Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Possum. And I'm not playin'

We have suddenly acquired a possum in our yard. This is not an easy feat, considering we live in a very urban, inner city area, but leave it to us to get a possum.

This fat thing showed up one night when Seth let the dogs out to do their business. He came running in the house, frantically looking for Jill's help, because Big Butt and Butthead were going nuts, whilst Rocky was, of course, oblivious to the entire thing because he is an idiot.

Next day, I was in the sunroom scanning patterns. It was about five o'clock or so -- broad daylight -- as I sat in front of the picture window, scanning away. Well, you know that feeling you get when something's just not right? I got that feeling, and looked out the window to see that that possum was eying me from on top of the fence, on the other side of the driveway. I mean EYEING me, like Louis Gossett, Jr and Richard Gere in "An Officer and a Gentleman." Creepy. Have you ever seen the claws on a possum? They are HUGE.

That possum sat there eyeing me for at least twenty minutes, even after the kids and the dogs came in the room and looked at him. We ordered Chinese, and long story short, Seth had to go out to pay the guy by going out the back door (maybe I'll tell that story tomorrow), went walking down the driveway right by that possum. Dan was cracking up, of course, and I was just hoping he didn't make it angry. Seth, as usual, was oblivious. When he came walking back up the driveway with the food, I was even more concerned, so I said "hey Seth, look to your left." He about jumped outta his skin when he realized that the possum was only about three feet from his head.

We've seen the critter off and on since, always on the fence. I haven't seen him in a while, but the kids have, so I'm always nervous letting the dogs out, especially at night. He kind of disappeared for a couple of days, so I thought maybe he was gone but oh no, he decided to appear today. Today. The day that the guys came to strip the hardwoods, and the dogs had to stay in Seth's room for the day. Seth's room -- the closest room to the fence. And the dogs saw him sitting there for the longest, till he ambled up the tree in the neighbor's yard, which I had suspected all along was his home.

Have you ever heard dogs going crazy over a possum? Three dogs? Try adding that to the sound of a pneumatic nail gun, a huge circular sander, a table saw, and several hammers, and that's how I spent my morning. My head is still pounding from the mayhem. And I get to do it all again tomorrow, since the floors still aren't done yet. So if anyone knows a good way to get rid of a gangsta possum from the ghetto, please let me know. Guns are not permitted, lest Jill throw herself between the gun and the possum, but I'm open for ideas. No dogs allowed.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Southern Living

I had to drive down to Evansville today, so that Jill could get registered for classes and do freshman orientation. Just having Jill in the car can be an interesting experience, and we had to leave at 5:15, so I really wasn't sure what to expect. I guess I knew it wouldn't be normal when I saw her walk out to the car in her pajamas, with a comforter wrapped around her head.

It was pouring rain, too, which didn't excite me too much. I love my little Yaris, but when it's windy, it blows all over the place -- you'd think with this fatty in the car, I'd anchor it down, but no go. Add dark, semis and pouring rain to the mix, toss it in a bowl, and you get how I spent three and half hours of my morning. And without caffeine, too, which definitely made me cranky, but since Jill was sleeping in the back seat, I didn't want to stop and risk waking the sleeping dragon, so I just kept going.

Round about Vincennes, two and a half hours into our journey, Jill sat up and announced she was changing clothes. In the back seat of the car. I guess her days of modesty are gone, because after some muttering and kicking the back of my seat, she tossed the orientation schedule at me. This paper was something that she had gotten in the mail several weeks ago and me, trying to avoid being a helicopter parent, trusted her when she told me the time we needed to arrive. I asked her again the other day, and the answer was the same -- 8 o'clock. I even happened to remember that Evansville, being in the heel of the boot, so to speak, is on Central time, which gave us an extra hour. An extra hour, that is, till I looked at that form and saw the little blurb about the placement test starting at 7am. The mandatory placement test which, if you don't take it, you can't register for classes.

That's when the mama dragon woke up, sans coffee, and was not smelling roses.

