3.999 patterns

Remember my trip to Michiganthe other day? Bought 4,000 patterns. That's something like 25 egg boxes, stuffed full 'o patterns. That's a LOT of patterns.

They're still in my van. Everytime Seth climbs in, he says they smell like hay. Don't ask me why. The boy has always had a really sensitive nose, as opposed to my very challenged olfactory nerve, but if he says it smells like hay, it probably does. He smells everything. Come to think of it, he came to visit me at work on Friday, and told me that it smelled like Jello near where the operators sit. I didn't smell a thing, but someone probably had something Jello-y, cause the boy's nose doesn't miss much.

So, Thomas took 3 boxes 'o patterns out of my car and put them into the garage. I took one out, and got 'em listed. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that. But there are still 20+ boxes still in my car.

So I drove to work on Friday morning, and had the bright idea that perhaps I would try to type up a few listings on company time, if I had a chance. Pulled in the parking lot, pulled out a plastic bag, and started stuffing some formal patterns into it. Took me a while, because I was trying to just get one style at a time, instead of filling the bag with all the same pattern. That would defeat my purpose.

I glanced up, and some total stranger is standing on the front driver's side, in front of the car, staring at me. I thought maybe she was waiting for someone, so I brushed it off, and kept sorting. Looked up and there she was again. Kinda weird. I checked to see if I had hit her car, parked too close, or what. Nothing. Lady keeps staring at me. I finally got out to go in the building, and this lady comes up and says "I see you have some patterns in your car. You must sew."

I'm not sure which one shocked her more -- me telling her that no, I don't sew, or that I had 4,000 patterns in that car. If I'd slapped her on the back, her eyes would've flown across the parking lot. I corrected myself to say that I don't sew anymore, that I could do some very basic sewing, but can't get into it right now that I have 4,000 patterns, just in my car alone. That doesn't count the bazillion at the house. She was blown away.

That lady had no idea that she was gonna walk into work today with a true pattern junkie, but I think I gave her a smile before her first cup 'o joe. Good thing, cause the hub won't be smiling when he sees all those patterns still in my car. Oh well, they are a thing of loveliness, like this fabulous draped deco blouse pattern, from my store. I wish I had 4,000 more like it, cause it is one glamorous pattern. And it's not in my car.

An ode to comfort food

We all know that the hubby and I have three kids, give or take. I say give or take, because on a given day, we could have as many as three or four more. Our door is pretty much open, as long as you don't expect fine cuisine, you don't show up with anything illegal, and you follow our minimal rules, which are basically designed to keep people from killing each other, and not necessarily a lot more.

Thomas' buddy, aka Potter aka Poots, spent virtually every weekend at our house for about five years, before he went to college at Regis, in Denver, last fall. I still think that he went to Regis to score points with the hubby, who is a big ole Broncos fan, but who knows? I just know that we sheltered him, supplied some food, and tolerated a LOT of caffeine and sugar over the years, just so the boy could get it outta his system.

When he left, Seth's buddy took his place. Just about every weekend, he's here. Unlike Potter, he doesn't bring a computer, or furniture. He just shows up. Good thing is, he'll do anything I ask him to do: take out the trash, do the dishes, anything, just so he can come over and play WoW or City of Heroes, or whatever the weekend's game is. Heck, he'll even go see a chick flick if the dd wants company. He just wants to hang out.

So, next month, we get new guests: The Ugandan Orphans Choir. Yep, word's gotten 'round the world now, and our visitor's list is going international. We'll be hosting three or four kids, and an adult chaperone, for a couple of nights next month, when they are performing at our church. Hope they know about Utter Chaos, but if not, they're gonna learn.

They come with a full set of instructions, for everything from how they do their laundry (don't be surprised to find them doing it in the bathtub or sink), to how they sleep (3-4 to a bed). I didn't expect them to accept us, because of our zoo (two dogs, two cats, and a guinea pig), but here we are, so I guess I'd better study the rules. There are several pages.

The one thing that blows my mind, and I cannot comprehend at all, is the diet. There's a list of what they do eat (burgers, dogs) and what they don't eat. Yogurt isn't surprising, because a lot of people don't like yogurt, but macaroni and cheese? What in the world?

Frankly, that's sacrilege.

Mac and cheese is the true comfort food. I don't care if it's made by Kraft, or made at a four star restaurant, mac and cheese is like therapy. It's yummy. It's basically one of the four food groups. Why in the world would these little kids not eat it?

I find it very disturbing.

