As I cupped the water in my hands and noticed that my palms were shaped like a tiny heart, the cool water washed over them and spilled into the sink. I drank from my hands, brought the cold liquid to my face and immersed my cheeks and mouth into the heart for a moment. My heart, my actual heart in my chest was beating quickly and strongly, my mind was racing and full of words and thought. I shut off the faucet finally and quickly ran into the front room of our house. Feeling flushed and full I did sit ups with my feet stuck under the front of the couch until I felt silly and unfulfilled by the movements. I sat here at my desk and typed these words while still feverish with thought.
Sometimes I feel so full I can barely contain this ever quickening feeling of inner turmoil. I am not unhappy. I am not ill. I am just here wanting to tell a story to someone, anyone.
The story is short and simple enough. The words are not hard to put onto this pad of electronic means. And yet it will not come. Not for me, not for you, not for any living person to hear and set upon memory.
And so it goes. On and on till the end of time, or at least till the end of my time. I am young, maybe it will flee from my mouth or my fingers eventually.
If it does not, I know that no one will ever know.
Because I realize that I tend to be dramatic and overstated, I will try to quickly pen this for you, just you.
The girl, the one with the dark locks and the fleeting thoughts sat in her bedroom, surrounded by familiarity and pleasurable things. The room is lit with a single dull light, issuing from a pink lamp set upon a broad white four drawered dresser. Perched upon her four poster bed and covered by this bed’s brightly colored canopy the girl should be at ease. Her mother has placed her in this bed, in this room, with good nights and sleep tights. The door to the room is wide open and from her place at the far end of the rather large space the girl can hear a t.v. and it’s evening noises radiating up the stairs. She knows her mother is in front of that t.v., finally relaxing after a day of assault by the girls’ neverending babble and inconsequential talk.
In front of the bed is a dark closet and in that closet on the top shelf is a black creature. It has been staring at the girl as long as the girl has been sitting and staring at it. It feeds off of her fear, off of her shallow breaths and short whimpers. Confounded by the mother’s complete and total lack of concern for the girl’s well being the being is stuck, frozen in thought.
“Should tonight be the night I eat your toes right off of your darling baby feet?” It sickeningly taunts the girl in a low barely perceptible growl.
“Should tonight be the night I feed on your little baby nose? Should I rip it right off of your lovely face?” It will not stop the assault.
The girl barely moves, but is obviously frightened beyond any conventional fright. Every time she opens her trembling mouth to call for her mother the creature starts, as if brought to life by the words left unsaid in the still night air. It stops the girl for a few moments until she gathers up enough courage to open her mouth again. And again the creature moves only this time, it slinks off of it’s high topped perch and onto the dark floor below, now out of sight.
“Should tonight be the night I twist off your tiny baby legs? Crunch the bones beneath my fingers, lick the blood and the tops of bone off or your silky young skin?” It’s lost to sight in the dark at the bottom of the girl’s bed.
She is absolutely trapped and now not able to stop from gagging and vomiting in her clean comfy bed.
She opens her mouth once more and though she feels the creature hurrying towards her bed in a fury of terrifying movement she finally yells out for her mother.
“Mommmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa………………..” Shrill and sickening is the sound that finally issues from her trembling throat.
The being has reached her bed and from barely lit expanse at the bottom she sees it’s shadowy limbs scrambling up front left poster. The bed shifts with it’s weight.
She looks right into it’s dark face before vomiting once again. Not in control of the heaving that fear has wracked on her body, the girl is not cognizant of where the being vanishes to as her mother enters her room in horror at the sight of her shaking baby daughter and the mess she has made.
It ends like this. The short story. The nightmare I had so many nights of my childhood. I call the creature Thelonius, he’s a Midnite Cruiser.
There, I did it. I put it all down and I feel…not…much…better.
Comfort your children in the night, use more patience than you usually would. They may be suffering in greater ways than you would ever know.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Smash Those Dirty Birds, SMASH THEM!
Today is Sunday, Christmas is over, my dad's birthday has come and gone and now I'm sitting here at the computer looking at my new camera and eating an apple.
I have four hours to take back the gift Jeremiah got me for Christmas, get yarn for an order and grocery shop. At 1 O'CLOCK it is a complete and total necessity that I am in my gameroom in front of the t.v. to watch The Steelers pummel the Ravens and take back some of our mother trucking diginity. Dignity that has been robbed from this Steel City for four games running, including our first loss to The Browns ending a 11 game winning streak against Those Bums. And we will take our dignity back and smash those silly purple birds all the way back to Murder City. Wow. I need to calm down.
Anyways, my momma got me a new camera and I was so surprised. Can you believe that Jeremiah has known about it for weeks and hasn't told me? I would have blown the secret to him hours after the telling. I usually insist he open his gifts days before the event I purchased them for. This year we had our own little 'Gift of the Magi' moment...well not really, but I thought I'd be clever and throw that in there.
The ramen I thought would be ten times better than Americanized Ramen if I ordered it from Japan is made of fermented fish paste and smelled soooo rancid. Jeremiah ended up eaitng the bowl even after he had been wayyy complaining of the smell. I don't know how he did it.
The bike trainer he bought me doesn't work with my bike...so back it goes. And thus, our two gifts cancel each other out, but not in the excellently smart way O'Henry would have it. Instead of sheered locks and a beautiful comb we've got rotten fish ramen and a incompatible bike trainer. Pretty darn close though.
Here are some photos of my family on Christmas. I don't know how I ended up in a ton of these...I just jump in there and pose perfectly. It's like I'm made to be in front of a camera.
Max isn't howling in pain here as it might seem that she is, she's actually getting ready to yell, "Merry Christmas'' at the top of her little baby lungs.
Olivia and her life-sized Pug, 'Blueberry Tiger'
Jeremiah hasn't yet learned how to keep all the food in his mouth while eating, we're working on that. He's extremely cute though, so it totally makes up for it.
My momma and babiest Brother Ben
Me, inserting myself into their happy comfy moment
Me and my cranky Christmas Baby
My sisters, Katee and Hannah, arguing over our heated game of Catch Phrase
Look for a new sale of the week on the right side of my blog. Great sales posted every Sunday. Contact me for ordering info at my email: oliverosetree@yahoo.com
I have four hours to take back the gift Jeremiah got me for Christmas, get yarn for an order and grocery shop. At 1 O'CLOCK it is a complete and total necessity that I am in my gameroom in front of the t.v. to watch The Steelers pummel the Ravens and take back some of our mother trucking diginity. Dignity that has been robbed from this Steel City for four games running, including our first loss to The Browns ending a 11 game winning streak against Those Bums. And we will take our dignity back and smash those silly purple birds all the way back to Murder City. Wow. I need to calm down.
Anyways, my momma got me a new camera and I was so surprised. Can you believe that Jeremiah has known about it for weeks and hasn't told me? I would have blown the secret to him hours after the telling. I usually insist he open his gifts days before the event I purchased them for. This year we had our own little 'Gift of the Magi' moment...well not really, but I thought I'd be clever and throw that in there.
The ramen I thought would be ten times better than Americanized Ramen if I ordered it from Japan is made of fermented fish paste and smelled soooo rancid. Jeremiah ended up eaitng the bowl even after he had been wayyy complaining of the smell. I don't know how he did it.
The bike trainer he bought me doesn't work with my bike...so back it goes. And thus, our two gifts cancel each other out, but not in the excellently smart way O'Henry would have it. Instead of sheered locks and a beautiful comb we've got rotten fish ramen and a incompatible bike trainer. Pretty darn close though.
Here are some photos of my family on Christmas. I don't know how I ended up in a ton of these...I just jump in there and pose perfectly. It's like I'm made to be in front of a camera.
Max isn't howling in pain here as it might seem that she is, she's actually getting ready to yell, "Merry Christmas'' at the top of her little baby lungs.
Olivia and her life-sized Pug, 'Blueberry Tiger'
Jeremiah hasn't yet learned how to keep all the food in his mouth while eating, we're working on that. He's extremely cute though, so it totally makes up for it.