I was pretty concerned about doing seven hours of driving, only to come home unscheduled for classes, but right about the time I started vocalizing my concerns, Jill said she felt sick. Said she felt sick in a tone that only a mother can appreciate, when you're in a car with a kid in a back seat full of stuff that isn't gonna be easy to clean up if she spews. I yelled at her to get in the front seat, thinking that all of the blowing around of the car might be making her carsick, and next thing you know, she's clambering over the gearshift and plopping next to me.

It was a miracle cure.

After missing a turn to the school, we finally arrived, only to be told that yes, she could do the placement test, but not till the afternoon, or she'd only have twenty minutes to do it. Sat through two long orientation sessions -- finally got caffeine in the break, which was a good thing, cause I was falling asleep for sure, and got the fisheye from a couple of the speakers. There may have been snoring involved, but I'm not sure of that. I do know that nothing will put a grown woman to sleep quicker than seemingly intelligent people asking stupid questions that have already been answered, especially when it involves financial aid. The other thing I know is that I walked out with another Mountain Dew in my purse, just for safety's sake.

Took The Brat to advising, so she could schedule her classes. Twenty minutes later, he walked out alone. No sign of Jill. They ended up taking every kid who was waiting, and a few more who walked in, before Jill finally reappeared. She looked happy, thank God. And so, after spending eight hours at the halls of secondary education, what was the one thing that Jill had to say about her day?

"Most of the guys I saw were not bad looking. Oh, let that guy out of his parking space first. He's cute." ::guy pulls out in front of me, after cutting me off in the first place:: "Oh, never mind, he's not that great. But that guy who handed me my bag? He was fine." Oh yes, great readers, you too will one day understand that the most important thing in freshman orientation is finding that the guys are not bad looking, and some rank as just darn FINE. And since she came home and looked up some of her professor's on Rate My Professors, she's already changed her schedule to something more acceptable. But one thing remains the same: those boys are fine.
God help me. I may need Xanax for this. Click the image to help with tuition money.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Dude, where's your chair?

We went downtown today to the Earth Day celebration. Seth plays in an African drum group, and they've performed at Earth Day for three years running now. It serves the dual purpose of being their spring performance, but it sure is fun. They get to perform with the adult group, Village Drums, who are phenomenal to watch.

Seth got interested in drumming when he was about four. Our next door neighbor, Rad (yes, that's his real name) was in Village Drums, and he used to practice in the back yard. Seth was never, ever shy, and he used to stand by the privacy fence and bellow that he wanted to see what Rad was doing. Rad, being the nice guy he is, invited Seth over to play the bongo a little bit, and Seth was hooked.

Several years later, I saw a post on a homeschool board, from someone offering drum lessons to kids. It was just for a week in the summer, which was the perfect time to try it out. He returned in the fall for lessons, and has been playing for four years now. They play drums, cowbells, tambourines, and all sorts of percussion instruments that I can't even pronounce the names of. The first time they performed with Village Drums at Earth Day, I told him how cool I thought it was. His only response was the complaint that it was hard to play with the adults because he couldn't hear his part. As time has progressed and I've seen them play together several times, I realize it really must be hard for them, but they sound good nonetheless.

If you ever get a chance to go to a performance, or participate in a drum circle -- go. It's not something you'll forget. Of course, this year, the most memorable thing was actually after Seth was done. He and I were standing there listening to the adults play while Dan, as usual, wandered around talking to people. The whole thing was being done under a big tent, so we were standing on the grass. There were some chairs there, but not many, so I was standing there listening, when suddenly the guy in the chair next to me rolled right off his chair and onto my foot, doing a face plant right in the grass.

Now, I knew Earth Day is all about taking care of the earth, but doing a face plant onto Mother Earth is taking it a little far.

