusted), perfect pocket placement. I've used this pattern to make flares, bootcut, skinny jeans, more skinny jeans.<br />
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I've spent a lot of time perfecting the fit, especially with the skinny jeans - which was a lesson in patience and new, inventive ways to curse. So I'm hesitant to start all over with another pattern that may not produce good results.<br />
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The pattern is well written and easy to follow. The fly is the most difficult part, and even that's not so hard if you slow down. (Let's not talk about how many times I've sewed the fly closed accidentally.)<br />
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For this pair I made a smaller size because the denim was so stretchy and decreased each flare by 4 inches.<br />
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Fabric is <a href="https://indiesew.com/products/9-oz-stretch-denim-indigo-slub#product" target="_blank">9 oz stretch denim indigo slub</a> from <a href="https://indiesew.com/" target="_blank">Indiesew</a>.<br />
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I wish it wasn't so incredibly hot outside so I would be more comfortable wearing these ...<br />
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Here are my previous five versions, in case you want to see.<br />
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(There are entirely too many pictures of my butt in this post.)<br />
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jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-79659813670606477712017-07-10T13:09:00.003-04:002017-07-10T13:09:56.099-04:00However I am making myself a lemon birthday cake<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">36, wearing a homemade dress and an almost-fishtail braid.</td></tr>
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I turned 36 this morning.<br />
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I don't really think I have anything profound to say about it. Birthdays aren't what they used to be, right? I don't look forward to them like my almost-9-year-old son does, whose birthday is three days after mine. For him it's all party prep and the anticipation of having a whole day just for himself, where he gets spoiled.<br />
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For me, I'm just happy to have one more year, you know? Happy to be where I am in life, happy to be mama, wife, friend, writer.<br />
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I don't know what I expected 36 to be like when I was younger. I make jokes all the time about how old I am, but (in all it's cliched glory) I don't <i>feel </i>old. My almost 87-year-old grandmother-in-law called me from Germany at 6:30 this morning to wish me a happy birthday and she told me that I was so young. For a second I felt 18 again.<br />
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Every so often I have thoughts about what it would be like to live through that time again. But it seems silly to think about going back. What I've got now - a husband who makes me laugh and the ability to watch my kids grow and mature and learn and fight and fly and be fearless - well what else do I need?<br />
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I honestly didn't know how it would feel to officially be in my late 30s. Should I start being depressed? Should I have a crisis? But other than having quite a bit more gray hair and buying "youth infusing" face products it's kind of the same as when I was 30.<br />
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I do sleep a lot less, which may have more to do with having a puppy and two children who wake up at all hours, but nevertheless I spend most of my time with friends discussing how tired I am.<br />
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I am a joy and a delight and the life of the party, is what I'm saying.<br />
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<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-54989489513913008412017-07-06T13:30:00.002-04:002017-07-06T13:30:59.897-04:00Sew all the things: Joni JumpsuitSo ... how have things been? It's been almost a year since I wrote anything in this space that wasn't for a newspaper. I'm feeling a bit rusty, and a bit hesitant, but here I go anyway.<br />
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In the past year I have sewed jeans and t-shirts and dresses and more dresses and shorts and maybe another dress for Adele and button-up shirts for Sebastian and bras that never really fit right and tank tops, and ... and ... and ...<br />
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It's exciting to sew, you know? It's rewarding and therapeutic. So I do it a lot.<br />
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Much of my sewing inspiration comes from Instagram because my feed has morphed to be mainly other sewists, so I get to see all that they do and copy. :)<br />
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Recently I've been seeing the <a href="http://www.fridaypatterncompany.com/patterns/the-joni-jumpsuit" target="_blank">Joni Jumpsuit</a> from <a href="http://www.fridaypatterncompany.com/" target="_blank">Friday Pattern Company</a> pop up in my feed, namely <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BVbC2W0BY03/?taken-by=sewliberated&hl=en" target="_blank">Meg's</a> from <a href="http://sewliberated.com/" target="_blank">Sew Liberated</a>. I loved it, like Capital 'L' LOVED. I probably didn't need to buy another pattern or more fabric right now, but what can you do when faced with such a thing?<br />
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Now. I realize that I am probably not the size or shape of someone who normally wears this sort of jumpsuit, but I gave up worrying about what people thought of my clothes a long time ago. I wear what I like and what makes me feel good. It saves quite a bit of my sanity.<br />
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The pattern is actually really simple and quick to sew. And I should know because I've sewed it twice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
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I first sewed a XXL bottom, grading to an XL top. I wore it for a day and it was just too big. The straps, which are a gorgeous aspect of the jumpsuit, wouldn't stay in place and I spent the entire day moving and adjusting to try to keep my bra from showing. (I have to wear a bra. Like HAVE TO.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
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If I'd sewn the right size to begin with it probably wouldn't have been an issue. I went large to be on the safe side, to not have fabric stuck to my behind and showing every bump. But throughout the day wearing the too-large piece I realized that it didn't matter. I wanted something that fit, not something that was uncomfortably large.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
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So that night I took off my jumpsuit and got out my seam ripper. I unpicked all the seams to the entire thing, laying out the pieces and re-cutting them to be a size Large. I also did away with the long strap ties and sewed regular straps. It may be a little less design-y, but adds to my comfort level tremendously.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
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Now, I will say that it was kind of an annoying process and probably perfectly executed, which is why I kind of have a perm-mini-wedgy because the new torso is not quite long enough for me. But I'll live.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
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By sizing down I took something that I liked and turned it into something that I freaking love. I'm so happy I took the time to rework it.<br />
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Pattern: <a href="http://www.fridaypatterncompany.com/patterns/the-joni-jumpsuit" target="_blank">Joni Jumpsuit</a> from <a href="http://www.fridaypatterncompany.com/" target="_blank">Friday Pattern Company</a><br />
Fabric: <a href="http://imaginegnats.com/shop/laguna-cotton-jersey-onyx/" target="_blank">Laguna Cotton Jersey in Onyx from imagine gnats</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
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jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-57879956507998861922016-09-28T07:17:00.000-04:002016-09-28T07:36:46.856-04:00Motherhood & More: Wrapping up public outlet before the kids discover it*<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kPtZ4TFDn0A/V-uqGNdezFI/AAAAAAAAEOk/L--EfASGEEE/s640/blogger-image-2069058263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kPtZ4TFDn0A/V-uqGNdezFI/AAAAAAAAEOk/L--EfASGEEE/s320/blogger-image-2069058263.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is it, guys. I think I’ve said all I can say on the nature of parenthood and my children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I mean, probably not because I am wordy and super into over-sharing. But I also am in great danger of repeating myself and it’s much more forgivable to do that over a glass of wine with friends than in this column space for everyone one to see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, I could keep discussing with you the impressive stubbornness of my daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just this morning, we woke up 30 minutes late for school and instead of hurrying to catch the bus, she slowed down her movements to a comical degree. That’s the logical step when your mother asks you to go faster, correct? Her hair was half-brushed, but she was all the way dressed so I’m calling it a win.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Or I could talk about my son and the recent introduction of back talk into his behavior repertoire. This goes hand in hand with his need to always be right, no matter what, and his refusal to give any ground when he’s sure of himself. Obviously, I always am wrong in these situations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Or maybe I could discuss the kindness of my daughter and how she is the first to check on someone when they’ve gotten themselves hurt and the first to offer comfort and assistance. And how she has single-handedly tamed our shelter kittens just with her will and need to love them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then there’s my son, who is determined and introspective, who wants to learn all he can about everything and who’s already starting the fourth Harry Potter book when he’s only 8 years old. We could talk about how sweet he is to other children, especially those younger than him. Except his sister. That goes without saying, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But at this point you probably know all of that already, don’t you? You know me, you know my children. You hopefully can see the pride I have in each of them, even when they push me to the brink of sanity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And maybe you can see that my parental complaining is intentional. I like to use this space to show solidarity with other parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kids are weird. When we see someone else’s child acting weird, we can stop feeling like we’re screwing up our own because weirdness is an inherent trait they all share.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You are welcome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I am running out of ways to share all of this with you and life is becoming overwhelmingly busy. It’s time to streamline for the good of the family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you’d like to keep in touch, I do have a blog I hope to update more often: jaimalaya.blogspot.com. But I make no promises — life and whatnot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve really, really enjoyed my time in this space. I love having a reason to stop and think and analyze. It’s been cathartic and challenging and wonderful. Thank you for allowing me to be here, but it’s time to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also my kids can read and I live in fear of them picking up a newspaper and seeing what I’ve written about them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on Sept. 28, 2016.</i></span></div>