My momma and babiest Brother Ben
Me, inserting myself into their happy comfy moment
Me and my cranky Christmas Baby
My sisters, Katee and Hannah, arguing over our heated game of Catch Phrase
Look for a new sale of the week on the right side of my blog. Great sales posted every Sunday. Contact me for ordering info at my email: oliverosetree@yahoo.com
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Mommas And The Daddys
When the holidays roll around I think a lot about my childhood...because we all know I am incredibly self centered. As a young child I was obsessed with knowing more about my parents lives as ‘not parents‘. Now as an adult and a parent I realize that they didn’t really have much to hide…they were too busy listening to me babble on for hours at a time and constantly entertaining my Attention Deficit Poster Child brother.
I used to think a lot about them when I was falling asleep or when I was daydreaming. I had strange video that would play in my mind, a ‘vision‘ of my parents, ‘Before Me’.
My dad is in a class room. He was in college when I was born, so maybe I had this vague interest in what he was like during that time.
He is seated at an old fashioned desk, lit by the sepia tones that my mind applies to this vision, faded orange and brown colors as if my dad was living in one of the weathered and much fingered photos that live in memory boxes stored under beds and in closets.
He is wearing a wide collared plaid shirt, rolled up messily at his elbows. He is lean, stretched out, reclining back in a desk that seems too small for him, although he is not a large man. He is lazily thumbing a tattered copy of Walden, a thick text book is propped up in his lap, his pen in his mouth, his fat mouth that matches mine. I would suppose in a classroom setting there should be other people around him, but I don’t see anyone else.
His dark hair flops into one eye and he runs his fingers back through it, thick hair although it is already receding at the top of his furrowed brow. His eyes glance around the room from time to time and I catch a glimpse of his chocolate eyes before they stray back to the book in front of his face. He is balancing expertly, he is boyish and strong. His jeans are beat up and holey, he has not a care in the world.
The vision of my mother is different, for she is in full color, like new digital color. She is sitting on the floor of a room that my mind manufactured as being appropriately decorated for the mid 70’s and cutting out photos from magazines. She’s young, maybe 12 or 13 and when she stops to look at the scraps she has carefully extracted you can see her red cheeks, her thin lips spread across her face in an adorable sheepish grin. I imagine that she is thinking about boys, music or something delightful that happened to her the last time she was at her grandparent’s house.
She is very thin but her face is round and full. Her hair is light blonde, feathered away from her forehead, her eyes are hazel and shiny. She reminds me of a new baby bunny, naive and unsure but bouncy and excited. The vision runs in a loop but the main section ends with her cleaning up her clippings and the scissors carefully tucking everything away into the drawer of a small white desk. She lays down on her bed and holds tight to a large stuffed bear and sings Martha My Dear to herself as she drifts into the end of my mind’s eye and off of my radar.
I have always adored my parents and as time goes on I don’t necessarily understand them, but I always know that they are nearest and dearest to my ever bursting heart.
Happy Holidays Daddy and Momma. Happy Holidays Friends!
I used to think a lot about them when I was falling asleep or when I was daydreaming. I had strange video that would play in my mind, a ‘vision‘ of my parents, ‘Before Me’.
My dad is in a class room. He was in college when I was born, so maybe I had this vague interest in what he was like during that time.
He is seated at an old fashioned desk, lit by the sepia tones that my mind applies to this vision, faded orange and brown colors as if my dad was living in one of the weathered and much fingered photos that live in memory boxes stored under beds and in closets.
He is wearing a wide collared plaid shirt, rolled up messily at his elbows. He is lean, stretched out, reclining back in a desk that seems too small for him, although he is not a large man. He is lazily thumbing a tattered copy of Walden, a thick text book is propped up in his lap, his pen in his mouth, his fat mouth that matches mine. I would suppose in a classroom setting there should be other people around him, but I don’t see anyone else.
His dark hair flops into one eye and he runs his fingers back through it, thick hair although it is already receding at the top of his furrowed brow. His eyes glance around the room from time to time and I catch a glimpse of his chocolate eyes before they stray back to the book in front of his face. He is balancing expertly, he is boyish and strong. His jeans are beat up and holey, he has not a care in the world.
The vision of my mother is different, for she is in full color, like new digital color. She is sitting on the floor of a room that my mind manufactured as being appropriately decorated for the mid 70’s and cutting out photos from magazines. She’s young, maybe 12 or 13 and when she stops to look at the scraps she has carefully extracted you can see her red cheeks, her thin lips spread across her face in an adorable sheepish grin. I imagine that she is thinking about boys, music or something delightful that happened to her the last time she was at her grandparent’s house.
She is very thin but her face is round and full. Her hair is light blonde, feathered away from her forehead, her eyes are hazel and shiny. She reminds me of a new baby bunny, naive and unsure but bouncy and excited. The vision runs in a loop but the main section ends with her cleaning up her clippings and the scissors carefully tucking everything away into the drawer of a small white desk. She lays down on her bed and holds tight to a large stuffed bear and sings Martha My Dear to herself as she drifts into the end of my mind’s eye and off of my radar.
I have always adored my parents and as time goes on I don’t necessarily understand them, but I always know that they are nearest and dearest to my ever bursting heart.
Happy Holidays Daddy and Momma. Happy Holidays Friends!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Look A Likes
Some of you might know that I think Jeremiah looks like Robert Deniro.
But did you also know that my oldest daughter Rose looks like Audrey Hepburn? Well now you do:
If you decide to post your 'look a likes' on your blog let me know and I'll update this post with your link!
But did you also know that my oldest daughter Rose looks like Audrey Hepburn? Well now you do:
If you decide to post your 'look a likes' on your blog let me know and I'll update this post with your link!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Scandalous Secrets.
Scandalous Secrets
by Me
Shhh....
I've watched every season of America's Next Top Model.
I have no problem picking my nose.
I am one of those people who say I love the seasons. I lie. I hate being cold, I hate the freaking snow and most of all I hate furnaces. Dry heat is the enemy.
I say I'm a really healthy eater but for breakfast I just had half a graham cracker with a smear of nutella. Not a very good influence on the children methinks.
Sometimes at night I don't flush the toilet because I'm afraid it will wake up Max.
I hate clipping my toenails, as a matter of fact, I haven't in many months. It makes my stomach upset to do it.
Right now I am wearing those fake running pants that I think are supposed to look like Adidas, one of Jeremiah's undershirts and a pair of MukLuks slipper boots that Jeremiah bought me yesterday at Sam's Club. I plan on wearing this all day. Elijah on the other hand is wearing real adidas running pants and a grey turtleneck. I wish we could trade. Except for the slippers. Those are all mine.
I hate red apples.
New sale of the week on the right side of this page. This week's candy apple red Girls hat would look awesome in black in a Womens size.
As a matter of fact I know it does:
by Me
Shhh....
I've watched every season of America's Next Top Model.
I have no problem picking my nose.
I am one of those people who say I love the seasons. I lie. I hate being cold, I hate the freaking snow and most of all I hate furnaces. Dry heat is the enemy.
I say I'm a really healthy eater but for breakfast I just had half a graham cracker with a smear of nutella. Not a very good influence on the children methinks.
Sometimes at night I don't flush the toilet because I'm afraid it will wake up Max.
I hate clipping my toenails, as a matter of fact, I haven't in many months. It makes my stomach upset to do it.
Right now I am wearing those fake running pants that I think are supposed to look like Adidas, one of Jeremiah's undershirts and a pair of MukLuks slipper boots that Jeremiah bought me yesterday at Sam's Club. I plan on wearing this all day. Elijah on the other hand is wearing real adidas running pants and a grey turtleneck. I wish we could trade. Except for the slippers. Those are all mine.
I hate red apples.
New sale of the week on the right side of this page. This week's candy apple red Girls hat would look awesome in black in a Womens size.
As a matter of fact I know it does:
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Vibrating Thursday. Now with Sales and Randomly Placed Comments.
I can hear Christmas songs playing on pandora.com.
I have a giant honking tree sparkling behind me.
I've got Olivia's 'Dear Santa' card propped up on my printer. (She wants a 'mocanocol popy'.)
I can see the sunlight tripping over the light dusting of snow outside my window.
I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. (Jeremiah and I text all day instead of doing our work.)
I also know that none of these things are remotely important, I'm just taking stock of my surroundings.
It's very cold out today. I haven't really stepped outside this house in three days. I think it's starting to take a toll on my appearance. And we all know that's all that really matters in life.