Heck, I wasn't sure if the guy was dead, having a seizure, or what, and I was a little stuck because a) he was on my foot and b) I was still carrying around the reusable tote bag that Walmart was giving out. We had wandered around getting freebies, so I had a lot of stuff in the bag, including a tree about three feet long which, when not held correctly, poked the nearest person in the head. So yes, I was planted there with a man on my foot and a tree that was gonna fall on his head or put my eye out if I moved wrong.

I finally extricated myself from the foot, handed Seth the bag, and gave the guy a few shakes, yelling at him if he was ok (remember, there were a LOT of drums being banged, so it was not likely he was just napping). He finally said yes, but didn't move till I convinced him that he wasn't going to be able to lay there on my foot, facedown in the grass, looking dead, so he rolled himself over and sat up right about the time that Dan wandered over, oblivious to the whole thing. I asked the guy again if he was ok, and he said "oh yeah, I have arthritis." HUH? This guy was younger than me, and arthritis doesn't usually make you fall outta your chair like that, but that was all the explanation I was going to get, so we watched him for a while, then left to come home.

One of the more random things to happen to me, but remember, I live in Utter Chaos, so anything is possible. Sometimes I'm afraid to ask what's gonna happen next, but if this stuff didn't happen, I guess we'd be normal, and then I wouldn't know how to function.

Click the image to shop.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Mr Potatohead

After the great potato peel adventure of two nights ago, Dan decided to take matters into his own hands. When a full bottle of Drano failed to work, I tried the old vinegar and baking soda followed by boiling water trick, hoping that the Drano had opened it up just enough to let the elements take over. No go. Still clogged, albeit not a full sink full. I went downstairs to check it all out, then came up and told Dan that I thought the problem wasn't in the kitchen sink trap, but in the trap for the dishwasher.

That's when he became a plumber, which usually ends in some kind of minor disaster.

He went down and eyeballed the entire situation, then wondered aloud why there was a piece of PVC routed off the normal route, but capped. "If that comes off, then maybe it'll let it all drain," said he, right as he yanked it off. The result? Mount Vesuvius, along with a lot of loud expletives -- enough to yank Seth off his computer chair and run downstairs to see what all the ruckus was about. By now, Dan had capped the entire thing again, but a few minutes and a few buckets later, he yanked it off again, and a disgusting Niagara falls ensued. After the buckets were empty, and Dan had plugged it all up again, he told me to go try the sink again.

You guessed it. It was still clogged. This was, as I told him, because he wasn't working in the area that was clogged -- he was working on the kitchen sink area, and the actual clog was further down, by the dishwasher. He fiddled around with it, and couldn't manhandle it loose.

That's when the hack saw came out.

Now let me tell you, a hack saw and plumbing is probably never a good thing, especially when being handled by an amateur. He started hacking, and Seth, standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, took a front frontal dose of greasy potato peel nastiness, soaking him from his head down. As if that wasn't enough, the pseudo-plumber asked Mr Potato Head to hold the bucket while he hacked away, which meant that he got it again until the bucket got positioned correctly. The poor kid may never be the same.

Of course, neither will the plumbing, because after hacking it all open, it couldn't be put back together again, and though the sink was drained, it was completely unusable, so it ended up with faux crime scene tape over it, with DO NOT USE written in purple Sharpie all over it. Dan put calls in to two plumbing friends of ours, but after not getting a response -- and Jill accidentally turning on the dishwasher to nowhere with Dan right underneath it -- we finally called a plumbing company. The end result?

1) A $1200 bill to completely replumb the kitchen, which we've known since we moved in 16 years ago wasn't plumbed right, because the entire thing is clogged from the dishwasher to eternity.

2) Thomas getting one hell of a deal on Dan's Town Car, which he sold to him to pay the plumbing bill and

3) Seth messaging me on Facebook, saying that after a 30 minute bath, he'll probably still smell awful. He's probably right.

At least at some point today, I may be able to use the kitchen sink and dishwasher again, and we can put it all behind us, till the next natural disaster happens in the land of Utter Chaos.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Why my kid is smarter than your kid

Seth had drumming class yesterday, which means that I didn't get home till 6;15 or so. I put a nice roast in the crock pot, then called Jill on the way home and asked her to peel some potatoes so that we could have some nice mashed potatoes (which I seem to mysteriously have figured out how to make to Thomas' satifsaction).