<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-81383408322998197972016-08-24T19:08:00.001-04:002016-08-24T19:12:08.703-04:00Motherhood & More: Taking a stand against the bedtime routine* **<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rkHpdEUgyKI/V74pwLVsOEI/AAAAAAAAENo/S8BmMq9dFdwxgqCLXCfKyeitUbrDIG8cQCLcB/s1600/sleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rkHpdEUgyKI/V74pwLVsOEI/AAAAAAAAENo/S8BmMq9dFdwxgqCLXCfKyeitUbrDIG8cQCLcB/s320/sleep.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">For the safety of my children and the preservation of my mental health, I have given up on bedtime routines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For as long as I can remember of my time as a mother, since my son was born, bedtimes have been the worst. They are fraught with anguish, disagreement over exactly how tired the particular child is and futile attempts to persuade said heathen to just go to sleep already because Mama needs a break.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Whining and fighting and refusal to listen to reason or yelling have been the norms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As soon as my son got easier, my daughter was born. She gives new meaning to stubbornness and outright ignoring any attempt to bend her to my will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Somehow we got into a ridiculous routine of stories and snuggling and various feats of mental persuasion and voodoo trickery that had to be performed in a certain order before she would consent to stay in her bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, this only worked part of the time, maybe 60 percent. The other times I wouldn’t do something properly so there would be screaming and flailing about and I would lock myself in my own bedroom in hopes that by ignoring her she would eventually tire herself out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know that everything got out of hand because I allowed it, but I only allowed it because I was so tired and wanted, just once, to be able to walk downstairs and feel good about how bedtime went. So I went along with the crazy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My husband, who had bedtime every other night, never encountered these issues. Ask me how I felt about that. Go on. Ask.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ahem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So after a particularly bad routine recently, wherein I was kicked in the face by one of my lovely angel children after the other one had worn my patience down to the quick with a refusal to be agreeable about anything, I stomped downstairs announcing loudly to my husband that I was done. Finished. Never again would I be subjected to this torture because I refused to participate in it anymore. No more bedtimes. None. Zero.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was liberating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the time since my stand, I have had to endure minor whining about how Dad’s had too many bedtime turns and now it’s Mama’s turn, but I refuse to be persuaded. I’m not walking up those stairs anymore, kids. As I say to them daily, you are responsible for your own actions and those actions have consequences. You did it. You suffer through the penalties.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, obviously this doesn’t mean that I ignore them at bedtime. I’m happy to read them a story downstairs on the couch and give hugs and kisses. But I’m not setting foot into their rooms because that’s how it will start. That’s how they’ll draw me back into their madness and in no time I’ll be performing again in the minor hopes of a smooth transition to sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I figure I’m only helping them out by ensuring they become self-sufficient people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tuck yourselves in, kids. I’m out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*<i>This column was originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on August 24, 2016.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>**Alternate title: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Go-F-Sleep-Adam-Mansbach/dp/145584165X" target="_blank">Go The Fuck To Sleep</a></i></span></div>
jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-46179086897258756972016-08-02T10:00:00.003-04:002016-08-02T10:02:41.135-04:00Motherhood and More: Age truly is only a number, not a promise of maturity*<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QRiBNsvZjsc/V6CnBs5LyyI/AAAAAAAAENQ/CaHQJ64EfBo/s640/blogger-image-481439777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QRiBNsvZjsc/V6CnBs5LyyI/AAAAAAAAENQ/CaHQJ64EfBo/s320/blogger-image-481439777.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">I turned 35 this month.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m still waiting to feel different, older, mature, more “grown up.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve never really worried about aging. I don’t care all that much about looking old, I don’t worry about wrinkles or losing my youth. At this point in my life, one year is much like the next – albeit with children who have ever-evolving parental needs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was younger, I thought 35 was the epitome of grown up. By 35, I should know what I’m doing, have a life plan and fully understand retirement savings accounts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But for me, now, I’m kind of still waiting to feel like an adult. I’ve got bills, I have responsibilities, I have small people requiring my care and attention. But what does it mean to be an adult? Sometimes I feel aged like cheddar and wine. Sometimes I feel 16.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was speaking with a friend on aging a few weeks ago and where we hoped to be by this age. I came to the conclusion that it’s all a giant, delusional myth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">No one has their life together. Everyone is taking it as it comes, never really knowing if their choices and decisions are exactly the right ones. None of us are adulting, truly “adulting,” because we don’t really know what it means.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I’ll wager that our parents felt the same way when they were our age. We thought they knew everything about everything because they were able to speak with confidence when they told us to stop acting like fools. They were authority figures. But really, they were figuring it out as they went, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">All that is to say that I don’t really feel old or what I thought old would feel like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At this age, I should have wisdom and maturity and growth. And I do have days like that. I mean, I have a mortgage and someone has to be available to make dinner for all the wild children who live in my house. Two. It’s only two, but if we’re going by number of dirty socks strewn throughout the house it’s more like 14.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But much of the time I have the mind of a 12 year old, giggling at inappropriate jokes, writing melodramatic poetry or secretly lusting after Lisa Frank unicorn folders. I think that’s just how it is, for most of us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At a certain age, we want to appear like we know what we’re doing. We’re all faking it, though. We do what we can to seem responsible and grown up but still really want to have ice cream for dinner most days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on July 27, 2016.</i></span></div>
<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-3353992344101158632016-07-01T10:46:00.000-04:002016-07-01T10:46:35.864-04:00Homemade Friday: Dottie Angel Frock and Greenwood TankY'all.<br />
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I think my sewing mojo is busted.<br />
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There are many factors that could contribute to the fact that everything I've tried to sew lately has ended up less than stellar. I mean, I've been super sick, ridiculously sick, full-on worst sinus infection of my life sick. Then there's all the meds I'm on to fix said sickness, which are helping but also hurting as I spend most of my days now dizzy and woozy and whatnot.<br />
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And then, also, Sebastian is at his first overnight camp, his first time staying away from home in this type of setting with people he has never met before.<br />
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I'm stressing and worrying and can't stop obsessively pouring through the generous amount of photos the camp provides online to parents. (Thank you internet. Let's be best friends.) So while I can't tell if he's made friends, or what he's doing at every minute of every day, or whether he's homesick, I can see his face and see a bit of his experiences.<br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lLriHGs69Pg/V3ZwoYLMpMI/AAAAAAAAEL0/Mi3lM-PF36c/s640/blogger-image-1804157599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lLriHGs69Pg/V3ZwoYLMpMI/AAAAAAAAEL0/Mi3lM-PF36c/s640/blogger-image-1804157599.jpg" /></a></div>
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So, anyway, the last two items I've sewn have been kind of disappointing. First up was a <a href="http://www.simplicity.com/simplicity-pattern-1080-misses-dress-or-tunic/1080.html" target="_blank">Dottie Angel Frock</a> that I cut out possibly a year ago. This was the second time I've sewn this particular pattern. This is the first one:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ldgjL9-NQMs/V3Z51t3P9PI/AAAAAAAAEMM/0kxJmlnkXKQKIvFrhtdIbqcWQYzFxm7qgCLcB/s1600/11141344_10102233550229642_2905272542756330729_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ldgjL9-NQMs/V3Z51t3P9PI/AAAAAAAAEMM/0kxJmlnkXKQKIvFrhtdIbqcWQYzFxm7qgCLcB/s320/11141344_10102233550229642_2905272542756330729_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I think I like the idea of this dress more than I like the actual dress. Or - if I tweaked the pattern, the dress actually would be perfect. It's light weight, but also can be layered. It's got big front pockets for carrying all sorts of things - cucumbers and snow peas from the garden, maybe? Eggs from my imaginary chickens? One of my new kittens?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PifWvmPbG4/V3Z_u5LqDxI/AAAAAAAAEMo/_nJBGL0vhDUqllYLjR5pYWIkYR7B5fMJQCLcB/s1600/13566195_10102742660298982_748555548_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PifWvmPbG4/V3Z_u5LqDxI/AAAAAAAAEMo/_nJBGL0vhDUqllYLjR5pYWIkYR7B5fMJQCLcB/s320/13566195_10102742660298982_748555548_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also pictured - a sewing project that worked well.</td></tr>
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But the neckline is not right. I think the first time I sewed the dress I graded between sizes because my hip to bust ratio is rather large, so I'm usually two different sizes - much smaller on top. But maybe I didn't do that with the second one? I didn't take any notes and it's been so long that I don't remember what I did. Obviously I have to fix it. If I do anything other than stand completely still the whole thing falls off my shoulders. I think I may just sew a seam up the back of the dress from the waist up. It probably isn't what I should do, but will at least make the dress functional.<br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fvNgSyptl8o/V3Zwpn7vyJI/AAAAAAAAEL4/6lrgGlF-eSE/s640/blogger-image-894879353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fvNgSyptl8o/V3Zwpn7vyJI/AAAAAAAAEL4/6lrgGlF-eSE/s640/blogger-image-894879353.jpg" /></a></div>
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And I want it functional because I think that it could be really wearable, and I love the colors. Here's a better photo that shows that:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-osHZyeau3kI/V3aBm66BX0I/AAAAAAAAEM0/N-vfYWupwBAo5-uWqgs2RHXxtofLDEsYQCLcB/s1600/13595706_10102742668547452_1523219957_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-osHZyeau3kI/V3aBm66BX0I/AAAAAAAAEM0/N-vfYWupwBAo5-uWqgs2RHXxtofLDEsYQCLcB/s320/13595706_10102742668547452_1523219957_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Next on my sewing table was another <a href="http://www.straightstitchdesigns.com/product/greenwood/" target="_blank">Greenwood Tank from Straight Stitch Designs</a> - also my second time sewing. And also completely wonky. I think that I should have used a regular stitch instead of a straight stitch on the neckline and armbands, because, once again, it's too wide. And also too stretched out.<br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AeWNY_OyeVE/V3Zwmq-v7GI/AAAAAAAAELw/AqDWMsoq-Yg/s640/blogger-image--841893725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AeWNY_OyeVE/V3Zwmq-v7GI/AAAAAAAAELw/AqDWMsoq-Yg/s640/blogger-image--841893725.jpg" /></a></div>
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This was my first Greenwood Tank:<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9ppP1p7aofw/V3Z8NGDteXI/AAAAAAAAEMc/eaw5ivey1LgcmUU4rA8Azq5vYTFr3F3mgCLcB/s1600/13267819_10102673049419742_6732888232974529369_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9ppP1p7aofw/V3Z8NGDteXI/AAAAAAAAEMc/eaw5ivey1LgcmUU4rA8Azq5vYTFr3F3mgCLcB/s320/13267819_10102673049419742_6732888232974529369_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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I loved this one. It was a bit wonky, as well, but not nearly as bad as this new one. But that fabric isn't as stretchy as the fabric from the most recent, and I think that's why I got into trouble.<br />
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I was thinking about sewing up some pleats on the front and back, and try to make it look like I intentionally made it all too big. We'll see. I'm wearing it now because it's really comfortable, even if it looks weird.<br />
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So there you have it. Misshapen clothing. I gotta go sew something easy to make myself feel better. (My daughter is begging for an Elsa dress. I'm not sure I should do that until I'm over this slump.)<br />
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<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-43690387938080996542016-06-24T10:48:00.000-04:002016-06-24T10:48:03.808-04:00Homemade Friday: Cicely ShawlOh man. These may be some of the worst photos I've taken of myself, and I've taken a lot. (How can I share everything I make with the world without taking selfies?!) (I have a hate/tolerate relationship with taking photos of myself. It's a never-ending sort-of crises.)<br />