Ben Folds was on t.v. last night. (The Sing-Off) It was a strange experience for me, considering he's been my favorite artist since I was a teenager. I've always said he would be big someday, but I'm not sure that judging a show on NBC is really considered big. He's judging with the sluttiest girl from The Pussycat Tramps and the skinniest guy from Boys To Mennonites. Which is so incredibly random I can hardly explain my shock upon seeing it. I literally accidentally flipped it to NBC last night when I was hitting record to DVR Top Chef last night. And there on the t.v. right in front of me was Ben Folds. On my t.v. in my gameroom. Why isn't anyone else as amped as I am? The NBC site does give him a good write up though.
And Jeremiah? Perfect Christmas present: http://www.benfoldswebstore.com/product_p/bft10.htm
But then again, they probably wouldn't get here in time...so maybe it's not such a perfect gift.
On the right side of the page is a new gadget thingy. I made up some new hats, cabled baby bear hats. They're so cute. I can make them in any size and any color and I'll offer that price for those pictured baby hats (cream is 12-24 months, charcoal is 6-18 months) and all custom order cabled hats till Sunday. Handmade Cabled Hats for $20!?! Oh and a flat rate $5 shipping.
I'll be offering sales 'of the week' every week from now on, so please don't hesitate to contact me if something catches your dreamy little eyes.
I have a giant honking tree sparkling behind me.
I've got Olivia's 'Dear Santa' card propped up on my printer. (She wants a 'mocanocol popy'.)
I can see the sunlight tripping over the light dusting of snow outside my window.
I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. (Jeremiah and I text all day instead of doing our work.)
I also know that none of these things are remotely important, I'm just taking stock of my surroundings.
It's very cold out today. I haven't really stepped outside this house in three days. I think it's starting to take a toll on my appearance. And we all know that's all that really matters in life.
Ben Folds was on t.v. last night. (The Sing-Off) It was a strange experience for me, considering he's been my favorite artist since I was a teenager. I've always said he would be big someday, but I'm not sure that judging a show on NBC is really considered big. He's judging with the sluttiest girl from The Pussycat Tramps and the skinniest guy from Boys To Mennonites. Which is so incredibly random I can hardly explain my shock upon seeing it. I literally accidentally flipped it to NBC last night when I was hitting record to DVR Top Chef last night. And there on the t.v. right in front of me was Ben Folds. On my t.v. in my gameroom. Why isn't anyone else as amped as I am? The NBC site does give him a good write up though.
And Jeremiah? Perfect Christmas present: http://www.benfoldswebstore.com/product_p/bft10.htm
But then again, they probably wouldn't get here in time...so maybe it's not such a perfect gift.
On the right side of the page is a new gadget thingy. I made up some new hats, cabled baby bear hats. They're so cute. I can make them in any size and any color and I'll offer that price for those pictured baby hats (cream is 12-24 months, charcoal is 6-18 months) and all custom order cabled hats till Sunday. Handmade Cabled Hats for $20!?! Oh and a flat rate $5 shipping.
I'll be offering sales 'of the week' every week from now on, so please don't hesitate to contact me if something catches your dreamy little eyes.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Boots for Birthdays is Totally Teenager
Ok. So I didn't win the Sony Reader. Here are the quotes she picked...you know, the people who are winners. Who aren't me.
I probably created a ton of traffic on her page constantly going back to it and waiting for her to announce the winner. Jeremiah and my Dad both seemed to think that I definitely wasn't going to win. They weren't being mean...they both thought it might have been a mistake to link her back to my blog, considering she's a Christian Homeschooler and I'm a Faithless Whore. Ok. I'm not really a Faithless Whore, I just thought that would be funny to say.
*Somewhere in time and space my mother is clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes.*
This morning Olivia had 'Breakfast With Santa' and since she had to be there at the time that we usually start our day, it was just her and me getting ready in the morning.
I had helped her get dressed in a really cute 'Christmas-sy' outfit and realized that the boots we had purchased her for her birthday would go perfectly with it.
I told her I had a surprise for her and to wait on the couch while I went and got it.
"A surprise? Is it big? Did you wrap it? Is it candy? Is it a puppy? Is it a mechanical puppy? Does it bark? Why are you giving me something right now? I won't even have time to play with it." Pout...pout...pout.
"Olive, It was something I was going to give you on your birthday but I think will look really nice with your outfit."
"OH NOooooOOo... Mom. Not earrings. 'Member that time Dad got my ears pierced and you didn't know and then when I came back to your house they were all infected and you said I shouldn't wear earrings cause I have sensitive ear lobes!!?!?!?"
It was here I actually felt a little bit older than my 28 years. Should I really be mothering right now? Shouldn't I be jet-setting across the planet with my Swedish masseuse Geraldine Marie?
"Wow. Liv. Just settle down. It's not earrings. Just sit still, I'll be right back."
I went and retrieved the boots from a secret hiding place (big box in the basement draped with a towel that's covered in toothpaste...don't ask me...I don't know).
I brought them up to her and she did look a tad bit disappointed. The look on her face really surprised me considering that she had totally annihilated her favorite boots the other day and here I was, presenting her with a brand new pair.
"Thanks Mom. I'm glad you didn't give these to me for my birthday though..."
"Really, Liv? I'm actually pretty surprised that you're not more excited. I thought you'd definitely like to have replacement boots for the ones you used to wear every single day..."
"Boots for my birthday, mom? That's totally teenager."
"Wow. Liv. Ummm.. Well they're not boots for your birthday, I'm giving them to you right now, three weeks from your birthday."
"Oh. Well...I guess that anything's better than earrings. I really thought you were going to give me earrings...but then I thought, why would she give me earrings? I don't like them and she doesn't like them, and Rose doesn't even wear earrings and neither does she..."
Totally.
I probably created a ton of traffic on her page constantly going back to it and waiting for her to announce the winner. Jeremiah and my Dad both seemed to think that I definitely wasn't going to win. They weren't being mean...they both thought it might have been a mistake to link her back to my blog, considering she's a Christian Homeschooler and I'm a Faithless Whore. Ok. I'm not really a Faithless Whore, I just thought that would be funny to say.
*Somewhere in time and space my mother is clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes.*
This morning Olivia had 'Breakfast With Santa' and since she had to be there at the time that we usually start our day, it was just her and me getting ready in the morning.
I had helped her get dressed in a really cute 'Christmas-sy' outfit and realized that the boots we had purchased her for her birthday would go perfectly with it.
I told her I had a surprise for her and to wait on the couch while I went and got it.
"A surprise? Is it big? Did you wrap it? Is it candy? Is it a puppy? Is it a mechanical puppy? Does it bark? Why are you giving me something right now? I won't even have time to play with it." Pout...pout...pout.
"Olive, It was something I was going to give you on your birthday but I think will look really nice with your outfit."
"OH NOooooOOo... Mom. Not earrings. 'Member that time Dad got my ears pierced and you didn't know and then when I came back to your house they were all infected and you said I shouldn't wear earrings cause I have sensitive ear lobes!!?!?!?"
It was here I actually felt a little bit older than my 28 years. Should I really be mothering right now? Shouldn't I be jet-setting across the planet with my Swedish masseuse Geraldine Marie?
"Wow. Liv. Just settle down. It's not earrings. Just sit still, I'll be right back."
I went and retrieved the boots from a secret hiding place (big box in the basement draped with a towel that's covered in toothpaste...don't ask me...I don't know).
I brought them up to her and she did look a tad bit disappointed. The look on her face really surprised me considering that she had totally annihilated her favorite boots the other day and here I was, presenting her with a brand new pair.
"Thanks Mom. I'm glad you didn't give these to me for my birthday though..."
"Really, Liv? I'm actually pretty surprised that you're not more excited. I thought you'd definitely like to have replacement boots for the ones you used to wear every single day..."
"Boots for my birthday, mom? That's totally teenager."
"Wow. Liv. Ummm.. Well they're not boots for your birthday, I'm giving them to you right now, three weeks from your birthday."
"Oh. Well...I guess that anything's better than earrings. I really thought you were going to give me earrings...but then I thought, why would she give me earrings? I don't like them and she doesn't like them, and Rose doesn't even wear earrings and neither does she..."