It's not a dairy issue, because milk is ok, as is cheese. I doubt it's pasta, because I think spaghetti was on the list. So why not macaroni and cheese? Someone please tell me, because it really is bothering me. Wash your clothes in my bathtub, keep quiet during dinner, but man, it's just wrong to not eat macaroni and cheese.

Someone 'splain it to me, cause seriously, I don't understand. And if shopping is your therapy, grab this ethnic kitty wooden necklace, from Purse Diva Vintage, on Main Street Mall Online. Yummy!

The minion has spoken

I have been properly put into my place by the dd. Her comment in response to yesterday's post was that "Thomas gets all the attention," so, as penance, I told her I would devote an entire post to her awesomeness. Cause that's how I roll. Lest I get rolled over.

She's still a fairly new driver, you know. Unlike me, she didn't roll over two bikes and a radio in her first year of pulling out of our driveway. That's because she's awesome. Not because I had anything to do with teaching her to drive, because a) I had my eyes closed in prayer most of the time cause I hate being a passenger and b) everyone knows I can't go in reverse, much less teach how to do it. It's kind of a legend around here. That, and my lack of parallel parking skills which, I might also say, Jill rocks at. She didn't get that from me.

Anyway, I was truly remiss in mentioning that the French dinner was her thought, and the boys were likely dragged into it unwillingly (and perhaps with a threat or two), but hey, she rallied the team, and rallied them well. She's pretty darn good at that. I'd say that we could send her to the Middle East to solve all of their problems, except she wouldn't care unless there were a) animals in danger and b) hot guys there. But she'd definitely solve the problems with the animals. The hot guys would have a new problem -- her father.

DD has rare talents, too. She went through most of her first three or four years of life with change for a dollar in her mouth, and nothing was larger than a dime. Need money for a pay phone? Just had to have her open up and stick out her tongue, and there it would be, frequently with a baby wipe too. She had an odd thing for (clean) baby wipes. Not sure why, but it made her look like a cottonmouth most days. Maybe it's got something to do with why she won't eat meat now, I don't know, but to be able to walk around that percentage of time without swallowing one of those coins is just awesome. Better than her younger brother could do.

She can sing, beautifully. She actually had an animal rescue for a while, from age 10-13 or so. Adopted out about 100 cats, spayed and with their shots, all paid for by her fundraising efforts. Heck, this girl sold the crap outta Girl Scout cookies when she was in kindergarten. Batted those baby blues and said, with a lisp, "would you like to buy some Girl Thcout cookies?" Won the contest hands down. She knows how to raise money. Anyway, I digress. Some lady adopted a cat from dd. Later, she called to ask if we sang to Bessie a lot. Turned out that the cat would only come if they sang to her, cause the brat always sung when she was cleaning out cages. What song do you sing, to get a cat to come to you in the barn? Hmmmm...

Anyway, her brother feels that her singing contends with the people on American Idol, and he's right, most days. Her whistling, however is, well.........let's face it, she can't whistle. She's valiantly trying, because she knows we should never give up just because things are hard. Sounds like we have a warbler in the house, most days. Drove the animals nuts for a while, till they figured out it was the brat, sucking air in, cause she can't whistle whilst blowing out. Guess she missed that "just put your lips together and blow" thing. But she looks cute trying. She's just cute, period.

I could go on forever about her awesomeness, but why use it all in one post? Maybe I should have an appointed Jillie Day, once a week, or once a month, just to update you all on her coolness. After all, I haven't mentioned the new hair color, the new hair cut, or the new job yet. So see, it's not all about Thomas -- he's been on the Naughty List this week. Jillie, however stays on the Nice list, cause that's how she rolls.

And so, I asked Her Awesomeness what her favorite color was, and she said green -- then drove me nuts asking why I wanted to know. I never told her, but went looking for something vintage, green, and maybe as awesome as my Bratty Gurl. And what do you know, I found this Mignon dress, from Persian Room Vintage, on the bay. Ironic, because in French (like in my French dinner) means "nice." Which is what it's like, having my Pretty Girl around.

Oui Oui, Paris, and some chicken

So, now that the boy has seemed to redeem himself, let's back up a few days, and revisit Mother's Day.

Now, I have never been one to make a big deal over the little holidays, especially the Hallmark ones. Being a nurse, holidays are generally just another day, and usually another WORK day, so it's not a big deal to me. Guess I try to rationalize it that way, so I don't feel like I'm missing anything, but hey, it takes all the pressure off. When you can say "sorry, have to work," then you don't have to worry about whose house you're going to, who's hosting, how to decorate, or any of that. You just work, and maybe do something when you get off.