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Anyway. Sick. I'm so sick. I'm so sick I keep forgetting to drink my coffee because my head is too clogged up so there's not enough room for things like 'thinking.' I have a sinus infection, but am stubbornly refusing to go to the doctor because only wusses go to the doctor, plus I am home all day with my kids and they're only barely tolerable when I'm sick because I have zero energy to do anything other than the basic care, and taking them with me to the doctor sounds like a particularly Ramsey-esque form of torture. (That means super awful, in case you don't watch Game of Thrones.)<br />
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I've been self-medicating with a thyme syrup <a href="http://courtneyrcollins.com/#sthash.dfbIfG6V.dpbs" target="_blank">my sister</a> helped me make, and echinacea she also helped me make and it's easing my symptoms. Although I'm almost ready to resort to the greatest medicine of all - a hot toddy. Because even if it doesn't help you feel better, the bourbon buzz means you don't care.<br />
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But you didn't come here to listen to me talk about being sick. All of that was just to give you an excuse for why I look so awful in these photos. It's because I'm too sick to try to make them any better.<br />
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I started this sweater months and months ago. It's from <a href="http://www.taprootmag.com/" target="_blank">Taproot</a>, which is one of my favorite magazines. Actually it's the only magazine I read - no advertisements, lots of handwork ideas and fascinating stories. I'd been wanting a shawl, probably because I've been watching too much <a href="https://www.starz.com/series/outlander" target="_blank">Outlander</a>:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F3QExoWe6-M/V20_CYpAsGI/AAAAAAAAELY/L113ZCoQJaAHeKT55-98ES3ZSsUlQDu0gCLcB/s1600/il_340x270.981536710_9w7w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F3QExoWe6-M/V20_CYpAsGI/AAAAAAAAELY/L113ZCoQJaAHeKT55-98ES3ZSsUlQDu0gCLcB/s320/il_340x270.981536710_9w7w.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It just seems cozy and practical. Shoulders covered, arms free. And I wanted something not too frilly and lacy, though I love both of those things normally. The <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/cicely-shawl" target="_blank">Cicely Shawl pattern</a> worked.<br />
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I don't make a lot of shawls, in fact it's been more than 10 years since I made a triangle one. So I didn't fully understand the mechanics of them. With this particular pattern the bottom edge is knit first, then stitches are picked up around the edges and the triangle is formed through a series of decreases.<br />
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I got bored really early, but it should have been enough to keep me going. The pattern was interesting. I dunno. Didn't want to do it. Which probably directly resulted in the fact that I made it too small. I wanted a large shawl that I could wrap around myself. I didn't get that.<br />
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As I knit the edge, I held it up and realized that it was ridiculously long already, way before I got to the number of repeats needed for the size I wanted. I just assumed my gauge was off, because it's always off, but not usually quite as bad as that. So I figured if I made the smaller size, with my larger gauge it would be the right size.<br />
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Here is where people who make shawls regularly are laughing at me, because I was so very wrong. I didn't take into account that the edge was going to become a triangle, not a straight line. So even though it actually was seemingly long enough for me, once it became a shawl it wouldn't be. (Does this make any sense? If not, see above paragraph about being sick.)<br />
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Even after I realized my mistake, I knew that I wasn't going to rip it all back and redo it, because that would take too much time. I'd just deal with it, then make another shawl at a later date.<br />
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I did much of the knitting for this on our trip to Savannah. The first day of driving was looooonnngg and this kept me entertained. (How do people who don't do handwork handle long car rides? I can't stand to just sit there and do nothing!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris bought me this for Christmas a few years ago. It doesn't get used nearly enough.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I finished it right before we got to our hotel, then blocked it once we were back from vacation. I've worn it every day since, even for just a little bit in the morning. It's ridiculously hot in Kentucky this time of year, but once the air kicks on in the morning the house gets chilly. Normal people would just turn the air off, but I like to pretend that it's almost fall and that it's not going to be hot as balls outside.<br />
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The shawl ended up being not quite what I wanted, but still pretty and functional. Plus I can always give it to Adele when I make myself a new one.<br />
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Pattern: <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/cicely-shawl" target="_blank">Cicely Shawl</a>, from <a href="http://www.taprootmag.com/collections/frontpage/products/issue-15-folk" target="_blank">Taproot Issue 15: Folk</a>.<br />
Yarn: <a href="http://www.knitpicks.com/yarns/Galileo_Yarn__D5420229.html" target="_blank">Knit Picks Galileo</a> in Pearl<br />
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<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-91598447524897430732016-06-22T11:36:00.004-04:002016-06-22T11:38:50.004-04:00Motherhood & More: Trip allows time to recapture the old, discover the new*<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Gqb3oJ6fUwQ/V2qwSYSwICI/AAAAAAAAEKY/_V0ewU9_RPo/s640/blogger-image-773453376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Gqb3oJ6fUwQ/V2qwSYSwICI/AAAAAAAAEKY/_V0ewU9_RPo/s400/blogger-image-773453376.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As parents, many times we put our lives on hold to make sure our children have everything they need. They always are fed first or clothed first. Their needs always are met before anyone else’s.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But sometimes, we have to do things for ourselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the spirit of that, my husband and I took a trip — a no-kids, only-have-to-worry-about what-we-want, no-complaining-allowed trip. And it was glorious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We have been married for 10 years this past April — a long time, right? And in that entire time, we’ve never had a trip together that lasted longer than a day or two. We actually never had a honeymoon because of work commitments.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So we were long overdue. I actually wasn’t convinced we’d really get to go until we were more than half way to our destination. I am an optimist at heart, obviously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But go we did. We went to Savannah, then Tybee Island in Georgia. It was hot and muggy and gorgeous and fantastic. We had actual conversations that weren’t interrupted by arguing children in need of a referee. We ate in restaurants without having to make sure there was a kids’ menu, because heaven forbid they eat something other than a burger or chicken nuggets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We drank grown-up drinks at 3 in the afternoon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We were together. Just us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took three midday naps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remembered what it was like to spend days with just my husband and we were able to be us again, not Mama and Daddy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I walked miles each day without listening to one person with tiny legs complain about their feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t have to brush anyone’s hair but mine, or help anyone dress, or argue about the importance of clean underwear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t have to follow a tiny tyrant’s schedule that includes more than frequent bathroom breaks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t get to show the kids the ocean or force them to try new foods under threat of lost screen time. I didn’t get to swim with them or people watch with them or stay in a hotel with them, which obviously is the best part of any trip away from home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t get to stay up too late with them, watching a movie they probably shouldn’t be watching or share the history of a gorgeous old town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think it’s good for our kids to see us as separate from them, not just Mama and Daddy, or “The Ones Who Make Us Do Things We Don’t Want To Do.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They need to see us as who we are as individuals, who we were before them. But it’s hard when you can’t quite remember who that is. Taking a few days to just be me, to just be us, let me have a bit of that back. And I was able to see how different of a person I am now, eight years later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And maybe it let my kids miss me a bit and appreciate me just a little bit more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise </span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">on June 22, 2016</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">.</span></i></div>
<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-41267630424985364772016-06-03T19:31:00.001-04:002016-06-03T19:31:33.085-04:00Nobody steal my True Detective romantic comedy ideaSo I had this dream last night.<br />
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I know, I know. Dreams are ultimate blog no-nos (though really, why? Brains are all kinds of messed up and it's neat to see what they come up with when we're not looking.)<br />
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Dream blog posts after a loooooooooong blogging absence are especially bad I'm told.*<br />
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But I can't help it. I have to share. I've been dosing myself with expired codeine cough syrup on account of all the coughing I do once I try to sleep. And by 'dosing' I mean following the directions <i>specifically </i>because I am terrified of imaginary authority figures who already are disappointed at me for using expired cough syrup.<br />
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I don't think the cough syrup is responsible for my dream, but it might be, is what I'm saying.<br />
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The dream was a cross between The Mindy Project and True Detective, which as an obvious path to travel if you're my subconscious on cough syrup.<br />
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I wasn't actually involved in the story, just watching like it was a television show, which means maybe I watch too much tv? (I don't. I really don't. I wish I had more time because there are entirely too many shows I want to watch. Outlander, Orphan Black <i>I'm looking at you.</i>)<br />
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So Mindy was dating Colin Farrell - who was a tough, sort-of-dirty cop but really wanted to be a good guy (maybe like the character he played in True Detective - the season with all the characters whose names I couldn't remember.)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjoNdpHG1gI/V1IPJkQ1m2I/AAAAAAAAEKA/vP7-VLlzrBgSwa-ZynAMaPlcEOARR2hkwCLcB/s1600/B9317865054Z.1_20150626124136_000_GDDB6ASAI.1-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjoNdpHG1gI/V1IPJkQ1m2I/AAAAAAAAEKA/vP7-VLlzrBgSwa-ZynAMaPlcEOARR2hkwCLcB/s320/B9317865054Z.1_20150626124136_000_GDDB6ASAI.1-0.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The porn 'stache of my dreams, apparently.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Colin killed a really bad guy who had zero chance of being arrested (kinda like Dexter, but in a less creepy, serial killer way.) After killing said bad guy, he took a ring from him, then went to Mindy and asked her to marry him using the ring. She said yes and was super thrilled because FINALLY HAPPILY EVER AFTER.<br />
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The next morning cops showed up, asking about the dead guy. Colin was all set to get away with killing him, but Mindy started talking about how awesome Colin was, and how he'd just proposed. She showed them the ring. They arrested Colin. And it was very noir-like and dramatic, but also still silly because ROMANTIC COMEDY. Mindy is just so unlucky in love! Haha! Something is always in the way of her finding true love! Total slapstick, amirite?<br />
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So maybe the cough syrup worked? I mean, I still coughed but was distracted by the dream. So maybe it's a metaphysical remedy?<br />