Got home, had lovely potatoes, and even though the crock pot had somehow turned off and left the meat rather are, I finished it off in the microwave and we had a nice, albeit very chewy, dinner. Thomas amazingly unloaded the dishwasher without being asked -- be still my heart -- and we started cleaning up, only to find that the kitchen sink was clogged. Running the disposal was no help, because everything just backed up into the other sink. Yuck. I couldn't figure out what the heck the problem was till Jill said "the only thing I put in it was potato peels." Well, there was the problem.

Back when we lived in an apartment, the maintenance guy told me that the #1 clogger of disposals is potato peels. He told me what #2 was, but I can't remember -- I think maybe onion peels, but I'm not sure. In either event, I'm pretty respectful of the disposal, and try not to put anything too iffy in it. I always peel my potatoes onto a newspaper or plastic bag, then throw them in the compost pile, and even though the kids have done the same, I don't know if they knew why, but they did, till yesterday.

Dan was getting rather grumpy about the whole thing, because the one time episode of peels in the disposal led to a night of plumbing that ended up with us having no kitchen sink or dishwasher to use. He groused about the fact that the kids should know better, till I pointed out to him that it took me till 28 years old to find out that you can't put potato peels in the disposal and, since Jill is 18, she's ten years ahead of the game. He didn't have a response to that.

That reminded me of another kitchen rule that she knows, that maybe not everyone does: don't put dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher. Now, it might make seem to some that you can put Dawn in a dishwasher, but let me give you a clue: dishwashing liquid means someONE is washing dishes. Dishwasher liquid means someTHING is washing them.

Jill put Dawn in the dishwasher one time when she was about ten. Next thing you know, she's screaming, so I went running into the kitchen, thinking someone was dying. Well, she might've thought that she was heading toward a quick death, because the bubbles had already made it halfway across the kitchen floor, with no sign of letting up. Turning off the dishwasher was no help, because there's no way to get them out once they've started. Jill was looking rather panicstricken -- that look a little kid gets when they know that they are in real trouble -- when I just picked up a big handful of the bubbles and threw it at her. This turned into a melee of bubbles flying that only stopped briefly when Dan walked into the room to see what all the laughing was about. He just stopped, looked, and left the room without ever saying a word, while we went back to our own tamer version of Girls Gone Wild.

I didn't have to wash the kitchen floor for a month.

So yeah, my kid is smarter than your kid, cause she knows 1) not to put potato peels in the disposal, and 2) not to put Dawn in the dishwasher. Of course, she also knows how to do her own laundry correctly, how to saddle a horse, how to train a dog to do about a dozen tricks, how to plant bulbs, how to parallel park WELL, and how to bake some wildly delicious chocolate chip cookies, so all in all. That's just a sample of her talents. Like the apron pictured above. Click the image to shop, cause I've gotta pay the plumber somehow.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Post Traumatic Seth Disorder

We had to go get family pictures done last night. Some of you may remember that we had them done last fall,
and that they came out rather nicely. Well, our church decided to redo the church directory, as they do every couple of years and Dan, being the frugal soul that he is, didn't want to pay the $10 to have our current family picture inserted, so we had to go and have it done again by the photographer that church hired.

Have you ever tried to convince three teenagers that they need to dress up for a family photo, for the second time in less than a year? Well, let me tell you, it's not fun.

First of all, you have to make sure that everyone is actually going to be around for the picture. Wednesday night was a good bet, because a) it's youth group night, so odds are that two of the kids will already be at church and b) LOST is on, so no one makes plans. This is the logic that I used, however Dan just planned it for a Wednesday by sheer luck. I told him that HE was going to be the one to break it to the kids, which he did, two nights in a row, at the dinner table.