And Mother's Day is one of those days where I really don't think it's a big deal. I figure, if you feel reasonably appreciated most of the year, what difference does one day make? Why go out to eat when the restaurants are so crowded? We already eat out a lot anyway. Who cares? Heck, I don't even care if I get a card, really, though the year that the hub made the error of stopping at CVS and buying me a coloring book and a candy bar, it got kind of ugly. If you are going to bother getting a gift, put a LITTLE thought in it. Otherwise, I really don't care. Anything I need or want, I can buy for myself.

So, the kids decided to make me dinner for Mother's Day. Hubby took me to the antique mall for the afternoon, and when we came through the door, the dd yelled "go in your room and put on the clothes on the bed." Ok. Good thing it was cute. Put it on, came out, and there was candlelight, French music, and a sign welcoming us to Le Papillon (The Butterfly). We had a wonderful six course meal, cooked by the kids, including the ds18, who proclaimed, in his best French accent, over and over, how awesome his chicken had turned out. And he was right.

Painted on moustaches, accents, music, and a fine looking guy at the other end of the table. Doesn't get much better than that. And when we were done, we all watched Rush Hour 3 -- not the greatest flick, but hey, it takes place in Paris. Pretty cool, huh? I guess those kids might turn out ok after all. They have a little bit of humor, a little bit 'o romance, and man, can they cook!

And so, in honor of the teenagers who could, here's a great Leonard of Paris dress, from Foxy Couture Boutique, on ebay. The print is nearly as much fun as Mother's Day.

4000 patterns of Vogue in the van, 4000 patterns of Vogue

So, I went on a road trip today. After yesterday's debacle with the heir to the throne, I almost made him go with me, but I decided I wanted to have a good time, so I went alone. Drove up to Michigan, and picked up 4,000 patterns.

No lie. I have 4,000 patterns in my van. Right now. To the roof. Or to the moon, Alice, when the hubby sees 'em, but he'll get over it. Someone closing her ebay store needed to be rid of them, so I drove up to Spring Lake, Michigan -- a nice little town, if you ever get that way -- swooped into her driveway, loaded up, had a nice conversation about homeschooling, ebay, and life in general, and took off home again.

Did I mention that it was a five hour drive there? Well, really it was much longer, because I meandered -- or took the scenic route, as my father would put it. Actually, the route was only scenic because I stopped at lots of places along the way, to shop. And bought more patterns. Well, only about ten more than the 4,000 that I loaded up, but they were GOOD patterns.

Yeah, I needs me a 12 step program for patterns, but hey, this oughtta keep me out of trouble for a New York minute. And the boy too, cause he'll be the one unloading them, and if he doesn't shape up, I'll make him file the listed ones -- cause everyone here knows that NO ONE likes to file the patterns. Except me, that is, because everyone leaves me alone when I'm filing, because they are afraid I'll ask them to help.

So I drove to Michigan alone, on a beautiful blue day, and got back at almost 11pm. (Drove back a different way, somehow stopped following my number one route home, no biggie, was gonna do the alternate route, till I saw a warning that my ramp was closed, so hey -- take this route that takes you down two lane roads, through the center of Indiana's farm country, through cities like Medaryville and Francessville, where the only thing open past eight is the liquor store, till you get to the interstate, two hours later. It was pretty, though.) Thought about the boy going with, just so I could make him miserable with all the stops, and some Barry Manilow, Josh Groban and the like, and then decided, hey -- I want to have a good time. I'll just make him miserable in other ways, like calling and telling him to do the laundry and such. And making him wash the bugs off my windshielf tomorrow. Yeah. That way I win twice, or maybe even three or four times..

So now I'm home again, with clean laundry, and 4010 patterns, plus a pink tulle prom dress, an emerald green shantung dress, some Waverly fabric, a Snow White book, and another dress that I can't even remember what it looks like, but it was 5 bucks, so hey, it's a deal. Oh, and a Faith Austin Siamese cat hankie that is just too too cute. Thus ends a happy day in the life of me, on vacation, getting in touch with my inner truck driver.

And so, what makes me happy today is 50s Vogue. I just love a great 50s Vogue pattern, and although the ones I bought today are all modern -- uncut, no counting pieces -- can I get an AMEN! -- this strapless 50s prom dress is better than Prozac, to cheer your day. Granted, it's a size 32 bust -- something I haven't seen since 5th grade -- but isn't it pretty? And it's in my store. So there. I can look at it whenever I want. Till someone buys it and makes me cry. But that'll be more money to buy more patterns. YAY!