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In other news, here's a picture of me wearing red lipstick.<br />
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I took some photos of myself (the cool people call those 'selfies') because I was procrastinating on my to-do list. Who wants to write web site copy when you can take a fake-smiling photo of yourself sans all makeup but bright red lipstick? (Me. I do. It's a fantastic job that I want to keep.) Plus it was new lipstick and I couldn't tell if I liked it or not.<br />
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I do like it. The end.<br />
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(I apologize for this post. I have no excuse.)<br />
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*Google told me one time.jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-55228232446147649492016-05-25T09:41:00.001-04:002016-05-25T09:41:16.445-04:00Motherhood and More: It's not a parenting failure to seek the help you need<div style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; margin-right: 4px;">
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I’m not sure what has brought on these reminisces, but it’s hard to compare where I was then to where I am now. At the time, I made plenty of jokes about not having adult conversation, but was silent about my real struggle.</div>
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Over time, I spiraled into a deep depression. I don’t know how else to say it. There were many days when I didn’t think I’d make it through, many days when I locked myself in the bathroom to cry. Many days when I lashed out at the kids when I shouldn’t have.</div>
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I felt guilty every day. I felt anxious and sad and lost and hopeless. I didn’t know what to do or how to ask for help. I didn’t tell anyone, because how do you tell people you’re failing? How do you ask for help when to do so you’d have to admit that failure?</div>
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It’s only now, years later, that I feel OK with sharing because I’m so far removed from it.</div>
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I assume I was suffering from post-partum depression. At the time though, I just thought I was bad at being a mother. But I powered through. I trudged along each day making breakfast, playing games, coloring, but all the while feeling desperate and lost.</div>
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I felt alone. I felt that no one could be as awful a mother as I was, so I didn’t seek out people to talk to because I didn’t want them to see exactly how bad I was.</div>
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We didn’t have much money and only one car, so we weren’t able to go out to places. And when we did go out in public it was like running a marathon. My daughter was not the best child to take places. She was easily frustrated and easily irritated and ridiculously impatient. Add to that an older child who was testing his boundaries and you have a disaster waiting to happen.</div>
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I was terrified to take them out by myself, so most days we stayed home.</div>
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We did have fun, though I know it doesn’t sound like it. I tried to plan activities to keep them entertained, but sometimes it was physically painful to have to be on and available all day. I’m an introvert, which means I desperately need alone time to function. That doesn’t happen when you have two small children who need you 24 hours a day.</div>
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I became obsessed with my son’s first memory. I was convinced it would be of me yelling over something stupid and silly and that would color our relationship for the rest of our lives. I lay awake at night thinking about it, feeling terrible, feeling the weight of my responsibility pressing on my chest.</div>
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Eventually, I realized I needed to do something, that I had to fix what was broken, because something obviously wasn’t right. I knew I needed anti-depressants, but also felt, again, like I was a failure for needing them. I didn’t want to be like this. I felt weak and childish, like if I only was stronger, if I only tried a little harder, I’d pull myself out.</div>
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But I think it took strength to finally ask my doctor. I was shaking and crying, trying to explain the issue without making myself seem too terrible.</div>
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And the anti-depressants worked. They worked so well. I felt so much better, like a black cloud had gone, like the pressure and the weight and the desperation were lessened.</div>
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It wasn’t a quick fix and it wasn’t 100 percent. It took time and effort and there still were days I locked myself away to have a few minutes to myself.</div>
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But I was better and functioning and not spiraling any deeper. I was able to see clearer and to be the mama my kids needed.</div>
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So if you see a friend or loved one struggling, even a small amount, look a little closer. Ask questions, offer assistance. They might be searching for help but not know how to ask for it.</div>
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We’re all in this together, right?</div>
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<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on May 25, 2016.</i></div>
jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-4908742527453034782016-04-27T10:27:00.001-04:002016-04-27T10:27:29.197-04:00Motherhood and More: Tackling the kids’ rooms leaves feeling of accomplishment*<div style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-right: 4px;">
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I know, I know. It’s ridiculous. We try hard to instill work ethic and values and independence into our children. As in, it is their responsibility to keep their rooms clean, because it is their own space and they are the ones who messed it up.</div>
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But we all slack off a bit. Their rooms are upstairs and they don’t like to spend much time in them, so I don’t actually see the mess all that often — bedtime, every other night is it. Usually by that time I’m too tired to care about anything, much less a pile of papers under the bed and toys out of place.</div>
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Enough of that, though, and you’ve got a gigantic problem in the form of endless hours of cleaning. Plus, it had been years since I’d done a true toy overhaul.</div>
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Their rooms and closets were a packed plot of broken bits and pieces of discarded, never-used toy cars and fast-food toys, broken Legos, crumpled paper, many, many tote bags to hold the crumpled paper, too-small clothing and shoes, Lego boxes, (because we had at some point decided we had to keep all of them) and other childhood detritus that didn’t have a home with us anymore.</div>
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It was time.</div>
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It was past time.</div>
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We shipped the kids off for the day. If they knew I was throwing out toys that hadn’t been touched in two years, those toys suddenly would become their most loved and prized possessions.</div>
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I spent hours gleefully tossing half-finished drawings, old books and old toys into bag after bag to toss or donate. I did not waste much time on sentimentality. At one point in my life I would have considered everything my children touched as keepsake worthy. Now I am ready to purge.</div>
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However, before you think I am a cold-hearted mama, I did save all the stories my son has written — and really I should be commended for that because he has written a lot of stories. For now, they can stay.</div>
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My daughter’s room has two huge closets and they’ve become a sort of storage area for junk we hadn’t found a home for yet. Not anymore. Old candles, old decorative items, old junk — all gone.</div>
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The beauty, the release I felt once everything was disposed of was tantamount to climbing a mountain – I assume. I’ve never actually climbed a mountain, but I’m sure it totally feels as much of an accomplishment as cleaning your kids’ rooms.</div>
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The book organization alone was enough to make me feel I’d been a catalyst for world peace. The bare floors inspired poetry.</div>
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My children, when they returned to clean, lightened rooms, were understandably pleased. Probably because they didn’t see the amount of bags of their stuff I’d given away.</div>
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My son, always the one to offer a helpful comment, came to me after surveying his room and said admonishingly, “You didn’t really clean much in my closet, Mom.”</div>
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This was, of course, not true as that was where most of the garbage bags I filled came from. It also wasn’t all that nice of a thing to say.</div>
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But I let it pass. Sooner or later he’s going to notice what I’ve taken away. I’ll be sure to reply, innocently, “I have no idea where that went. I didn’t clean very much in your closet.”</div>
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*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on April 27, 2016.</i></div>
jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-33803307213290133732016-03-23T09:56:00.000-04:002016-03-23T09:56:03.255-04:00Motherhood & More: When your child is a lot like you, try pickin’ together*<div style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-right: 4px;">
My son is too much like his mother.</div>
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I can see parts of his personality growing to become mirror images of mine. We’re both entirely too sensitive and take everything personally. We see the world in black and white, right and wrong and are hard to dissuade when we’ve made our decision on which is which. That one I’ve almost grown out of and am much more flexible these days, I promise.</div>
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However, the hardest one to overcome is our need to be good at everything we decide to attempt – drawing, music, soccer. No matter what it is, we don’t want to do it if our natural abilities won’t let us start better than everyone else.</div>
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Now, my son is having this issue with music.</div>
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I was raised with music as a large part of my life. My dad is a musician – guitar, bass, Dobro – and my sister and I grew up watching him perform in countless bands or have jam sessions at family pig roasts and get-togethers. We both took piano lessons; however, I quit early on over a difference of opinion with the piano teacher. She was mean and I didn’t like mean teachers.</div>
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But I still can play a tiny bit of “Stand By Me” and “Heart and Soul,” and, of course, “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” We all sang, although my mom insists that she “only plays the radio.”</div>
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I decided around 15 or 16 I wanted to learn the guitar. I was pretty obsessed with Janis Joplin and “Me and Bobby McGee” was No. 1 on my learn-to-play list. Plus that was when Lilith Fair was happening and there was an explosion of girl folk singers. I fit right in.</div>
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So I got a guitar, my dad taught me some chords and I started playing. I learned classic rock songs and oldies and angsty, acoustic girl power songs, then began writing my own angsty, acoustic girl power songs. I played guitar in church on many Sundays with a group of friends and a couple of times played at school chorus events.</div>
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But I slowed down considerably in college and stopped all together once I had my first kid. Time, you know? There’s only so much of it.</div>
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So when my son showed interest in music, I pushed for the guitar. My dad, who stresses the importance of nurturing musical talent, fixed him a left-handed one and we scheduled lessons with a local teacher.</div>
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But the problem is there was too much time between scheduling and the start of lessons. He had a couple of weeks to think and too much time to try it and see he’s not going to be able to play the guitar well without practice. He’s worried he’s not going to be good enough and so we had many, many discussions on why it’s important to work at skills, to push yourself, to just try. Because it’s in the trying and the effort that you see what you can accomplish.</div>
