The promise of freshly brewed and pressed coffee is all it takes to get me out of bed. In the early hours while everything is quiet, I sit at the computer and write. Some of my best work happens in what feels like a secret time. And I start the “official” day a step ahead. Time for another cup.
Miss K was a “spitty” baby until she was about 11 months old. Until then, we were in the habit of walking around with a burb cloth at the ready, most often on a shoulder. We’d tuck one under her head at night, keep them in the diaper bag. You get the picture.
Before long, the burb cloth became part of K’s comfort routine. Give her a burb cloth and her middle and ring finger to suck and she was happy (still is when she’s tired or upset). We never called the cloth anything but a cloth until we met Kirsi who cared for K a few days a week while I worked. And then the cloth became binky. Now I know a lot of people call pacifiers by that name but we thought binky made a lot of sense for the cloth too because it really did pacify. So for years, we’ve had binky, binks, stinky binky, baseball binky … binkies galore!
I decided to share the comfort of these little items with friends who are expecting. Taking an idea I saw once in an overpriced baby boutique, I cut panels of cute fabric and sewed them onto cloth diapers. Custom binkies!
As always when I make something new, there’s always a “test” run. This test was made especially for the girl who inspired the binkies in the first place … a special version with double pocket in the fabrics specially requested!
A day after returning from our Portland adventure, Miss K was repacked and headed back out.
This time to Chicago with her dad and the other branch of the family. Only this time the skies weren’t so friendly … they were stuck on the ground in SF for 10 hours. The delay did give K time in the cockpit with the pilot.
(Excuse the photo quality … cell photo + email = grainy). This photo makes me think of my Grandma for whom K is named. She told my sister and me once that she would never fly on a plane with a woman pilot. In her world, that was a man’s job. Of course, being a flexible and forward-thinking gal, I bet she’d fly with K at the controls. And it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if one day K did fly a plane. After all, she’s been flying on her own power for years …
Making up for yesterday’s nearly 900-word, no photo post, here are a few shots of last weekend’s baby shower for post #200. Yup, this is post 200 or so says my WordPress dashboard and, really, who would know better? Seems like I should cook up something special for 200 … maybe a plan to get to 300 faster with more frequent posts? Hmm … I’ll think on it.
Meanwhile … the view above …
Miss K helped me make a half dozen big poufy flowers in various blue shades. Thanks to Lauri’s idea, we shipped the tissue paper already folded and cut but flat. They made a gorgeous display.
The banner thanks to Lulu (blowing in wind created by the air conditioner on a rather hot Portland day) …
Individual cutlery sets and water bottles (note: turns out that the bottles I picked up in Portland were wider than the ones I’d used for K’s birthday party so the labels were a bit small. We rolled with it …)
And gorgeous flowers from the grandma! It was a splendid party.
There we were, having a quiet evening. Just back from Portland, bags unpacked, laundry done. Quiet playing and reading before bed. When … the dishwasher began a loud, incessant beeping. We have one of those fancy schmancy 2-drawer dishwashers inherited from the previous owner who had finished a kitchen redo the year before we bought the house. With these dishwashers you can run the top or the bottom or both. I was running the top.
Mysteriously, when the beeping started, both drawers got in on the action. Beeping and flashing an F1 with little wrench next to it. How helpful. Wrench = something is wrong. OK. I’ll just turn off the power I thought. The dishwasher was having none of that. As soon as I turned the power button off on the bottom drawer, it went back on. Same with the top. It as like a toddler having a tantrum.
K said, “you should call someone. Call Daddy.” Ahem. I patiently explained that Daddy wouldn’t know any more about how to fix a dishwasher than I would and it was too late to call a repair person. I said, “I’ll find the manual.”
Hmm. Where is that manual? Didn’t I stow all the appliance manuals together in one handy place? I’m sure I did. But they’re not in the office closet. That’s where they should be. Beep! Beep! Beep. “Mommy, it’s getting louder.” Beep! Beep! I wonder to myself if I can just kick it? Or maybe I’ll let it beep all night. Except it feels really hot and is probably a fire danger. Imagining the headline, I go back to the office and look in the credenza. That’s where it is. All organized and tidy just like I remembered (just not in the location I remembered!).
The manual says F1 means “the flood switch has been activated” and to turn off the water source and power to the dishwasher; then call your authorized service representative. Oh fine. As if I know where the frick the water or power to that one appliance is. I guess it must be under the sink. I pull everything out. K says, “while you’re doing that, can I carve stamps?” “No, you cannot carve stamps. Mommy is dealing with an emergency and really needs to focus.”
After a few seconds of blind panic, I see the person who constructed the kitchen has put handy labels on the water tubing; one is labeled dishwasher. I turn it off. Beep! Beep! Beep! Oh yes, which of the 3 power cords is the dishwasher? I have a 33.33333% chance of pulling the right one. I do. Buoyant with girl power, we call it a night.
Next day … enter cute dishwasher repair guy from a local appliance service. I tell Dave what happened. He says, “yep.” I say, “Do you know why it happened?” He says, “yep.” I hesitate … “So what was it?”
Turns out I was using the wrong dishwasher detergent. Despite it’s fancy schmancy-ness, this dishwasher doesn’t work well with liquid (unlike the fancy-schmancy washing machines). The extra bubbles caused several parts to rupture. Surprisingly, it took 5 years to happen … I guess, really, lucky me!
So Dave goes about fixing. I go back to work. Then Dave calls out, “do you want to see it?” More than anything. He shows me the tube that has snapped in half. And also the piece of glass he unearthed from the “trap.”
Dave is quite stern, “When you break a glass, you have to clean out the trap or it will grind down the mechanical parts. Do you clean the trap every month?” I say, “Um, well no. I didn’t realize there even was a trap.” Dave looks over to the manual, which I’ve left on the counter. “Did you read the manual? You have to read the manual.”