Can't work with 'em, can't kill 'em

So, the ds18 got a part time job for the summer, and maybe beyond. Working with his mother, doing data entry. Not rocket science, but the money is good, and he can do it during the school year too.

Except he blew opening day.

Had to go to get his physical last week. The one his mother harped at him to not leave till the last minute. The one his mother admonished him to be sure it was complete, because they are really picky about it, and won't let you start without it. The one where they needed his shot records by last Thursday, and when I walked in the house at 4:40p.m. on Friday, the shots records were still lying on the counter in my kitchen.

He's not doing orientation in my kitchen. Hint hint.

Drove the shots record over, but it didn't show his updated tetanus and TB test, which was done at school. The school which, at 4:55 p.m. on Friday, was now closed. So I told the kid, call them on Monday, and hopefully you can get it faxed, and there won't be problems with starting. Except, they give you a pink slip when you're cleared for your physical -- yeah, a pink slip to START your job, not end it -- and he couldn't get the pink slip without the tetanus and TB stuff, which meant he went all the way to the hospital for orientation today, and then turned around and came home.

Now, there is not much more to start a mother's ire on a Monday morning, of her vacation, no less, when she is sans two children in the house and looking forward to a quiet day of cleaning, organizing, and listing patterns, than to have a teenager who is supposed to be bored to tears in orientation at the hospital, suddenly show up on one's doorstep. There just ain't enough excuses in the world to cover that one.

I think that there was one other time where this kid made me this angry, and I was up in his face yelling at him, when the dh intervened and said to him "Damn boy, even I
know not to make her that mad. Yeah -- it ain't pretty when the mama is upset. That boy heard it all day, whilst I drove him to the bank, the grocery store, to Target (where I made him put in an application), to the appliance store (where I tried, but the applications were online), and home again. Didn't even put up a fuss when I told him to drive his brother to drumming class, because he knew he was at Defcon 5, because the next hospital orientation isn't for four weeks, because of the holiday. He may've been considering the priesthood, by the time I was done with him, just to get some peace.

But I did get the trash taken out, a clean kitchen floor, some folded laundry, and two clean cars outta the deal, before the boss -- MY boss, and now HIS boss, who could've terminated him for being stupid -- called and said she'd pulled strings and he could start on Thursday, as scheduled.

Guess I'll have to let him live. But only after I get some more socks folded, and we drive to pick up a huge lot of patterns tomorrow, listening to Barry Manilow all the way there, and stopping at every antique store from here to there, and back again. Oh yeah, he'll stop procastinating after that. Maybe.

I doubt it........

So, for those days when you can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em, here's a killer ivory wiggle dress, in Florence Nightingale's favorite color, from Teresa's Reborn Treasures. Arsenic not included.

Home Shopping Ninnies

So, I was cruising the channels yesterday, and turned on the Home Shopping Network, just because. I'm not a shopper at all -- dh is the one who loves to shop, mainly for rugs. I'm even less inclined to buy senseless garbage from some spray tanned chick with bleached teeth and a fake smile, who keeps testing the makeup on her arm till she looks like Geronimo, minus a few feathers. Creepy.

This is the first time I'd even looked at HSN for a long, long time. Some of the girls at work buy from them all the time, but I don't get it. Why don't you just go to Target? Last time I was on HSN was several years ago, when my parents were visiting. We had a big screen TV that allowed you to nickname the channels. When you turned the channel, you'd see the name you plugged in, up in the corner. Hubby nicknamed animal planet "Jill," for the dd, cause that's all she watches. Cartoon Network was named for our youngest, and other channels got random names of his choosing.

So, imagine my Methodist minister father's surprise, when he lay fully reclined in the La-Z-Boy, only to find himself face to face with The Shit Channel. Yep, hubby named HSN "The Shit Channel." Because, as he says "they just try to get you to buy a bunch of shit that you don't need." Oye.

That's the man I love. Yep. Calls 'em as he sees 'em. But then again, he's not exactly wrong on this one, either.

And so, the next time you decide that you must go search for cubic zirconia or the like, and shop from your TV screen, go check out Purse Diva Vintage, at Main Street Vintage. She's got this fab deco style rhinestone necklace for sale. Bargain price, and vintage, to boot. Spray tan not included.