Totally.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Why Is There A Mother Trucking Bow in My Hair? What Am I, 10?
I've been working on a big order for Kara and even though I always put forth my best effort to make the best possible (and most unique as possible) handmade accessories...the stuff I've made for her is extra super cool.
I made her a new type of armwarmer, with no finger holes as per her instructions and then placed two medium buttons at one end. This ended up making so many different ways to wear them! Turned out cool. She ordered a neckwarmer to go with it, this particular one has black vintage buttons that match the armwarmers and can be a cowled neckwarmer or a short scarf.
Here are some ways to wear the armwarmers and neckwarmer...
Long with no cuff (comes up to just below my elbows, but I'm sure my arms are heavier than Kara's.)
Long, short cuff:
Long cuff:
Short cuff, scrunched:
And here is the neckwarmer with red buttons instead of black:
This scarf is a longer design with an old fashioned stitch called a chevron stitch. I thought the stitch looked neat with the gold color. I insist on wearing scarfs as hoods for some reason. I just love hood type things. And this can be wrapped around many times and scrunched to make a cowl too. Perfect for a brown coat, methinks.
These two I already packaged. The red set is a giant huge scarf and a matching hat in a cable pattern. It was the coolest and hardest thing I've ever worked on. Kudos to me.
The second is a scarf for Kara's Boyfriend's Grandma. And if that isn't random, I don't know what is.
If you're still interested in Christmas gifts, I might still be able to accommodate some orders, depending on what you want and if I have the supplies available. Please don't hestitate to contact me with any questions or requests...I'm very prompt.
And. I. Love. You.
I made her a new type of armwarmer, with no finger holes as per her instructions and then placed two medium buttons at one end. This ended up making so many different ways to wear them! Turned out cool. She ordered a neckwarmer to go with it, this particular one has black vintage buttons that match the armwarmers and can be a cowled neckwarmer or a short scarf.
Here are some ways to wear the armwarmers and neckwarmer...
Long with no cuff (comes up to just below my elbows, but I'm sure my arms are heavier than Kara's.)
Long, short cuff:
Long cuff:
Short cuff, scrunched:
And here is the neckwarmer with red buttons instead of black:
This scarf is a longer design with an old fashioned stitch called a chevron stitch. I thought the stitch looked neat with the gold color. I insist on wearing scarfs as hoods for some reason. I just love hood type things. And this can be wrapped around many times and scrunched to make a cowl too. Perfect for a brown coat, methinks.
These two I already packaged. The red set is a giant huge scarf and a matching hat in a cable pattern. It was the coolest and hardest thing I've ever worked on. Kudos to me.
The second is a scarf for Kara's Boyfriend's Grandma. And if that isn't random, I don't know what is.
If you're still interested in Christmas gifts, I might still be able to accommodate some orders, depending on what you want and if I have the supplies available. Please don't hestitate to contact me with any questions or requests...I'm very prompt.
And. I. Love. You.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Best Posts of 2009 Awards!
There’s a side to ‘blogging’ that is very voyeuristic. I love reading about people’s lives and hearing their stories. Eventually one is able to recognize people through their styles of writing, the words they most commonly use, the tone and reflections of their tales, memories and insights.
Now that it’s almost the end of 2009, I thought I’d ‘award’ some of my favorite blog posts of the year.
Here is your award if you are listed below:
and here are my picks for best posts of the year:
MoMadDog's tales remind me of a friend cleverly recounting his daily chuckles to you over the phone or at dinner…the kind of friend that talks and talks and talks when you need to block out all the crap going on in your head. He only posts once a week, but I never forget to read. Here is one of my recent favorites and the first on my list of best of 2009:
Best Short Tale By A Brit 2009
I love Steamy from Steam me up kid. My sweet sweet Beckerino…
She gets two posts of the year, just because:
I cry every time I read this post:
Best Post about A Dad Ever
Jeremiah has no idea who I’m referring to when talking about bloggers, or calling them by name like they're my actual friends, so I call Steamy ‘that chick that spread her boyfriend’s buttcheeks’:
Best Q and A 2009
These two posts from Allie go hand in hand. There’s something so endearing about this random girl. I like her.
Best Comeback 2009
Best Comeback Video 2009
I just read this recently, but it instantly became one of my favorites. Great job Hunter. Wait a damn second. What kind of name is Hunter?
Best Thought-Inducing Post of 2009
Sam is my internet big sister and a kick ass one at that. This post contains one of my all time favorite lines from a blog, “If you like, call me a panda.”
Best Reference to My Son's Favorite Animal 2009
Anna Russell used to be my favorite read, but alas, she has disappeared. I hope she’s not…you know…in jail or whatever:
Best Dwarf Kicking 2009
This one’s by Vic, and it’s not that this is a mind blowing super awesome excellent can‘t believe how wonderful type of post, but it just rang so true to me, like I was watching it happen right in front of me. When I read her blog I always think that she puts words in the right order just for me:
Best Conversation with a French Bitch 2009
Don’t be pissed if I didn’t pick a post of yours. I’m sure you’re totally excellent and I love you, I love all of y’all. (I’ll seriously send someone a dime if they can tell me what song that is from).
What are some of your favorite posts of this year? And if you decide to do this ‘Favorite Posts of 2009’ tell me and I’ll update this post with links to your post.
Now that it’s almost the end of 2009, I thought I’d ‘award’ some of my favorite blog posts of the year.
Here is your award if you are listed below:
and here are my picks for best posts of the year:
MoMadDog's tales remind me of a friend cleverly recounting his daily chuckles to you over the phone or at dinner…the kind of friend that talks and talks and talks when you need to block out all the crap going on in your head. He only posts once a week, but I never forget to read. Here is one of my recent favorites and the first on my list of best of 2009:
Best Short Tale By A Brit 2009
I love Steamy from Steam me up kid. My sweet sweet Beckerino…
She gets two posts of the year, just because:
I cry every time I read this post:
Best Post about A Dad Ever
Jeremiah has no idea who I’m referring to when talking about bloggers, or calling them by name like they're my actual friends, so I call Steamy ‘that chick that spread her boyfriend’s buttcheeks’:
Best Q and A 2009
These two posts from Allie go hand in hand. There’s something so endearing about this random girl. I like her.
Best Comeback 2009
Best Comeback Video 2009
I just read this recently, but it instantly became one of my favorites. Great job Hunter. Wait a damn second. What kind of name is Hunter?
Best Thought-Inducing Post of 2009
Sam is my internet big sister and a kick ass one at that. This post contains one of my all time favorite lines from a blog, “If you like, call me a panda.”
Best Reference to My Son's Favorite Animal 2009
Anna Russell used to be my favorite read, but alas, she has disappeared. I hope she’s not…you know…in jail or whatever:
Best Dwarf Kicking 2009
This one’s by Vic, and it’s not that this is a mind blowing super awesome excellent can‘t believe how wonderful type of post, but it just rang so true to me, like I was watching it happen right in front of me. When I read her blog I always think that she puts words in the right order just for me:
Best Conversation with a French Bitch 2009
Don’t be pissed if I didn’t pick a post of yours. I’m sure you’re totally excellent and I love you, I love all of y’all. (I’ll seriously send someone a dime if they can tell me what song that is from).
What are some of your favorite posts of this year? And if you decide to do this ‘Favorite Posts of 2009’ tell me and I’ll update this post with links to your post.
Monday, December 7, 2009
A Giveaway I Must Win...Must....Win
I was paging through blogs I read this morning when I came across this giveaway. I don't usually enter them, thinking along the lines that someone else might need whatever is being given away more than I would...but Mary has been given two sony readers, one for herself and one for a giveaway winner.
AND I NEED THAT READER. I've wanted a reader since Kindle came out years ago. I need it, I want it and I don't like to spend money on myself ever...so I must win it.
The giveaway has rules though...and I'm so bad at the rules thing. I had to pick a quote from a novel and why it means something to me and comment about it on her page. I can get a second entry by blogging about the giveaway and sharing another comment from a book here on my blog.
The quote I referenced in the comment of her blog was this:
AND I NEED THAT READER. I've wanted a reader since Kindle came out years ago. I need it, I want it and I don't like to spend money on myself ever...so I must win it.