I was rather surprised at the lack of response to his announcement, till I realized yesterday afternoon that no one had been listening. Jill called from work. I reminded her about the pictures, and she got a bit testy, saying that she was going to have to rush home from work and take a shower so that she didn't smell like the barn when she went, and why were we getting the pictures done again anyway? I tried to use the youth group thing as a rationale, and she even more testily informed me that she didn't get off work in time to go to youth group, and wasn't going to be able to go. Oh, and she was "in the mood for a good dinner." Whatever that means. She ended up hanging up on me when she found out that her father and I had made plans to go out to dinner with friends, thinking that the kids would be at youth group, so her "good dinner" was going to have to be prepared by her.

Seth was no problem, except he seemed to be having trouble understanding the English language, as usual. I told him to wear his jeans (Dan said he was wearing a suit and tie, and I informed him that he was going to be sadly out of tune with the rest of his family, because we'd only get them there if they could wear jeans. Jeans it was.) and to put on the blue polo shirt I had bought him last week. "What's a polo shirt?" he said. Oye and vay -- this could take a while. "It's the light blue shirt that matches the yellow one you wore to church on Easter." "The one I can wear to school? That's not against the dress code?" "YES!" He was also informed to take a shower and wash the hair that was sticking straight up from the back of his head. (He has a Dennis the Menace cowlick. You will see its importance shortly.) He showered. He brushed his teeth. He came out wearing jeans and a turquoise polo shirt that was a couple of sizes too small. "Is this it?" he said. "Uh, no. Doesn't that feel tight? You want the light blue one that matches the one you wore to church last week." "Oh," he said. "The one I can wear to school? The one that's not against the dress code?" (Can you tell he's more than mildly obsessed with the dress code in the high school he's going to in the fall?) "YES!" He wanders off to his room, then yells back, "is it the button down one?" "No! It's pale blue. It matches the one you wore to church last Sunday." "OH!" he says. "I found it."

I wasn't holding my breath that he was going to come out in the right shirt, but miraculously, he did. Two down.

Thomas had been warned multiple times of the countdown to the pictures, when they needed to be there, where they needed to go, etc., because Dan and I were going out to dinner, and expected to meet the kids at church afterward. I told Thomas to wear jeans, and some semblance of blue, as far as a shirt. I knew he didn't have a polo shirt, because he thinks that they are old men shirts, so I told him if all else failed, wear the shirt he wore for family pictures in the fall. I knew it was clean and hanging in the hall closet upstairs, so I figured I was safe, since he lives upstairs, right next to the hallway closet. The hallway closet that he asked me to clean out of all of the junk, so that he could store the stuff that he's bought for his apartment (then never used, but that's another story).

Well, Dan and I went to dinner, and got done early, so we went home to get the kids. One dressed, one in the shower, and Thomas nowhere to be seen -- not that that is really all that unusual. He's kind of a ghost around here. Jill finally got out of the shower and went upstairs, then promptly yelled down that she didn't have anything blue to wear. I told her just to find something blue-ish and that would be fine. She yelled back some unintelligible reply that expressed her unhappiness with life in general. I was in the kitchen straightening up when Thomas flew in and said "a button came off this shirt and it's the only one I have to wear, then disappeared. He left me holding a red plaid shirt, sans one button. It was now 7:20, with pictures to be taken at 7:50. I yelled out to him to look in the hall closet, because he had at least three shirts there that would work for the pictures, and he said he was getting in the shower. Nothing like waiting till the last minute. Thomas came back into the kitchen at 7:35 with soaking wet hair and said that he didn't have another shirt to wear. Another one who doesn't understand the English language. Oye and vay.