I figure it’s pointless to explain that I didn’t actually buy the dishwasher and so I never felt compelled to study it. Beyond looking at it briefly to figure out the basics, I haven’t touched it in 5 years. So instead I nod meekly and agree that reading the manual is exactly what I should do.
I learn that I should be rotating the drawers instead of primarily using the top one or else the parts will wear out unevenly, creating more service needs. Dave then instructs me to use the “jet dry” feature (more news to me!) and shows me how to properly load the dishwasher after informing me that I’ve been doing it incorrectly. And incorrect loading can prevent a tight seal and more F1s. He looks pointedly at me, “It’s all there in the manual.” Finally, Dave asks to see the plates we use. He places several in the dishwasher and tells me they’re OK. Whew! I passed one test right! Apparently, many people have dishes that are too big to fit properly and there are seal problems (again with the seal problems).
Just before he goes, Dave recaps everything I need to correct for the proper care of my dishwasher unless, that is, I want to see him every six months. I make notes.
To the backdrop of the once again quietly humming dishwasher I begin to see parallels between dishwashers and life. And this is what I conclude: if you have a manual, read it. And if you have the manual but don’t read it, at least know where you put it. Thanks Dave.
This is Lulu. She’s the new-to-me sewing machine that I got in February to replace Mabel. Mabel was my mom’s machine. She stitched many an outfit in her day, and continued on to patiently help me create quilts, pillows, tote bags and more. She was having a hard time though. And even after servicing, she couldn’t hold her tension. Poor dear. We ended up ripping out nearly as many seams as went in.
So I found a second-hand Bernina from the sister-in-law of a friend. For months, nothing happened. I didn’t even turn it on. I was intimidated by the machine that looked more computer than sewing tool. That in itself is rather ironic since I spend the majority of my days working on a computer.
The new machine sat and sat despite the many project ideas in my head. It sat until yesterday when it was really to hot to sew but I just had to make one last thing for the baby shower and sewing was required. After 10 minutes of comparing the manual to the machine, I held my breath and started. And wowee wow! The thing sews like butter. The tension is exactly right. My little project was done in less than half an hour without any seam ripping. It worked so well that she had to have a name. Lulu. She feels like a Lulu … all zippy and with a few surprises under her hat.
I can hardly wait to start the next project. First though, we are off on a little adventure to parts North where will go exploring and do some hostessing. Until next week …
It may have been a red, white and blue weekend everywhere else but around these parts it was all blue and green with a little yellow and brown thrown in. Baby shower creating was in high gear as favors were made, decorations created and other little surprises prepared.
Things were going so well that I decided why not handcraft invites for another shower later in July? My actual responsibility for this office/work shower was to send an Evite to all the folks. I was told Evite was a step above the usual invitation process for such events and, while I think Evite is great, it just didn’t feel exactly right. The options didn’t match the ideas in my head.
While at Paper Source doing a bit of hunting and gathering for shower #1, I got a vee-shon for shower #2 invites and decided I just had to make them. Just had to. And so I did.
I didn’t quite realize there were 53 people on the invitation list! Luckily, I had enough paper. But barely enough table and counter space! Each invite was hand-stamped and then a bit of glue painted on the stroller handle and wheels for a sparkle of blue glitter.
The little glassine envelopes (love, love glassine!) hold information about the baby registries and option to contribute to a group gift. I like having that info separate so it doesn’t detract from the invitation itself. Plus the recipients get a little package to open.
All bundled up and ready for FedEx. By the time I was done, I was having doubts about the design, the execution. It was no doubt the result of staring at 50+ of the same thing for a couple days straight. Now that they’re out of my hands, I love them again. And would definitely make my own invitations again!
Two bowls later, and I finally found one that would hold the approximately 1,300 jelly bellys that will be transformed this weekend into baby shower guest favors. Is it weird that I counted them?
Happy 4th to y’all!
When you have the chance to have your face painted at camp, there is only one logical choice …
You proudly put on your fiercest face so mama can capture the moment, then patiently turn for another side profile …
And then you get tired of the whole thing but there is still the full face view to capture …
As the evening wears on, traces of green face paint appear on napkins, on hand towels and on mom (thanks to exuberant hugs). The next morning, traces of green, despite vigorous washing the night before, accessorize the day’s outfit and bring chuckles from the camp counselors.
I come from a family of collectors: phrase collectors. We pepper our speech with turns of phrase that often stump others, as in:
:: If it were a dog, it would have bit you. Meaning: you can’t find something that’s right in front of you.
:: More [insert noun] than Heinz has pickles. Meaning: a lot of something. Why Heinz? Big pickle producer back in the day when this phrase first entered the family lexicon (that would my grandparents age)
:: Happy as if I had good sense. Meaning: really no idea. My mom says this a lot and we like it.
:: Bob’s your uncle. Meaning: it’s all wrapped up. You do X, Y and Bob’s your uncle. (Note: my family swears I made this up but it’s a very popular phrase in British movies and has quite the long history.)
And then there are the little bits and pieces I pick up from friends and books, such as:
:: speedy quick (thanks to Junie B. Jones)
:: snappy (my friend Margo)
:: my princess self (yay for Anne Lamott)
So you can imagine my delight with a recent gift from the Boss girls:
“L is for LollyGag: quirky words for a clever tongue” is right up my alley. Many of the words are old friends but I’m finding new ones to use. I find quirky works well in my line of work. A fun freelancer gets more work than a dull one! So today’s word is: tintinnabulation (tin-tih-nab-yoo-LAY-shun), which is the jingling sound that bells make. I’m off to practice that one so I’m ready for my next conference call!