The giveaway has rules though...and I'm so bad at the rules thing. I had to pick a quote from a novel and why it means something to me and comment about it on her page. I can get a second entry by blogging about the giveaway and sharing another comment from a book here on my blog.
The quote I referenced in the comment of her blog was this:
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Clubbed Fingers are for Dorks
Once again I regale you with my grace and beauty.
If you can't understand my dumb mouth's words I'm trying to tell you about my new phone and my inability to use it. AND I annouce that next week I will be posting a tribute to my FAVORITE POSTS OF 2009. So far I've picked 8 posts to award...I might be adding more (please email me with talk of bribery).
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Let's Talk About Sex. Ugly Sex.
I don’t talk about sex often on this blog so here is a big big warning to anyone reading on:
IF YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK ABOUT SEX OR IF THIS IS GOING TO MAKE CONVERSATION UNCOMFORTABLE LATER ON, PLEASE STOP READING NOW.
FOR BOTH OF OUR SAKES.
Did you ever see a couple that you couldn’t imagine having sex?
Like the guy looks like Elmer Fudd and the girl looks like Carrot Top?
A couple walks by you and all you can think is how it’s possible for him to mount her because of the giant man boobs that hang down past his waist? What do you do with those things? Swing them aside for easier insertion?
The thing about those couples out there is that they’re probably having the hottest best sex ever in the history of the world. So much so that they’re putting us all to shame.
Every night we’re all tired from working or kids and maybe we’re not all that hot. BUT we’re exponentially still better looking than some of the unfortunates out there.
You get into your jammies, watch t.v. or a movie with your partner…how many times out of ten do you guys bone like there’s no tomorrow?
I love love love love sex, but sometimes there’s nothing sexy about hearing the baby yelling for you as you're working your way to an awesome orgasm. Then after you wash your hands (yes, I said it) and check on crying baby…you find out he’s crying cause he has a poopy diaper. Ga-reat. That does a lot for me. Poop and Babies. So hot.
Or the woman doesn’t want to be on top cause her belly isn’t flat anymore. The dude doesn’t want to go down on his chick cause he’s tired from working all day.
But those ugly people are lucky to get it ever. EVER. So you know that every chance they get they’re going to busy town, screwing like bunnies.
It’s like doing one of those Jillian Michaels (trainer from the Biggest Loser) workouts. She’s yelling at you over and over again with this kind of manly voice and her face is pissed off and strained and she's screaming:
“WORK HARDER!”
“350 pound people are kicking ass at this workout and you’re slacking!"
"GET OFF YOUR ASS”
And that’s my advice to you, people out there.
Get on with it and fuck like there’s no tomorrow. There are super duper ugly people coming (cumming?) left and right at this very moment. Don’t let them put us to shame.
IF YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK ABOUT SEX OR IF THIS IS GOING TO MAKE CONVERSATION UNCOMFORTABLE LATER ON, PLEASE STOP READING NOW.
FOR BOTH OF OUR SAKES.
Did you ever see a couple that you couldn’t imagine having sex?
Like the guy looks like Elmer Fudd and the girl looks like Carrot Top?
A couple walks by you and all you can think is how it’s possible for him to mount her because of the giant man boobs that hang down past his waist? What do you do with those things? Swing them aside for easier insertion?
The thing about those couples out there is that they’re probably having the hottest best sex ever in the history of the world. So much so that they’re putting us all to shame.
Every night we’re all tired from working or kids and maybe we’re not all that hot. BUT we’re exponentially still better looking than some of the unfortunates out there.
You get into your jammies, watch t.v. or a movie with your partner…how many times out of ten do you guys bone like there’s no tomorrow?
I love love love love sex, but sometimes there’s nothing sexy about hearing the baby yelling for you as you're working your way to an awesome orgasm. Then after you wash your hands (yes, I said it) and check on crying baby…you find out he’s crying cause he has a poopy diaper. Ga-reat. That does a lot for me. Poop and Babies. So hot.
Or the woman doesn’t want to be on top cause her belly isn’t flat anymore. The dude doesn’t want to go down on his chick cause he’s tired from working all day.
But those ugly people are lucky to get it ever. EVER. So you know that every chance they get they’re going to busy town, screwing like bunnies.
It’s like doing one of those Jillian Michaels (trainer from the Biggest Loser) workouts. She’s yelling at you over and over again with this kind of manly voice and her face is pissed off and strained and she's screaming:
“WORK HARDER!”
“350 pound people are kicking ass at this workout and you’re slacking!"
"GET OFF YOUR ASS”
And that’s my advice to you, people out there.
Get on with it and fuck like there’s no tomorrow. There are super duper ugly people coming (cumming?) left and right at this very moment. Don’t let them put us to shame.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Extensive Extendings and My Mom makes her Blog Debut
I'm extending ordering for custom orders until Dec. 11th! I finished up everything I was working up much faster than I had anticipated soooo.....
My biggest order yet was made last month by Susan, who happens to be the best employer ever (which might be a total stretch of the imagination, considering she's not actually my boss so I have no idea if she's nice to work for or not). She wanted 20 scarfs for her employees and handmade gifts are so kick ass (in my humble opinion). Here are some photos of her finished order. There are 17 smaller 'short' scarfs, which I consider 'one tie' scarfs and three much larger and wider 'two tie' scarfs.
Here are all the different colors:
Here are some close ups:
If you are unfamiliar with what is available for custom orders, here are some links to previous blog posts with orders and examples:
Baby hats, city caps, headbands
Bear hats and mittens, cotton headband
More scarfs, hypoallergenic sets
Hats and fingerless gloves
Peter Pan hat, scarfs and generally awesome stuff
Past custom orders and more examples
You can also visit my store or contact me at my email address oliverosetree@yahoo.com. You can make orders through email or ask as many questions as you want and I will promptly get back to you with pricing and an easy to pay invoice.
I am also offering carriage/crib size baby blankets for $50, in pretty much whatever color you want. These would be great shower/new baby gifts!
Also I'm currently including adorable ultra-cute crochet gift cards to attach to your purchases.
I have some Thanksgiving photos to share...
I am always tempted to post embarrassing photos of my loved ones online. I have no idea why this is and it's been Jeremiah who's usually taken the brunt of this odd impulse. But today I will regale you with a lovely photo of me and my momma...and she has her eyes closed. Which, for some strange reason, is embarrassing.
Here are more, with ours eyes open. I've noticed that most of the photos taken on Thanksgiving (and at all other times) are of Maxine Jane. Soon everyone that reads this blog is going to naturally assume I made up the other three children and that Max is actually my only child. And then many of you will call the authorities because I'm obviously delusional.
My biggest order yet was made last month by Susan, who happens to be the best employer ever (which might be a total stretch of the imagination, considering she's not actually my boss so I have no idea if she's nice to work for or not). She wanted 20 scarfs for her employees and handmade gifts are so kick ass (in my humble opinion). Here are some photos of her finished order. There are 17 smaller 'short' scarfs, which I consider 'one tie' scarfs and three much larger and wider 'two tie' scarfs.
Here are all the different colors:
Here are some close ups:
If you are unfamiliar with what is available for custom orders, here are some links to previous blog posts with orders and examples:
Baby hats, city caps, headbands
Bear hats and mittens, cotton headband
More scarfs, hypoallergenic sets
Hats and fingerless gloves
Peter Pan hat, scarfs and generally awesome stuff
Past custom orders and more examples
You can also visit my store or contact me at my email address oliverosetree@yahoo.com. You can make orders through email or ask as many questions as you want and I will promptly get back to you with pricing and an easy to pay invoice.
I am also offering carriage/crib size baby blankets for $50, in pretty much whatever color you want. These would be great shower/new baby gifts!
Also I'm currently including adorable ultra-cute crochet gift cards to attach to your purchases.
I have some Thanksgiving photos to share...
I am always tempted to post embarrassing photos of my loved ones online. I have no idea why this is and it's been Jeremiah who's usually taken the brunt of this odd impulse. But today I will regale you with a lovely photo of me and my momma...and she has her eyes closed. Which, for some strange reason, is embarrassing.