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He went into his first lesson excited and nervous and came out ready to learn. I can hear him in his room after bedtime and early in the morning strumming, trying as hard as he can to fret the G chord using his pinky.</div>
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What’s really great is that this is something we can do together. He wants me to work with him, to play with him. So now I’m excited and ready to pick my own guitar back up and play.</div>
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I wonder if he wants to learn any Lisa Loeb?</div>
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<i>*This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on March 23, 2016.</i></div>
jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-86639689140135411802016-02-24T18:14:00.001-05:002016-02-24T18:14:28.144-05:00Motherhood & More: When the kid's right, he's right — even if he's wrong*<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0KWMiGme1Fc/Vs444CAboSI/AAAAAAAAEIM/F3A8lHn037c/s1600/IMG_9172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0KWMiGme1Fc/Vs444CAboSI/AAAAAAAAEIM/F3A8lHn037c/s320/IMG_9172.JPG" width="263" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have a kid who knows more than me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At least, that’s what he believes. And he’s right in some instances. For example, I do not know whether emeralds are stronger than diamonds in Minecraft or how to work the Playstation remote or the different life cycles of certain bugs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I do, however, know that Valentine’s Day always, every year, falls on Feb. 14, not Feb. 7. The child was adamant to the point of frustration and near tears that he was right and we, his parents, were absolute idiots for not knowing the true date of the holiday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This type of thing happens often. When he is sure, he will fight you with the determination of a stubborn 7-year-old dealing with his out-of-touch parents. Sometimes he’s right, sometimes he’s wrong. Always he’s obstinate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I try to think back to when I was his age and wanted to be taken seriously and whether I was as much of a jerk to my parents. (Yes. The answer is yes. I am still not quite clear how my parents didn’t regularly drop me and my sister off somewhere for extended periods of time just to get away from the enormous amount of attitude heaped upon them daily.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know it’s horrible to be dismissed and not respected as an intelligent, thoughtful person, even at 7. I try to be as supportive as I can while still needing to banish the child to his room until he stops talking to me as if no one in the entire world could be as “un-with it” as I am.</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the thing is, he’s super, crazy smart. He does know much more than I do on certain subjects, which makes all of this that much harder.</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I honestly thought I had more time before this became an issue. Twelve? Thirteen? Isn’t that the age the eye rolling starts? But now I can see years and years spread out before us, with him being increasingly right and me being increasingly wrong.</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We, the parents, will become progressively out of touch with what “the kids these days” are doing. Already I can’t keep up with technology, so I am becoming a stereotypical mom who needs her kid to show her how to use all the new-fangled phone apps. I also now am using words like “new-fangled.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So he will grow ever away from me — seeking more time with friends and less time with his boring, dorky parents.</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For now, though, I still can get him to discuss books and movies and whatever else is interesting him, though I tune out when he starts in on Minecraft. There is only so much interest in Minecraft I can fake and I met my limit a year ago. (Sorry, kid. This blank stare totally doesn’t mean I’m not interested in seeing the new house you built. Swearsies.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And maybe, if I am lucky and patient and can ignore the eye rolling, he will continue to teach me new things and I will be able to learn with him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At least until he turns 13, right?</span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-right: 4px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*This column originally published in <i>The News-Enterprise </i>on February 24, 2016.</span></div>
jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-44444627968815204402016-01-27T11:10:00.003-05:002016-01-27T11:20:34.710-05:00Motherhood & More: Finding time, energy to be available for demands on Mama's time*<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0RggbfUb3gc/Vqjt99diXVI/AAAAAAAAEH4/QAu54_DN-Rw/s640/blogger-image-45354621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0RggbfUb3gc/Vqjt99diXVI/AAAAAAAAEH4/QAu54_DN-Rw/s400/blogger-image-45354621.jpg" width="300" /></a>Parenting is a hard gig, right? I mean, no one disputes
that, or the fact that it’s draining and exhausting. But it’s also wonderful
and life-changing and happiness-bringing and awesome, obviously.<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>Lately I’ve been having trouble feeling the awesome. What I
mean by that is I am wishing greatly for more time to be me, not Mama. My sweet
heathens are all loved and fed and clothed and happy, and I am being as good of
a parent I can, but I don’t seem to relish it, you know?<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>I have hours to myself – I work at home while the kids are
in school so rarely do I hear a noise other than my own thoughts and my fingers
typing on the keyboard. And I like it – no, LOVE IT – that way. I am sort of an
introverted extrovert in that I am very comfortable at home, quiet, doing my
own thing. But I am also thrilled to be around other adults.<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>But the kids – they come with much more work than do
grown-ups. They return home from school each day with demands for food and
homework help and pent-up energy and whining from having to behave. I have to
mentally prepare myself for a culture shock each weekday at 2:20, when the
complete silence turns into complete chaos.<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>And then there was the holiday break and the endless snow
days, and what I’m saying is that I’m really missing the quiet. I am having a
hard time being a present, involved mama. I am spending too much time at my
computer and not enough time playing horses or Barbies or Star Wars or
monopoly.<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>I’ve begun tensing up when I see the children heading my
way, because I know it means they will want something from me, or have a
question for me that will only lead to more questions, and then even more
questions because my son never stops talking. Like ever.<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>I feel myself resent the interruption, and then resenting
the fact that I have that feeling. I resent the need to be alone, and yet
desperately need to be alone. I am working daily, hourly on trying to be more
in the moment and to actually enjoy those moments.<o:p> </o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>I want to say ‘yes’ instead of ‘not now’ to my daughter when
she asks me to play another game of monopoly or work another puzzle. I want to
want to answer my son’s 178<sup>th </sup>‘Did you know’ question on his latest
obsession (Star Wars. Pirates. Minecraft. Weather. Rocks. Bugs. Animals.)<o:p> </o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>I am trying. It is so very hard. But I figure if I force
myself to get out of my head, to be present, to say yes even when I don’t feel
like I can, soon it will be easier. I will not inwardly sigh when they come to
me. My smile will be more enthusiastic.<o:p> </o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>And they might just better remember all the times I was
available to them instead of all the times I was too busy.<br />
<br />
*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on Jan. 27, 2016.</i><br />
<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><br />
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<!--EndFragment-->jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-46084186716111314462016-01-07T13:06:00.002-05:002016-01-07T13:06:13.340-05:00Sewing, again (Hollyburn Skirt)I was speaking with a friend this morning about sewing, and I realized that I haven't worn anything I've sewn in a good long while. And then I realized I hadn't actually <i>sewn </i>anything in what feels like forever.<br />
<br />
So I decided to remedy both of those things.<br />
<br />
I chose to wear the Hollyburn skirt today because it's been sitting unworn in my closet since I sewed it. I don't really love it, or actually like it all that much.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Fj5q8hRTI6M/Vo6OZ54tBsI/AAAAAAAAEHM/q2JSreKNLkM/s640/blogger-image-1540194944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Fj5q8hRTI6M/Vo6OZ54tBsI/AAAAAAAAEHM/q2JSreKNLkM/s400/blogger-image-1540194944.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
<br />
It's definitely not the pattern's problem, it's more user error, unfortunately.<br />
<br />
I chose my fabric (<a href="https://www.fabric.com/buy/0405672/cotton-steel-black-white-typewriters" target="_blank">Cotton + Steel</a>) because I thought typewriters would be perfect for this shape of skirt. Retro, you know? But I didn't think it all through, and I didn't see how the skirt was sewn before it was too late.<br />
<br />
It's made up of different panels, and if I had been paying more attention I would have cut the two front panels in such a way as to ensure the front seam didn't slice the typewriters in half. I tried to remedy the situation by sewing a line of ribbon over the seam. It definitely looks better than it did, but it doesn't look fantastic.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MKl9yXQKHM8/Vo6OW1ap_hI/AAAAAAAAEG8/8oq7R3P4U_w/s640/blogger-image--1979980724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MKl9yXQKHM8/Vo6OW1ap_hI/AAAAAAAAEG8/8oq7R3P4U_w/s400/blogger-image--1979980724.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Also, Hollyburn is supposed to have a fitted waist. I didn't measure because measuring is for wusses, obviously.<br />
<br />
And even more obviously, not measuring enough resulted in a skirt that doesn't fit.<br />
<br />
This is me pinching the back 2-3 extra inches at the waist to show how much better it would look if I had sewn it the right way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Sg3H4pw6SYY/Vo6ObeJvuZI/AAAAAAAAEHU/3zGkcvhvTVY/s640/blogger-image--1024815293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Sg3H4pw6SYY/Vo6ObeJvuZI/AAAAAAAAEHU/3zGkcvhvTVY/s400/blogger-image--1024815293.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
<br />
If I were a proper sewist I'd take the waistband apart and take it in, and adjust the skirt. However I am a sometimes sewist, one who needs to learn that sometimes quality is more important than quantity. Also I could use a mannequin. And someone to measure me.<br />
<br />
I will fix it one day. It may be 10 years in the future, though. And I will sew this pattern again - a size down and with better fabric.<br />
<br />
And to go back to present-day sewing, I'm going to start the <a href="http://www.christinehaynes.com/products/emery-dress-sewing-pattern" target="_blank">Emery Dress</a> today, with this fabric: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hh-kYIWw44c/Vo6eK5GESSI/AAAAAAAAEHk/WI2G1tn5fqw/s1600/s-l300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hh-kYIWw44c/Vo6eK5GESSI/AAAAAAAAEHk/WI2G1tn5fqw/s1600/s-l300.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I can't wait until it's done! But, if I'm honest, I probably won't get much more done than cutting and pasting the pattern printout together because time management and whatnot. But at least it's a start, yes?<br />