I told him to check the UPSTAIRS hall closet, you know, where you live, because he was going to find several other shirts that would work, and he disappeared upstairs yet again. Meantime, the next door neighbor stopped by, asking Dan to help, of all things, with opening a jar of artichokes, so in the midst of everyone getting ready, there is an exhibition of brute strength going on in the kitchen. Seth wanders in at 7:40 barefoot, carrying his socks, and Jill said something about her phone and went out the back door. I told Seth to get in the car, Dan yelled up to Thomas that the bus was leaving, and several honks of the horn, and a tight fit in the back of the Yarus later, we did, indeed, make it to church on time. It was at this point, standing in the hall of the church, that Thomas asked why we were doing family pictures again. "Because they're updating the directory." "Why couldn't we just use the other pictures we had done." Dan replied, "because I didn't want to pay ten bucks for them to use that one."

"Buddy," Thomas said, "I would've spotted you that ten bucks, just so we didn't have to do this again" -- a reply that was quickly echoed by the other two kids and the wife.

Took a couple of poses with the little family, and then got one of just the brats, since we'd forgotten to do that in the fall. We even managed to get one with Thomas almost smiling -- how that happened, I'll never know, since he was most unhappy that his hair was still wet. I just figured he looked like a good conservative Baptist, with his hair gelled back. We're Presbyterian, but oh well. Everyone was even in a fine mood on the way home -- probably because Dan sat in the back going home, to help keep the peace. Jill's lament, because at this point, she lives in a constant state of lament, was that "back in the day, it wouldn't be proper for a girl to be in the backseat with two guys," to which my response was that back in the day, a girl wouldn't BE in the backseat of a car with a boy unless her father was there, so it was all good.

We were joking and carrying on, right up till we pulled into the driveway. I was the first one in the house, and had just put my purse down when I heard Jill laughing, glass shattering, and Dan yelling frantically that someone needed to get a towel. Yep, it's not Utter Chaos till blood is flowing. Turned out that Seth was running to the house, because Jill has a penchant for playfully locking him out if she gets there first, which she had. He had his hand out to push the door back open, when Jill tried to slam it shut, putting Seth's arm right through the glass in the door, completely shattering it, and cutting Seth's arm in four or five places.

Dan yelled for some gauze, which Thomas got. Jill disappeared. I stayed away from the hallway because Dan didn't bring him in the house right away, and there wasn't room for all of us in there, and the dogs needed to be corralled. There was lots of yelling, dogs barking, blood, glass, you name it. Somewhere along the line, Thomas ran upstairs to get something, and informed me that he'd had to go online and tell his crew about what happened. Because, you know, it couldn't wait. Oye and vay. Jill finally showed up, and never would admit if she disappeared because she felt bad for trying to kill her brother, or if it was because she throws up at the site of blood -- which would have only added to the mayhem. A quick inspection showed that Seth had several areas that maybe could use one or two stitches, by my assessment, but Dan of course told Seth it'd be fine. He could just man up and it'd heal just fine.

So yeah, we now have Seth's arm bandaged up with a patchwork of gauze and bandaids, there's no glass in one panel of the back door, I've told Jill several ways that she could kill someone that would a) be less messy and b) wouldn't irritate her father in having to repair the door. Personally, I'm surprised that glass survived the last sixteen years we've been in this house, especially with three kids, but I guess all good things must come to an end. At least we're no worse for the wear.

And so I had to go find something appropriate to show you, and what else better than a brother-sister outfit from Simplicity? The pattern itself is a wounded bird, meaning it's missing pieces, but it's cute as all getout. It just wouldn't be ok to wear with the high school dress code this fall. Click the image to shop.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Jen and Lisa's fabulous adventure Part 1 Dude, Where's My Sign?

So my friend Jen, of momspatterns fame, came to visit last month. Dan was going away on the missing trip, so we figured it was time for a little girl time. Jen knows my penchant for disorganization, so she was going to help me with some purging and such.

Dan, of course, was sure that I had invited a serial killer to the house because, you see, Jen and I had never actually met. She and I have talked online forever, via email, IM, and in different forums that we frequent, but she lives in Florida, and I live in Indiana, and the twain just had not met yet. Dan doesn't get the whole online thing yet, and it didn't help the cause at all when he heard that Jen had met her hubby online. He was relieved to know that he would be home to protect me for the first day or two. Yep, he's my knight in shining armor, protecting my against Xena-like pattern sellers.