Here are more, with ours eyes open. I've noticed that most of the photos taken on Thanksgiving (and at all other times) are of Maxine Jane. Soon everyone that reads this blog is going to naturally assume I made up the other three children and that Max is actually my only child. And then many of you will call the authorities because I'm obviously delusional.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thankful I'm Here to Clean Up Your Puke
I’m a pretty sappy person by nature, so I could easily tell you all about how thankful I am that all of my kids are healthy, that my parents are so awesome and that Jeremiah is a super good kisser.
But in reality, there are some things I’m more thankful for than others…
I’m thankful that I don’t have humungous Triple E sized knockers, like one of those freak eggs on legs. If you are of this body type I’m just kidding…I don’t think you’re a freak. I’m just glad I’m not you.
I’m thankful that I don’t have to go to work everyday. Mainly because I enjoy spending time at home with my children but otherwise for this reason: I don’t have to deal with all the ridiculous assholes out there in the world. And more importantly, I don’t have to shower all that often.
I’m thankful that Jeremiah doesn’t like country music. This one is self explanatory.
I’m thankful that my neighbors are just pot dealers and not heroine dealers. There’s a whole bunch of shady types over there, but at least they’re middle age hippy shady types and not 19 year old kill their own mother for a hit shady types.
I’m thankful that my parents taught me how to swear. Fuck yah mom! This blog post is the shit daddy!
I’m thankful I had the judiciousness of mind to become a vegetarian. When Jesus comes back here and is totally pissed at all you bogus carnivores, my vegetable eating ass is going to be seated at the right hand and you’ll be working in a purgatorial meat packaging plant for all of eternity. :)
I’m thankful for my selective memory. I can remember all the fun times, hanging out with the coolest people, doing exciting things…but I can’t remember all the horribly embarrassing moments. Like the time I wrote a poem about Eddie Vedder giving me chills on UnPlugged and my baby brother gave it to my mom and she read it to all my aunts. Or the time that I supposedly farted all night in the same room that Jeremiah stayed up playing guitar in. He claims it was very stinky and also hilarious. I don’t remember that.
But most of all I’m thankful for Maxine Jane. I awoke in the dead of night to find her, once again, inches away, waking me from my sweet repose. She was gazing most intently at me, not saying a word. I thought the night was going to go the way of so many others, except this time she burped right in my face. As I started to protest loudly she vomited, right onto the space usually occupied by Jeremiah. Then she laughed a tiny gleeful giggle, ran back to her room and jumped into her clean, unvomited bed. I went in and asked her if she was ok, if her stomach was upset. She told me she felt ‘much better now’ and snuggled down in the warm covers to slumber away while I trudged unhappily off to clean up the vomitus mess she had made of my sleeping area.
I’m so thankful that I’m here to clean up your puke Max. I’m even more thankful that I have you to puke on me.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone (but not you, bottom basement stair who made me fall flat on my ass this morning)!
But in reality, there are some things I’m more thankful for than others…
I’m thankful that I don’t have humungous Triple E sized knockers, like one of those freak eggs on legs. If you are of this body type I’m just kidding…I don’t think you’re a freak. I’m just glad I’m not you.
I’m thankful that I don’t have to go to work everyday. Mainly because I enjoy spending time at home with my children but otherwise for this reason: I don’t have to deal with all the ridiculous assholes out there in the world. And more importantly, I don’t have to shower all that often.
I’m thankful that Jeremiah doesn’t like country music. This one is self explanatory.
I’m thankful that my neighbors are just pot dealers and not heroine dealers. There’s a whole bunch of shady types over there, but at least they’re middle age hippy shady types and not 19 year old kill their own mother for a hit shady types.
I’m thankful that my parents taught me how to swear. Fuck yah mom! This blog post is the shit daddy!
I’m thankful I had the judiciousness of mind to become a vegetarian. When Jesus comes back here and is totally pissed at all you bogus carnivores, my vegetable eating ass is going to be seated at the right hand and you’ll be working in a purgatorial meat packaging plant for all of eternity. :)
I’m thankful for my selective memory. I can remember all the fun times, hanging out with the coolest people, doing exciting things…but I can’t remember all the horribly embarrassing moments. Like the time I wrote a poem about Eddie Vedder giving me chills on UnPlugged and my baby brother gave it to my mom and she read it to all my aunts. Or the time that I supposedly farted all night in the same room that Jeremiah stayed up playing guitar in. He claims it was very stinky and also hilarious. I don’t remember that.
But most of all I’m thankful for Maxine Jane. I awoke in the dead of night to find her, once again, inches away, waking me from my sweet repose. She was gazing most intently at me, not saying a word. I thought the night was going to go the way of so many others, except this time she burped right in my face. As I started to protest loudly she vomited, right onto the space usually occupied by Jeremiah. Then she laughed a tiny gleeful giggle, ran back to her room and jumped into her clean, unvomited bed. I went in and asked her if she was ok, if her stomach was upset. She told me she felt ‘much better now’ and snuggled down in the warm covers to slumber away while I trudged unhappily off to clean up the vomitus mess she had made of my sleeping area.
I’m so thankful that I’m here to clean up your puke Max. I’m even more thankful that I have you to puke on me.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone (but not you, bottom basement stair who made me fall flat on my ass this morning)!
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Winner of Everything...
I'm working (email with your order soon to get it by christmas!) and writing a lot lately, not that I'm sharing any of that writing with you. It's mostly all baby book/journal writing (yes, I'm one of those douchbags that write in their kids' baby books ALL THE TIME). Last night while I was crocheting an order I had this vision of Max sleeping with a puppy. Isn't that weird? I mean, I don't see things...it wasn't a psychotic break or anything...just this vision of her cuddling in her bed with this little shaggy puppy.
Ok, elsewhere in our fair Metropolis, The Interwebs, I was linked in lots of new places. Well, three new places. That seems like a lot, eh?
Libby, who has newlys taken Steamy's place (Win me back, Becky.) as my favorite blogger put up photos of her darling baby Meg in one of my hats AND sent me a cute beyond words photo thank you for said hat. She is the winner of everything, if there was to be anything to won.
Alyson bought hats and headbands and posted photos of herself and her daughter looking adorable. Let's go find them, beat them up and steal their head gears. Or we could just order some head gear from me...either way I'm good with it.
And Becky put me on her side bar. We also will become real life friends over Christmas and then tell you all about it! yay! Unless she ditches me. And then I will cry tears of acid that will put holes in whichever shirt I am wearing at the time, not to mention burn my perfect skin.
I hope that all is well in your lives, I hope you're all looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with your loved ones (or alone at a chinese buffet, which is what I would be doing if I were single/childless). I'll be posting 'Thankful I'm here to Clean up your Puke' on Thursday.
Ok, elsewhere in our fair Metropolis, The Interwebs, I was linked in lots of new places. Well, three new places. That seems like a lot, eh?
Libby, who has newlys taken Steamy's place (Win me back, Becky.) as my favorite blogger put up photos of her darling baby Meg in one of my hats AND sent me a cute beyond words photo thank you for said hat. She is the winner of everything, if there was to be anything to won.
Alyson bought hats and headbands and posted photos of herself and her daughter looking adorable. Let's go find them, beat them up and steal their head gears. Or we could just order some head gear from me...either way I'm good with it.
And Becky put me on her side bar. We also will become real life friends over Christmas and then tell you all about it! yay! Unless she ditches me. And then I will cry tears of acid that will put holes in whichever shirt I am wearing at the time, not to mention burn my perfect skin.
I hope that all is well in your lives, I hope you're all looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with your loved ones (or alone at a chinese buffet, which is what I would be doing if I were single/childless). I'll be posting 'Thankful I'm here to Clean up your Puke' on Thursday.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
these words
An auburn sky past dusk
tall tree bare and stark rise high
above houses, lights on for safety, lights off for slumber
cozy homes lined with streets of empty still cars
slight mists fall onto my face
a chill breeze brushes past me, landing nowhere
Before this what came before there were
more abodes built upon soft grounds
lay trodden by many years of many feet
this mountain so much the same but not mine
nonetheless we have made it our home.