<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-86061345335722452642015-12-23T08:06:00.006-05:002015-12-23T08:07:12.149-05:00Motherhood & More: Hoping kids remember more than Christmas magic misses*<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--h59ORTPw-A/VnqcQKlQEpI/AAAAAAAAEGk/FDY_P3uP7tM/s1600/IMG_8610.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--h59ORTPw-A/VnqcQKlQEpI/AAAAAAAAEGk/FDY_P3uP7tM/s320/IMG_8610.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think I may have single handedly ruined the magicalness of Christmas for my kids.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I mean, there’s only so much enchantment I can create, you know? As much as I would love to present my children with a Pinterest Christmas, I gave up on that attempt the year my daughter destroyed the homemade applesauce cinnamon ornaments just because.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">They have an advent calendar with a daily treat (mostly cheap chocolate because I am not an idiot) but we had to move that surprise to the afternoon because someone (my son) wasn’t sleeping past 4:30 a.m. He was too excited because of all the anticipation, and I was too tired because of all the early rising.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But sometimes I forget to have their treat out when they get home from school. They run expectedly, eyes bright hoping for their tiny snowman chocolate. I have to inform them that no, their mother wasn’t prepared. Again. But hold on a minute and I’ll get it for you. I guess that ruins the surprise, or something.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We also acquired an Elf on the Shelf a few years ago as a family gift, though we probably would have gotten him ourselves because everyone has to have an elf now, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guess how happy I am about that little nuisance? Not only does he absolutely have to be in a different spot every night, but parents now are creating ridiculous scenarios where their elf is squirting toothpaste all over the bathroom because he’s just a silly, naughty thing. Excuse me, but I have enough junk to pick up after my children. Sorry, kids. I’m not cleaning up after the elf, too. You will just have to make do with our boring Mr. Christmas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I also don’t understand how people leave their elves in places low enough for kids to reach. My kids know they’re not supposed to touch him. However my daughter will look you right in the eye as you tell her not to touch and poke the poor guy’s leg. That’s because no one is allowed to tell her what not to do, obviously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And now my son has started writing to our elf. Usually he tells me when he’s written a letter and asks that I make sure the elf knows about it because we have a special bond, Mr. Christmas and I. But sometimes my son doesn’t tell me and is greatly disappointed when there isn’t a response. That means, of course, that now I have to search for a letter every night, just in case.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As much as I complain, I actually wish I were better at all of this than I am. I’d love to be the type of mom who has everything organized enough to fill every day of the Christmas season with magic. I’m having a difficult enough time keeping up with all I’m supposed to be doing that isn’t Christmas related, and many times I drop the ball. But I hope they don’t remember all the times the elf didn’t respond to a letter, or how we still didn’t put up the outside Christmas lights.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe, instead, they’ll remember cookies we made, the tree we decorated, the Christmas music and hot chocolate, and the holiday shows we watched snuggled up together and offer a bit of forgiveness to their imperfect Mama.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9drbPfMS6xM/VnqcRq2TQlI/AAAAAAAAEGw/548mMpgVCyU/s1600/IMG_8615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9drbPfMS6xM/VnqcRq2TQlI/AAAAAAAAEGw/548mMpgVCyU/s320/IMG_8615.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on December 23, 2015.</i></span>jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-79268328404635445762015-11-25T09:45:00.000-05:002015-11-25T09:45:13.094-05:00Motherhood & More: With the holidays upon us, I am thankful for coffee*<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every year I wonder how it is that the holidays have come so quickly. I’m not nearly ready for any of it and it’s become a tradition to rush around crazily at the last minute. I don’t think this is so much because I put things off, but rather I pile too much stuff on in hopes of being everything to everyone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />So, in the spirit of giving myself a break, I’m copping out on this column. I’m going easy on myself. So this will not be literary genius of a piece, as they normally are, of course. This will be a last-minute, thrown-together list written in between work and laundry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />You are so welcome.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Without further ado, I give you my Thanksgiving List Of Things I Am Thankful For:</span><br />
<br />
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful my daughter slept all night in her own bed without crawling into mine, snoring and stealing all the covers.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for interesting work I can do from my dining room table.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful my son enjoys reading as much as I do, even if his favorites employ toilet humor instead of complex plot development. “Captain Underpants,” I’m looking at you.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful we have a house that is a cross between 1920s craftsman, 1980s renovation and 2010s my-children-have-too-much-junk-and-refuse-to-clean-up-after-themselves.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for coffee.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful I have a husband who sometimes makes me lunch when I’m busy writing a column that is past due.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for laughter and corny jokes and friends and family who indulge me in both.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for people who buy and appreciate the jewelry and hand knits I so love to make.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for parents who raised me to know how to do things for myself, like making a pie, sewing a dress or growing a garden.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful my backyard is shady so I have an excuse not to plant a huge garden that requires a lot of work.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for warmth and good food.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful both of my children are thoughtful and kind.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for health.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for coffee.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for the village in our real village — we have a good set of friends/neighbors who always are willing to help each other when needed.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for a husband who doesn’t complain too much when I leave the living room strewn with yarn and project materials.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for feather blankets on cold mornings.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for good wine and good bourbon.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for knit sweaters and socks.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for hair dye to hide all of my gray hair.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for friends who remain friends, even when we hardly ever see each other.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for Minecraft entertaining my children sometimes so I don’t have to.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful my husband fills up the car’s gas tank so I don’t have to worry.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for love and acceptance.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="list-style: square; margin: 4px 0px 4px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="padding: 3px 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thankful for coffee.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on Nov. 25, 2015.</i></div>
jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-42351507941681234342015-10-29T13:30:00.001-04:002015-10-29T13:30:25.755-04:00Guys. I was very deep for my age. (#tbt)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KA7zLKyjz2w/VjJXMyroVXI/AAAAAAAAEGA/j-4wLTgN0Rc/s1600/Jaime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KA7zLKyjz2w/VjJXMyroVXI/AAAAAAAAEGA/j-4wLTgN0Rc/s320/Jaime.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm fairly certain this was the correct time frame.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am in a foul mood. Like a foul, I-hate-everyone-leave-me-alone-or-else-come-at-me-so-I-can-cut-<br />
you foul mood.<br />
<br />
It's awesome. I'm 78 percent sure it's from lack of sleep, but still, it's super frustrating because I have Responsibilities and Children and I can't just block everything out with a book on tape and my sewing machine.<br />
<br />
Also I sliced open the tip of my right index finger Monday on a mandolin so typing is amazingly awesome. Also - ouch.<br />
<br />
So, to cheer me up, I thought I'd read through some of my old journals again and share some especially awe-inspiring and melodramatic entries with you.<br />
<br />
You are so very much welcome. Also - if you have any that you'd like to show me that would make me smile, please do.<br />
<br />
As always, most names changed to protect the innocent.<br />
<br />
.........................................................................................<br />
<br />
<i>2-21-94</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I feel weird. I say that alot in this journal. I can't even tell Tana how I feel. Sometimes I don't even know. Please help me. I always act happy at school. Today I started crying, not that much, noone could tell. Mrs. Gentry kept saying I was one of the people she had to wait on to sing. She has no right to say that because I always do what she says.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So and so lies to much. I wish she would stop lying to me about everything.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm not sure if I want to die anymore. I'm not sure of anything anymore.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>.....................................................................................</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>3-24-94</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Music is like Life. When the music stops, so does life.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I hope the music lasts forever.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>..................................................................................</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>3-27-94</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I want everyone to get what they want as long as what the want doesn't hurt anyone.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>.................................................................................</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>3-27-94 (Later that night)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I just want to feel loved by a guy. Loved and wanted I don't feel loved or wanted right now.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>................................................................................</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>9-17-94</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You know what? This journal is terrible. All I ever tell you is what I want. But what about what I have? I have a great fried named Maria (Lue), I have a great family. I know that in the past, I've written in here that I have a terrible family, but that's not true. I love my family. Of course we get into fights, every family does.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Maria is the sweetest girl in the world. She's my best friend.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Well, I'm hopelessly in love with a guy named Chorizo </i>(Present-day Jaime says I AM RUNNING OUT OF FAKE NAMES). <i>He's really sweet, and <u>of course</u> he's cute. Ha Ha! The only problem is he's about a head shorter than me! I think he likes me, actually I'm pretty sure he does, I'm just waiting for him to make the first move.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Schools pretty good. I like most of my classes I've got 5th and 7th plus homeroom with Chorizo. Aint that great! But he's a sweetie, and I really like him</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>......................................................................................</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
The rest of my journal entries can be found on this page: <i><a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/p/jaimes-embarrassing-journal-entries.html" target="_blank">Jaime's embarrassing journal entries about boys she loved and also how much she wanted to get her period</a></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-78478333459047557352015-10-28T09:26:00.000-04:002015-10-28T09:26:04.219-04:00Motherhood and More: Don't lose your head over Mom-made costume*<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a Halloween problem. Or, more specifically, I have a
homemade Halloween costume problem.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, ever since the first time I sewed my oldest child
his Halloween costume, I haven’t been able to go back to store-bought ones. I
just have a problem paying upwards of $20-$40 for a costume that will be worn
once, then fall apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s not to say
that we’ve never rocked the premade ones, but this way makes us all happier. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0Ay7yoBpJVc/VjDL9KGiXPI/AAAAAAAAEFw/ThkIdNQ46dg/s640/blogger-image-104487361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0Ay7yoBpJVc/VjDL9KGiXPI/AAAAAAAAEFw/ThkIdNQ46dg/s640/blogger-image-104487361.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Plus, as with everything I do as a parent, I have Mom Guilt.