So Jen and I talked a time or two on the phone before she came up --which was, in itself, progress, since we'd never talked before this either. We were pretty giddy about the whole thing, planning to go through my stash 'o patterns and catalogs and such. You know, it's not often that you meet a fellow pattern junkie, so this was really something! Jen asked how she would know me at the airport, because she had only seen a few pics of me in the past. I jokingly said I'd make her a sign, then enlisted The Brat to do it for me.

The Brat, of course, was not feeling her creative juices flowing until literally 15 minutes before I was to leave to pick up Jen, when she suddenly said "didn't you want me to make you a sign?" Uh, yeah...........three weeks ago, when I first mentioned it. ::sigh:: We started scrambling for things to put on it, and Jill wrote (what else) JEN in big purple letters on the posterboard. We added her website logo to it, some pattern pics, a picture of Sawyer from Lost (since he's her man), and some other random stuff, and I took off for the airport while the marker was still drying.

Indianapolis has a new airport, and I'd never been to it, so I was a little concerned about time. I left the house a little late, the new airport is a bit further away then the old one, and I had no idea about where to park, or where she would be coming out from the plane. The new airport is kind of funky -- I parked, then had to go up an escalator, down some stairs, across one of those moving sidewalks (which has lights that randomly light up and start playing disco music now and again, kinda like the Billie Jean video does 70s), then up another escalator, just to get to the terminal. Then I couldn't find where her gate was, because her flight wasn't listed on the list. Oye and vay. I was sure that, because I was a few minutes late, I had left a not-so-total stranger alone in a strange airport, and that's not really the first impression you want to make.
I finally asked one of the staff people, who pointed me in the right direction, where a flight was coming out. I didn't see her, and didn't even know if it was the right flight or not, so I started texting her to see if she'd landed yet. Next thing you know, I hear "where's my sign," look up, and there she is, all 5'10" of her, standing right in front of me.

I just said "OH! Here it is," and flashed it for her. She loved it, of course, and insisted on a picture of me with it under the Welcome to Indianapolis sign -- a picture where I am still laughing, because we were so happy to finally have met. Got the luggage, took her home, where Dan eventually showed up and pronounced her to not be a serial killer after all. More tomorrow about this fabulous adventure, but meantime, click the image to shop in Jen's store. She needs some cash after all the shopping we did whilst she was here.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

A stomp down Memory Lane

I've been dashing madly through three states in the past couple of weeks, gathering sewing patterns everywhere I go. Dan, of course, thinks it's really weird, especially given the fact that he doesn't like car travel, but I'm in my element.

The patterns I got today contained tons of wonderful styles, including 50s party dresses, 40s sundresses, and everything from playsuits to swimsuits and wedding dresses. But what I found interesting was the kids' patterns.

I don't usually get a lot of kids stuff, because it's not a huge market of mine, but these were some seriously cute ones. The one that caught my eye is shown at left. You may wonder why this one? Well, it's because it reminds me of my two sisters and me.

The dark haired one on the right reminds me of my "big" sister Linda. I say "big" because she's a few years older than me (ahem: eight) but she is quite a bit shorter than me. She does, however, have the dark hair shown here. The lighter haired one on the left reminds me of my "big" sister Amy, who is as vertically challenged as Linda. Being the youngest, I always looked at them as so cool, and such fashion plates -- especially because they wore cool 70s high school stuff, and I not only had no fashion sense, but also was too big to fit into their petite hand me downs, once I got to be about ten years old.

Tiny, petite cool hipster sisters. How cool is that? But look on that pattern envelope at the little tyke in front. That little one looks like she has some serious attitude, so she MUST be me! She looks like the sisters have probably told her not to do whatever she wanted to do, and in her little head she is saying "oh yeah, man, I'm GONNA," while she stomps off with her Barbie.

That'd be me, and I dare my sisters to say I'm wrong. They won't.