These words were in my head during my evening walk. Taking account of my surroundings they swept in and through me like the fresh fall air. I am by myself, which is a rarity. Alone with my thoughts and just...these words.
tall tree bare and stark rise high
above houses, lights on for safety, lights off for slumber
cozy homes lined with streets of empty still cars
slight mists fall onto my face
a chill breeze brushes past me, landing nowhere
Before this what came before there were
more abodes built upon soft grounds
lay trodden by many years of many feet
this mountain so much the same but not mine
nonetheless we have made it our home.
These words were in my head during my evening walk. Taking account of my surroundings they swept in and through me like the fresh fall air. I am by myself, which is a rarity. Alone with my thoughts and just...these words.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Do you Understand the Words that are Coming Out Of My Mouth??
Words I love come out of my childrens’ mouths. Words that make me cringe are formed on their delicate tongues. Words that surprise and amaze me flow from the box that works overtime in their shallow chests.
“Mommma. Look at my boobies!”
Maxine hoists up two balls she has stuffed into her shirt. She looks so ludicrous I can’t help but laugh. This eggs her on.
“MOOMMMAMAMA…I have big boobies.”
I finally scrape the amusement off of my face.
“Maxine. When you’re a little older your chest will be your private area, for you only. So it’s not really funny to talk about having boobies.”
Rose yells from the next room:
“PLUS MAX! Mom has big boobs and she’s constantly complaining how much they make her back hurt!”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Max is upstairs getting her Pjs on. Elijah and I are downstairs on the front room’s couch and I’m helping him get into his Pjs.
I hear Max grunting and struggling upstairs: “What the….what the…hey…why….”
“Maxine Baby. Do you need help?”
“I think so.”
“OK, just bring your stuff down here and I’ll help you.”
“Wait, I think I’ve got it. I just have to get this leg right side in and this arm out of the leg that’s upside right.” She’s talking to herself in hushed and thoughtful tones.
I stifle my laughter and continue dressing Elijah. Max hops down the stairs a few moments later.
“See Momma? That was just like eating cake.”
____________________________________________________________________________________
Olivia has had a strange shift lately from emotionally inept crater to queen of over sensitivity.
Jeremiah’s grandmum passed away on a weekend and the girls’ dad was nice enough to keep them for Monday night, Tuesday and Wednesday. When they got back I explained to Max and Olivia why they had stayed with their dad. Olivia looks at me confused , her mouth full of questions of what I assume to be morbid in nature. Instead her eyes well up in tears.
“Olive, maybe it would be nice to give Jeremiah a hug.”
She runs out of the room and into Jeremiah’s arms. She breaks down and sobs....loudly.
“It’s just sooooo sad. Is she really dead?” and on and on like that. When she finally calms down and then whole minutes later her usual self flickers brightly across her freckled and dimpled face.
“Did you get to see her body?”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Rose and I were discussing where we were going for Thanksgiving this year while in our kitchen. She was watching me do the dinner dishes and asking a million questions.
“Well Mom. If daddy isn’t picking us up till bedtime where are we going to eat Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Well Rose. Either we’ll have it here at our house and grandma, pappy and your aunts and uncles will come here or grandma will have it at her house and we’ll all go up there.”
“Oh. Well Mom. You’re a really good cook and everything….but I definitely think Grandma should cook.”
“Oh. Well Rose. I’ll take that into consideration.”
She slinks out of the kitchen into the dining room and I overhear her frantically whispering to Olivia.
“Liv…you have to go in there and tell momma that we should go to grandma’s for Thanksgiving dinner. You know mom won’t use butter and she probably won’t even cook a TURKEY cause Liv…liv are you even listening??! Liv. Turkey is meat!…just tell momma that you miss grandma and want to go to her house for Thanksgiving.”
Olivia runs into the kitchen.
“Mom! Rosey says you’re not going to let us go to grandma’s house for Thanksgiving AND that you’re not making a turkey!”
Rose yells from the dining room: “LIV!”
Liv runs back into the dining room before I can counter her claims. She and Rose saunter back into the kitchen a few moments later, in serious gang formation with the scowls to accompany their obviously intent nature.
Rose speaks first, Intervention style:
“If you don’t make turkey for dinner on Thanksgiving Olivia and I are going to be very upset. We understand that you like not eating turkey, but we like turkey.”
This from the children whose vegetarian mother made them hot wings for dinner.
“Mommma. Look at my boobies!”
Maxine hoists up two balls she has stuffed into her shirt. She looks so ludicrous I can’t help but laugh. This eggs her on.
“MOOMMMAMAMA…I have big boobies.”
I finally scrape the amusement off of my face.
“Maxine. When you’re a little older your chest will be your private area, for you only. So it’s not really funny to talk about having boobies.”
Rose yells from the next room:
“PLUS MAX! Mom has big boobs and she’s constantly complaining how much they make her back hurt!”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Max is upstairs getting her Pjs on. Elijah and I are downstairs on the front room’s couch and I’m helping him get into his Pjs.
I hear Max grunting and struggling upstairs: “What the….what the…hey…why….”
“Maxine Baby. Do you need help?”
“I think so.”
“OK, just bring your stuff down here and I’ll help you.”
“Wait, I think I’ve got it. I just have to get this leg right side in and this arm out of the leg that’s upside right.” She’s talking to herself in hushed and thoughtful tones.
I stifle my laughter and continue dressing Elijah. Max hops down the stairs a few moments later.
“See Momma? That was just like eating cake.”
____________________________________________________________________________________
Olivia has had a strange shift lately from emotionally inept crater to queen of over sensitivity.
Jeremiah’s grandmum passed away on a weekend and the girls’ dad was nice enough to keep them for Monday night, Tuesday and Wednesday. When they got back I explained to Max and Olivia why they had stayed with their dad. Olivia looks at me confused , her mouth full of questions of what I assume to be morbid in nature. Instead her eyes well up in tears.
“Olive, maybe it would be nice to give Jeremiah a hug.”
She runs out of the room and into Jeremiah’s arms. She breaks down and sobs....loudly.
“It’s just sooooo sad. Is she really dead?” and on and on like that. When she finally calms down and then whole minutes later her usual self flickers brightly across her freckled and dimpled face.
“Did you get to see her body?”
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Rose and I were discussing where we were going for Thanksgiving this year while in our kitchen. She was watching me do the dinner dishes and asking a million questions.
“Well Mom. If daddy isn’t picking us up till bedtime where are we going to eat Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Well Rose. Either we’ll have it here at our house and grandma, pappy and your aunts and uncles will come here or grandma will have it at her house and we’ll all go up there.”
“Oh. Well Mom. You’re a really good cook and everything….but I definitely think Grandma should cook.”
“Oh. Well Rose. I’ll take that into consideration.”
She slinks out of the kitchen into the dining room and I overhear her frantically whispering to Olivia.
“Liv…you have to go in there and tell momma that we should go to grandma’s for Thanksgiving dinner. You know mom won’t use butter and she probably won’t even cook a TURKEY cause Liv…liv are you even listening??! Liv. Turkey is meat!…just tell momma that you miss grandma and want to go to her house for Thanksgiving.”
Olivia runs into the kitchen.
“Mom! Rosey says you’re not going to let us go to grandma’s house for Thanksgiving AND that you’re not making a turkey!”
Rose yells from the dining room: “LIV!”
Liv runs back into the dining room before I can counter her claims. She and Rose saunter back into the kitchen a few moments later, in serious gang formation with the scowls to accompany their obviously intent nature.
Rose speaks first, Intervention style:
“If you don’t make turkey for dinner on Thanksgiving Olivia and I are going to be very upset. We understand that you like not eating turkey, but we like turkey.”
This from the children whose vegetarian mother made them hot wings for dinner.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Truly, Madly, Guiltily
Jeremiah kisses me goodbye every morning before he leaves for work. If he doesn't, I panic. I assume he's horribly mad at me and that he's definitely not coming home. The problem with this is that he's only been that mad at me a few times in our relationship...and he always came home.
I must be crazy.
Regardless of all that, the first thing I see in the morning when I wake up is Jeremiah's face right in front of me. Sometimes in my sleepy haze I cry when he has to leave, or I whine whine whine. I grunt 'Nooonnoonooo...' and he patiently pries my fingers off of him, kisses me and leaves.
Every time I look at his face, or make him smile and every single time we make love I am reminded of how much I adore him and how glad I am to have him. This is probably as annoying to him as the whining, gripping, half asleep banshee he has to snog every morning.