My mom made our Halloween costumes. They were always fun and awesome,
especially that one year in high school where I made her sew me a sunset
costume. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, yes I did. And yes, yes she did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I feel it’s my duty to carry on the tradition because I
have the capabilities. And it’s just fun. I like saying that I made it, and to
me, Halloween should be all about creativity. You can be anything you want and should
take full advantage of that.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-azCI4eBgHZI/VjDL5s4RfYI/AAAAAAAAEFg/rIMHgbNIDKk/s640/blogger-image-213788637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-azCI4eBgHZI/VjDL5s4RfYI/AAAAAAAAEFg/rIMHgbNIDKk/s640/blogger-image-213788637.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’ve made ninja costumes, wizards, Batman, Harry Potter,
an Elsa cape, and, though it wasn’t for Halloween, I’ve made a Luke Skywalker
costume.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year my son has been adamant that he will be the
Headless Horseman. It took me awhile to figure that one out. We had a cape from
last year’s Harry Potter costume, so that part was simple. But the pumpkin head
has given me trouble. I’ve looked at Styrofoam pumpkins, plastic pumpkins and
any other pumpkin I could find before dismissing them all as too small, too
large, too difficult or too plastic-y. I finally realized that a Paper Mache
pumpkin would be perfect. I could make it the size I wanted, easily cut a hole
for his head, and it still would be light enough to sit on his shoulders
without causing harm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wants it painted black with dripping blood, and he also
wants to be able to throw it at people because of course he does.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s worrying a bit because it’s not quite finished yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry, kid. I may be last minute but I
always get it done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started the pumpkin head late because I’ve been fighting
with my daughter’s fairy costume. This one was ridiculous. I’ve never sewn
satin or organza, and never will again after this. Maybe if I’d done a bit of
research before jumping in I wouldn’t have had such trouble, but if I had then
I wouldn’t be me.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zAnKNP0cAPg/VjDL7dOUgRI/AAAAAAAAEFo/pw8yBdQyr5s/s640/blogger-image--546767066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zAnKNP0cAPg/VjDL7dOUgRI/AAAAAAAAEFo/pw8yBdQyr5s/s640/blogger-image--546767066.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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The costume has a dress and flowing skirt, plus a vest. And
it was supposed to have handmade wings but I had to throw in the towel on that
and use store-bought ones. There’s only so much torture I am willing to take in
the name of homemade Halloween costumes and I had met my limit with all of the
hand sewing required.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m excited for Halloween because my kids are pumped
about their costumes, which makes me feel good. And I hope that this is
something they let me do for years and years to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll even sew a sunset costume if that’s what they want.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Halloween 2012 can be found <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/2012/11/pretend-its-still-halloween.html" target="_blank">here </a>and <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/2012/11/homemade-friday-fierce-ninja-costume.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Sebastian's Luke costume can be found <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/2013/08/homemade-friday-great-star-wars.html" target="_blank">here</a>. And Halloween 2013 is <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/2013/11/homemade-friday-batman-and-wizard.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I don't have a post for Halloween 2014 because I got lazy, but I do have instagram photos! </div>
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*<i>This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise <i>on October 28, 2015.</i><br />
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<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-21360812992673075022015-10-15T10:19:00.001-04:002015-10-15T10:21:25.861-04:00Let's talk about exercise! (Hush, it's super awesome.)I should really be working but I want to go back to bed.<br />
<br />
That sentence probably runs through my head at any given time on any given day because zzzzzzzzzzzz and also DEADLINE.<br />
<br />
But that's not what I'm here to discuss. I want to talk about fitness. <br />
<br />
I know, I know. I'm vaguely dorky in a whole new way. But I can't help it. I am really, really enjoying what I'm doing.<br />
<br />
I am the type of person who needs a program, I've discovered. I can run regularly and do a bit of weight training, but nothing has worked and I haven't really stuck with anything because BORING and also I WOULD LIKE TO SEE RESULTS.<br />
<br />
I recently discovered the <a href="https://www.beachbody.com/product/fitness_programs/all-fitness-programs/21-day-fix-simple-fitness-eating.do?code=SEMB_21D_GOOGLE" target="_blank">21 Day Fix</a>. I'd heard about it before, either from a blog post or pinterest recipe or the like. But I didn't delve any further for whatever reason, until last month. I spoke with a friend who was really involved in the <a href="http://www.teambeachbody.com/" target="_blank">Team Beachbody</a> programs, and she seemed just as excited as I am now. So I joined. And I get it.<br />
<br />
(Excuse me while I gush a bit.)<br />
<br />
I like that I have a 30 minute exercise program first thing in the morning. I like that they are different each day of the week. I like that I can double up on the exercises after awhile. I like that there are modifications built into the exercises so I don't feel quite as bad if I can't do something as well as these people who workout for a living.<br />
<br />
I also really, really love the shakeology because it is delicious.<br />
<br />
I like that I did a full minute forearm plank for the first time in my life this morning. I like that I can feel and see new muscle definition.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm getting somewhere, and when that happens I am even more motivated to keep going. So many times I've started focusing on fitness super hard and dedicated, with little results. And I get sad and mad and say FINE! SCREW THIS it's not worth it if I'm not going to be where I want to be.<br />
<br />
But this one is working, guys.<br />
<br />
This is my second time on the program. I finished the first one the end of September, then took a week off for my kids' fall break and camping and beer drinking.<br />
<br />
I started back this past Monday and it huuuurrrrrtt. I was so sore, but I loved it because I WAS DOING SOMETHING.<br />
<br />
I'm really hoping to move on to something a bit tougher after this. <a href="http://www.teambeachbody.com/workout-routines/body-beast-workout" target="_blank">Body Beast</a>? Maybe? I haven't decided because it depends on where I am once I'm done with this program.<br />
<br />
I even signed up to be a Beachbody coach because I feel so strongly about all of this. So if you're interested at all let me know and I can hook you up with info and encouragement and challenge packs and whatnot.<br />
<br />
I also incorporated running because apparently I am training for the <a href="https://derbyfestivalmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Kentucky Derby Mini-Marathon</a>.<br />
<br />
Chris has been really pushing for this because the race is right around our 10 year wedding anniversary and, I admit, it's kind of a cool way to celebrate. Plus he knows that it is something I want to do for myself to show that I can.<br />
<br />
I am terrified. I am not a good runner at all, but I hope that by giving myself enough time and actually following a training schedule I can do it.<br />
<br />
(FINGERS CROSSED, OMG)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOOK AT THAT GIANT MUSCLE, YOU GUYS!</td></tr>
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<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-51682813652934799602015-10-09T21:58:00.001-04:002015-10-09T21:58:03.603-04:00I wrote this drunk because REASONSHey - remember when I was all "I'm going to update my blog regularly now and write fun stuff again and all that?" Well, maybe not "All That" but all that as in all of that stuff that I just said before in that last sentence.<br />
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<br />
This post is already getting away from me.<br />
<br />
Anyway, my point is that I'm totally doing All That stuff I just said, all of that writing and updating LIKE A BOSS, if 'LIKE A BOSS' you actually mean 'LIKE A PERSON WHO LIES A BIT' and 'LIKE SOMEONE WHO ISN'T A VERY GOOD BOSS.'<br />
<br />
I had one of those bosses one time. She was horrible and made me cry many times so I am very sorry if I made anyone cry by my lack of good boss-ness.<br />
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But if I had been updating I could have told you about my daughter's stomach-virus-turned-strep that lasted over the span of a week and a half and included a night of missed sleep on my part because someone had to be awake and ready to catch all the barf in the bowl because whenever I wasn't awake she barfed on herself and then I had to change all the sheets and her pajamas instead of just washing out the barf bowl.<br />
<br />
Guys. Motherhood is so glamorous I don't even know what to do.<br />
<br />
I'd like to take off my heels sometimes, is what I'm saying.<br />
<br />
But she never quite recovered from that, and then got strep at the beginning of fall break (Monday).<br />
<br />
Luckily we still were able to go camping (see all the photos below) and had an absolute blast, the best time I think we've had as a family so far, which is saying something because we're some awesome people who know how to have fun.<br />
<br />
There was hiking and fishing and swimming from a girl who had a fever just the day before. (We like to build up immunities in natural ways.) And there were scary stories and s'mores with friends and more swimming in cold water and that one hilly hike with my daughter who still kind of felt like shit, but was entirely too much of a Mama's Girl and too stubborn to let her father carry her, all that much and so whined for 75 percent of the hike because I wouldn't pick her up.<br />
<br />
But still kept hiking.<br />
<br />
Because she is the epitome of 'LIKE A BOSS' in the actual sense of the phrase.<br />
<br />
And I also could have told you about my son saying "What a pussy!" when we were all trying to sleep. I don't know exactly what he was referring to, but he heard it on some stupid minecraft youtube video and so NO YOUTUBE ANYMORE, SON. Thanks, minecraft. You're an asshole.<br />
<br />
Where was I?<br />
<br />
Camping?<br />
<br />
Oh - if I was updating, I might have been able to mention that I'm starting to stress about the kids' Halloween costumes, because I'm running out of time. Sebastian wants to be The Headless Horseman, which is actually easy - we already have the cape from last year when he was Harry Potter. We just need to cut the bottom out of a plastic pumpkin and shove it on his head. I've been telling him that he can just let his sister sit on his shoulder because she wants to be pumpkin. But not just an orange pumpkin. A many-colored pumpkin. I think, last I heard, the colors were blue and red and maybe yellow?<br />
<br />
I'm taking them to the fabric store tomorrow so hopefully we can figure something out.<br />
<br />
Because we are running out of time.<br />
<br />
I also could have mentioned the fact that I just finished the <a href="https://www.beachbody.com/product/fitness_programs/21-day-fix-simple-fitness-eating.do" target="_blank">21 Day Fix</a>, and that I loved it so much I became a coach, so if anyone is interested in starting, hit me up because it's really an awesome program and I feel stronger and to me, that is the point of all of the working out stuff. (I'm a wordsmith, I tell you what.)<br />
<br />
I want to be stronger. I want to be leaner. And I want people to live in fear of my biceps. (Not really.) And I think this program can do that. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a coach now. I really believe in it. So I'm serious - if you have any questions, just ask. I'm starting a new session on Monday, and I honestly can't wait. I feel much, much better on it, and that's not just all of the s'mores talking.<br />
<br />
So, if I was a regular blogger, and not a lying liar, I could have told you all of this stuff, over the course of days instead of in one long post that I'm not entirely sure everyone has read to the end of.<br />
<br />
I'm honestly not sure that is even an actual sentence but at this point it doesn't even matter because most of this is just a bunch of words that don't actually make a cohesive post.<br />
<br />
Please to be enjoying some camping photos* and I promise** to update regularly from now on.<br />
<br />
*I mean, this is a ridiculous amount of photos, but it was SO MUCH FUN!<br />
<br />
**Dude. We all know I'm lying, and really - is anyone actually looking forward to this nonsense anyway?<br />
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<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-64913958389502241442015-09-25T06:00:00.000-04:002015-09-25T06:00:00.311-04:00Homemade Friday: Vogue 2902, or the dress I probably shouldn't wear in public<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started sewing <a href="http://voguepatterns.mccall.com/v2902-products-4893.php?page_id=850" target="_blank">this dress pattern</a> many, many years ago, like even before I had Sebastian.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She wanted to be in the photo, too.*</td></tr>
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I'm a vintage-dress girl. Part of me really wishes I could wear them every day, and not look weird. Because if you wear dresses and there isn't a good occasion for it, people tend to wonder why.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fNPS1evZFkc/VgScS1S5HMI/AAAAAAAAD_c/hQAcmwRI244/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.29.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fNPS1evZFkc/VgScS1S5HMI/AAAAAAAAD_c/hQAcmwRI244/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.29.01.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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Why? Because I like dresses, that's why.<br />
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So when I saw this pattern, I immediately loved it. Capital L Loved it.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mdktqTMSLAg/VgScS51SvoI/AAAAAAAAD_g/-PDYa4sHXr8/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.29.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mdktqTMSLAg/VgScS51SvoI/AAAAAAAAD_g/-PDYa4sHXr8/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.29.25.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>