But all this brings me to my general point. I love him more than anything in the whole entire world. There. I said it. Skewer me now.
Ayelet Waldman wrote this article for The New York Times and was practically burnt at the stake for it. I remember when she was being talked about all over talk radio/television and especially on The View. She was being attacked mostly by Starr Jones...who, last time I checked didn't have any children OR a successful relationship. ANNNNDDDD now I'm attacking her. Wow. It's a viscious cycle.
The last two paragraphs speak to me more than the rest. They speak to me because of my past, of not loving my daughters' father like I 'should' have, of feeling guilty for loving Jeremiah that much more everyday.
I think of the way Jeremiah's left eye dips slightly lower than his right. I think of the scar on his back, the one he can't see. I think of the space of skin between his shoulder blades that pinches when he's stretching. I think of the way he looked at me the first time we kissed after not seeing each other for years and years:
I felt a growing ball in my chest as I got up from the table, from where I had been sitting across from him in a dark pub. I smiled, giggled, leaned over as I was walking past our table, stepping down off of the bench ledge. I leaned my face into his and I could feel the warmth explode in front of us, circling and exploding in tight spirals.
After we kissed I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My face was bubblegum pink, my eyes glossy and shiny, I felt thinner, I felt...joyful.
I must be crazy.
Regardless of all that, the first thing I see in the morning when I wake up is Jeremiah's face right in front of me. Sometimes in my sleepy haze I cry when he has to leave, or I whine whine whine. I grunt 'Nooonnoonooo...' and he patiently pries my fingers off of him, kisses me and leaves.
Every time I look at his face, or make him smile and every single time we make love I am reminded of how much I adore him and how glad I am to have him. This is probably as annoying to him as the whining, gripping, half asleep banshee he has to snog every morning.
But all this brings me to my general point. I love him more than anything in the whole entire world. There. I said it. Skewer me now.
Ayelet Waldman wrote this article for The New York Times and was practically burnt at the stake for it. I remember when she was being talked about all over talk radio/television and especially on The View. She was being attacked mostly by Starr Jones...who, last time I checked didn't have any children OR a successful relationship. ANNNNDDDD now I'm attacking her. Wow. It's a viscious cycle.
The last two paragraphs speak to me more than the rest. They speak to me because of my past, of not loving my daughters' father like I 'should' have, of feeling guilty for loving Jeremiah that much more everyday.
I think of the way Jeremiah's left eye dips slightly lower than his right. I think of the scar on his back, the one he can't see. I think of the space of skin between his shoulder blades that pinches when he's stretching. I think of the way he looked at me the first time we kissed after not seeing each other for years and years:
I felt a growing ball in my chest as I got up from the table, from where I had been sitting across from him in a dark pub. I smiled, giggled, leaned over as I was walking past our table, stepping down off of the bench ledge. I leaned my face into his and I could feel the warmth explode in front of us, circling and exploding in tight spirals.
After we kissed I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My face was bubblegum pink, my eyes glossy and shiny, I felt thinner, I felt...joyful.
And if my children resent having been moons rather than the sun? If they berate me for not having loved them enough? If they call me a bad mother?
I will tell them that I wish for them a love like I have for their father. I will tell them that they are my children, and they deserve both to love and be loved like that. I will tell them to settle for nothing less than what they saw when they looked at me, looking at him.Monday, November 16, 2009
Not a Puking Post.
I was going to write about Max puking on me the other night (she's not sick at all, just a random puking)...but custom orders have kept me busy.
Instead I'll post photos and some new dates so anybody planning on ordering for Christmas will have the heads up. Not as funny as randomly puking Maxines, but just as cute?!
Baby bear hats:
Cotton/Linen earwarmers/headbands. I was shocked at the quality of this organic yarn. Would be great for running and can be made any width:
A reminder to everyone planning on ordering custom items for Christmas. I must have your orders by Friday December 4th to insure I can make it and get it to you in time.
TIS THE SEASON, YO!
Also, keep in mind that I can make most orders from many different types of yarn, but if you have had problems with wool in the past please tell me and I'll make your order out of an acrylic yarn.
Instead I'll post photos and some new dates so anybody planning on ordering for Christmas will have the heads up. Not as funny as randomly puking Maxines, but just as cute?!
Baby bear hats:
Cotton/Linen earwarmers/headbands. I was shocked at the quality of this organic yarn. Would be great for running and can be made any width:
A reminder to everyone planning on ordering custom items for Christmas. I must have your orders by Friday December 4th to insure I can make it and get it to you in time.
TIS THE SEASON, YO!
Also, keep in mind that I can make most orders from many different types of yarn, but if you have had problems with wool in the past please tell me and I'll make your order out of an acrylic yarn.
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Peter: Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you’ll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.
Wendy: Never is an awfully long time.
I remember reading this as a small girl and being completely torn by the concept. We all have to grow up, but it’s so hard to let go of the joys and ease of childhood. I was comforted (and still am) by the idea that just like Wendy, we can always think of Peter and his infinite childhood when we find ourselves longing for it.
This next quote is from The Lake of Dead Languages by Carol Goodman:
"I try to remember caring that much for a boy--I almost see a face--but it's like trying to remember labor pains, you remember the symptoms of pain--the blurred vision, the way your mind moves in an ever tightening circle around a nucleus so dense gravity itself seems to bend toward it--but not the pain itself."
When I read this I had one of those 'you took the words right out of my mouth' moments. It was a perfect and accurate description of both being stricken with love pains...or labor pains.
Now now now, I know those two choices aren't necessarily very cerebral. But alas and oh well, those are the first two that came to mind. My favorite novel is The Magus by John Fowles and my Daddy's favorite is The French Lieutenants Woman also by John Fowles so to close this post I will leave you with a quote, actually a little tale, told by our aforementioned favorite author:
"Once upon a time there was a young prince who believed in all things but three. He did not believe in princesses, he did not believe in islands, he did not believe in God. His father, the king, told him that such things did not exist. As there were no princesses or islands in his father's domains, and no sign of God, the young prince believed his father.
But then, one day, the prince ran away from his palace. He came to the next land. There, to his astonishment, from every coast he saw islands, and on these islands, strange and troubling creatures whom he dared not name. As he was searching for a boat, a man in full evening dress approached him along the shore.
'Are those real islands?' asked the young prince.
'Of course they are real islands,' said the man in evening dress.
'And those strange and troubling creatures?'
'They are all genuine and authentic princesses.'
'Then God must exist!' cried the prince.
'I am God,' replied the man in full evening dress, with a bow.
The young prince returned home as quickly as he could.
'So you are back,' said the father, the king.
'I have seen islands, I have seen princesses, I have seen God,' said the prince reproachfully.
The king was unmoved.
'Neither real islands, nor real princesses, I have seen God,' said the prince reproachfully.
The king was unmoved.
'Neither real islands, nor real princesses, nor a real God exist.'
'I saw them!'
'Tell me how God was dressed.'
'God was in full evening dress.'
'Were the sleeves of his coat rolled back?'
The prince remembered that they had been. The king smiled.
'That is the uniform of a magician. You have been deceived.'
At this, the prince returned to the next land, and went to the same shore, where once again he came upon the man in full evening dress.
'My father the king has told me who you are,' said the young prince indignantly. 'You deceived me last time, but not again. Now I know that those are not real islands and real princesses, because you are a magician.'
The man on the shore smiled.
'It is you who are deceived, my boy. In your father's kingdom there are many islands and many princesses. But you are under your father's spell, so you cannot see them.'
The prince pensively returned home. When he saw his father, he looked him in the eyes.
'Father, is it true that you are not a real king, but only a magician?'
The king smiled, and rolled back his sleeves.
'Yes, my son, I am only a magician.'
'Then the man on the shore was God.'
'The man on the shore was another magician.'
'I must know the real truth, the truth beyond magic.'
'There is no truth beyond magic,' said the king.
The prince was full of sadness.
He said, 'I will kill myself.'
The king by magic caused death to appear. Death stood in the door and beckoned to the prince. The prince shuddered. He remembered the beautiful but unreal islands and the unreal but beautiful princesses.
'Very well,' he said. 'I can bear it.'
'You see, my son,' said the king, 'you too now begin to be a magician.'"
-John Fowles