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It was entirely beyond my skill level at the time, and probably still beyond me. I didn't sew nearly as much as I do now, but was eager to learn. This dress was not the pattern to learn on, I think. It is fiddly, with zippers and linings and all the pieces. That is why, after finishing about half of the bodice I threw up my hands, said Screw. It. and shoved all the pieces and pattern into a grocery bag. <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N9r-vcA6yLU/VgScTnQp7NI/AAAAAAAAD_o/Vnzomn4nuBU/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.29.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N9r-vcA6yLU/VgScTnQp7NI/AAAAAAAAD_o/Vnzomn4nuBU/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.29.41.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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It has been bouncing around from closet to closet ever since, until this past summer.<br />
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I'm not sure what made me what to pick it back up. Probably a desperate need for quiet and sewing therapy. When I worked on something so detailed I could block out all of the sibling insanity that was happening all around.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tqIsJAxJDV0/VgScTxdBmTI/AAAAAAAAD_s/a3_gzlMYvH8/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.29.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tqIsJAxJDV0/VgScTxdBmTI/AAAAAAAAD_s/a3_gzlMYvH8/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.29.46.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
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I fee like I am a better sewist now (that's what we're supposed to call ourselves, right?) Zippers still aren't my friend, but I can at leas sew a straight seam.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sfwrDpNMSsU/VgScUT93DjI/AAAAAAAAD_4/X6L7-wYULw4/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.37.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sfwrDpNMSsU/VgScUT93DjI/AAAAAAAAD_4/X6L7-wYULw4/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.37.08.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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But as soon as I started sewing the dress again I knew that the finished product was not going to be pretty. It's too tight, the bodice seams are crooked and I had used a pencil to transfer pattern markings, and they do not come out. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d1FCHlji44U/VgScUliTIoI/AAAAAAAAEAA/fHxcDbyY_rk/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.37.36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d1FCHlji44U/VgScUliTIoI/AAAAAAAAEAA/fHxcDbyY_rk/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.37.36.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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And the skirt. Oh goodness the skirt. I do not know how to hem a circle skirt, especially not one as huge as this one. It's a good 3-4 inches longer on one side than it is on the other, and the lining is the same way. I have no idea how that happened.<br />
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And the zipper. And the lining by the zipper.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-orfvJcU0brM/VgScU-pYfiI/AAAAAAAAD_8/oMusbTfaqn4/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.37.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-orfvJcU0brM/VgScU-pYfiI/AAAAAAAAD_8/oMusbTfaqn4/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.37.48.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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And did I mention it's too tight?<br />
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But, even given all of that - I love it. And I want to wear it. I probably won't, at least not until the skirt is fixed. But oh, do I ever want to.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SFeOM0qvSdc/VgScVRXvAQI/AAAAAAAAEAI/Aqf2OoSun_4/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.38.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SFeOM0qvSdc/VgScVRXvAQI/AAAAAAAAEAI/Aqf2OoSun_4/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.38.38.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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The fabric flows and the giant, misshapen skirt makes me want to twirl.<br />
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I want to try again. I want to sew another one - this time maybe without the lining. And with a youtube tutorial on how to hem a humongous circle skirt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8cIeWUN0Jkw/VgScUKMvIWI/AAAAAAAAD_w/ZRIVZujvmZY/s1600/2015-09-24%2B07.30.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8cIeWUN0Jkw/VgScUKMvIWI/AAAAAAAAD_w/ZRIVZujvmZY/s320/2015-09-24%2B07.30.40.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You couldn't see my shoes well enough in the picture to tell how cute they are!</td></tr>
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*I had literally two minutes to throw this dress on and force my husband to take these photos so that's why you have the no-makeup-exhausted-mama-messy-topknot photos. You are most certainly welcome.jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-2399648592266370922015-09-24T12:43:00.002-04:002015-09-24T12:43:55.976-04:00Short story long: Hi again!I've missed it here.<br />
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I know, I know. I keep saying that, but doing absolutely nothing about it. It's just (prepare yourself, many excuses ahead) that time gets away from me, you know?<br />
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I'm working from home now for a marketing company. Have I told you that? Can't remember. But it's awesome. I'm incredibly lucky.<br />
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However, I only have around 6 hours to myself a day. Don't throw things at me, but I never feel like I have enough time to get all of my life stuff done. Like - I can either clean the house or write a press release. Or make and sell jewelry in my <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/jaimalaya?ref=hdr_shop_menu" target="_blank">Etsy shop</a>, which is doing steady business. Or write a column for <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20News-Enterprise" target="_blank">the newspaper</a>. Or <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/search/label/sewing" target="_blank">sew something</a>. Or post things to a client's website. Or <a href="http://jaimalaya.blogspot.com/search/label/knitting" target="_blank">knit a few rows on a sweater or some socks</a>. Or meet with a colleague to discuss Very Important Work Things.<br />
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So things are full. My days are full. Sewing and knitting is pushed back to make room for all the other commitments that other people need me to do.<br />
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And before I know it, 2:15 is here and so is the bus carrying my daughter home. And then I deal with my daughter refusing to actually get off the bus by pretending to be asleep. And then demanding snacks and my time and also probably yelling at me for doing something stupid like getting her water instead of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kombucha" target="_blank">kombucha</a> (hippie).<br />
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And then my son is back, also demanding snacks but usually in a better mood than his hell-raising sister. And then there's homework, which Sebastian usually does fine and that his sister melts down over. And then a bit of free time, where, since my children have gotten into <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Origami-Yoda-Files-Boxed-Set/dp/1419711318/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank">origami Star Wars stuff</a>, I'm asked to find MORE PAPER AND SCISSORS AND WHERE IS THE STAPLER AND MOM CAN YOU JUMP ON THE TRAMPOLINE WITH US?<br />
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No. The answer is always no. That's because I've birthed two children.<br />
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Then dinner and soccer practice or religion or a soccer game and then I am so very, very exhausted but the children still want to stay up and WHY WON'T YOU GO TO BED WITHOUT A FIGHT, ADELE?<br />
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But my point, after quite a few paragraphs of rambling, is that there is no time for anything, especially not for navel-gazing in the form of blog writing. But navel-gazing is fun! I miss it! So I'm going to attempt, once again, to show up here a few times a week.<br />
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Even if none reads this, even if it's just for myself, I will attempt to put a few words down in this blank box. It's good for my mind, good for my typing fingers, and good for my sanity because I can pretend like I am talking to all sorts of friends who are nodding in agreement with whatever ridiculous thing I've just said (written).<br />
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Because you all totally get me, right?<br />
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See you tomorrow.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-liwL1JisRi4/VgQnzSuCRyI/AAAAAAAAD_M/-qU29UYy6j4/s640/blogger-image-2007011042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-liwL1JisRi4/VgQnzSuCRyI/AAAAAAAAD_M/-qU29UYy6j4/s400/blogger-image-2007011042.jpg" width="368" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is a picture of my ridiculous attempt at a family selfie on our canoe trip a few weeks ago.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D4389867043374218205%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D239964859226637092%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dallposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dallposts%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-liwL1JisRi4%2FVgQnzSuCRyI%2FAAAAAAAAD_M%2F-qU29UYy6j4%2Fs400%2Fblogger-image-2007011042.jpg&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=nKZjTov7XgsT&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 169px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 870px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D4389867043374218205%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D239964859226637092%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dallposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dallposts%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-liwL1JisRi4%2FVgQnzSuCRyI%2FAAAAAAAAD_M%2F-qU29UYy6j4%2Fs400%2Fblogger-image-2007011042.jpg&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=nKZjTov7XgsT&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 169px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 870px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389867043374218205.post-74654190207728114132015-09-23T09:14:00.003-04:002015-09-23T09:14:51.545-04:00Motherhood & More: The kids grow up and, somehow, so do the parents*<div style="font-size: 16px;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IWFjNb3cOVE/VgKlcUgE0_I/AAAAAAAAD-s/71HuT4LRJvE/s640/blogger-image--1525913145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IWFjNb3cOVE/VgKlcUgE0_I/AAAAAAAAD-s/71HuT4LRJvE/s320/blogger-image--1525913145.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adele took this one.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The other day, my husband turned to me and said, “He’s 7. How did that happen?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was, of course, referring to our son, our oldest. It’s so strange how that transpires. One minute you’re wishing and wishing for time to go faster, for you to be older and more independent, then the next, you’re the mother of an almost-tween who acts more like a 30-year-old than most 30-year-olds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And he does. He’s always thoughtful and responsible, forever trying to improve things about himself — whether it’s increasing the amount of healthy foods he eats or decreasing his screen time. He’s so proud for doing what he considers the right thing and always is quick to call his parents out for doing things they shouldn’t — such as forgetting to recycle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He’s goofy but shy, respectful but kind of gross in that he loves bodily function humor. He’s learning to play chess and<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4389867043374218205" name="display" style="border: 0px;"> </a> always is improving on the soccer field. He still will hold my hand in public and give me hugs and kisses, but I know it won’t be long before that changes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s absolutely insane. I don’t feel like the mother of a 7-year-old. I feel like me, you know? I feel like who I was, the same weirdo-goofball I’ve always been. But now there are small people forever needing me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve never minded growing older. I absolutely believe age is just a number. I’m so much happier and satisfied now than I ever was in my 20s. Of course, having young children will exhaust you to the point where you don’t even remember what it was like before they were there. But there are no regrets. I never feel like I’m truly missing anything. Often, I would like more time to myself, to do exactly what I want to do. But, in my eyes, that’s not the same thing as wishing to be alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s hard, sometimes, being a parent. It’s hard to remain yourself, to keep that part of you that is only you, not Mama or Wife. And I think it’s absolutely essential to grow and evolve once you are caring for another human being 24-7. Because how could you not?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Your entire life is flipped around and most of your thoughts will switch from, “How will this affect me?” to, “How will this affect my child?” (Or, in many instances, “How can I get more sleep?”)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s such a fantastic thing, that development. Nothing else but parenthood can change you like that – from selfish to selfless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And every time my youngest gets up in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with us, I remind myself of this. She won’t always do it. I need to enjoy it now because it’s part of our story, part of my evolution.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Neither of my children will be small for very much longer, and already it feels like it’s slipping away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But for now I’m still Mama. And that’s just fine by me.</span></div>
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<i>*This column originally published in </i>The News-Enterprise<i> on Sept. 23, 2015.</i></div>
<br />jaimalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11402148704217396951noreply@blogger.com2