Almost Like A Real Grownup.

Today I am color-coordinated from my hairclips down to my shoes. How did I achieve such a feat? Surely, you say, you do not have in your own wardrobe (if it could even be called such) a coral dress, hairclips and shoes, acquired by your own hand! It is true. My "wardrobe" is very lacking in things that meet these 3 requirements: 

1. It fits.

2. It is not threadbare or super faded

3. It is remotely my style.

 Luckily for me, my mom stopped overnight on her way back from market in Atlanta. Even luckier is the shopping trip she and Linda took to H&M making me a recipient of said coral pieces, layered over jeans and a layering T from Linda.  It's enough to almost make me feel like a real grownup.

 Fiona wanted in on the SP action.

Note the bulging vein in my forehead. When I was a teenager my oldest friend Erin pointed it out to me and told me she was jealous of it. Ever since then I have held an attitude of deserved superiority over all my fellow non-bulgy vein underlings. 

Admire me. 

I also have a super bulgy vein in my neck that is kind of crazy when I get upset or intense (rarely) that was brought to my attention as a youth by my brother. I think he was (understandably) jealous. So, I am what they call a double-threat.

 Sigh. 

Almost like a real grownup. 

With 2 prominently bulging veins in my face and neck.

I am so lucky.

First Day of School- Ever.

Today was the day. Bella's first day of school that set her on an educational road to last for at least the next 13 years. Top on my list of concerns: her ensemble. I was up until 2 am getting everything set for her first day. I know.

(Shoes, t-shirt, skirt, brooch, and bobby pins.)

I made this rosette brooch from broadcloth, felt and vintage buttons. I put it all on a pin to wear as a brooch on her shirts, but it doubles as a hair ornament. I was so psyched that she liked it. I told her I was going to make her a bunch in different colors to wear with her different outfits and she asked if she could wear them on her shirts everyday. Sweet.

I freezer paper-stenciled her shirt with a 'b' in Cezanne font but I was disappointed with it. It wasn't dark enough on the navy shirt, so at 10:30 at night I decided to outline it with embroidery, thinking that if I wasn't happy I could fill it in with satin stitch another time. The cutest fabric for a first day of school skirt, and the most beautiful red leather shoes my mom got her in Paris. They are the softest, most supple calfskin- like shoes in the world. I am already mourning that she will outgrow them soon. They will go with so many of her skirts this year, until then.

(I snapped this right after I reminded Bella to look at the circle.)

Drop off time, today only. She'll be a bus rider from now on.

It went better than I anticipated. I was worried about Bella, who frequently throws a fit about going to Primary after Sacrament meeting. She will wail and cry and cling to me as I struggle to physically extricate her from me while she begs me to teach her class. So possibly you can see why I would be nervous about leaving her in a room full of strangers for an 8 hour day. She did so well. She looked a little bit nervous, but I stayed with her for about 15 or 20 minutes, casually gave her a kiss and a hug, and left her. I watched from the door, reluctant to leave. She seemed good. Engaged, curious.

Pick up time. We went to Baskin Robbins afterwards to celebrate and as we drove back home into the neighborhood we were behind her bus which would have been dropping her off at 3:45!!! Sheesh.

I have two trains of thought going about this whole process.

1. I know I am a mother crow, but I think you would be hard pressed to find a cuter Kindergartner ever. This outfit? Seriously? That little body with those long lean legs thanks to her daddy? Her dimples? A collection of materials including fabric, felt, ribbon and vintage buttons? How could you go wrong?

2. The emotional tumult involved. I was up until 1 am, completing the embroidery on her shirt and making her lunch. As I was saying my prayers I started worrying about her. Would she be lonely? Would she miss me? Would she be scared? What would she do when she felt so alone and lost and without a familiar face? I had to make her something to take with her. Something to remind her of home and love and safety and security. I finished my prayer and jumped up to go back out into the darkened house to begin a new and necessary project at 1 am. I knew just what it would be. I made her a small heart out of pink felt, about 1 1/2- 2" tall. I stitched her name on it, stitched it together and stuffed it. When I left her in her classroom this morning I showed it to her. I told her that it was the perfect size to hold in her hand, or keep in her shirt pocket. Anytime she felt lonely or scared or worried, she could hold it in her hand, give it a little squeeze and remember that mama loved her and missed her. When I picked her up from school she was holding it, looking a little worse for the wear, rubbed soft. I'd like to think that it comforted her to have it, but it comforted me to make it. It's as if by outfitting and adorning her with my creations I could send her armed and prepared to meet the world. Padded by the product of long hours spent in love and preparation and carefully chosen materials she would not be alone. I would go with her.

I think she had a great day. I think she loved it. I think this is going to work out...with a few more sleepless nights until I complete the rest of her wardrobe of skirts, shirts, brooches and hair clips.

I have many more pontifications on this new phase of life for us all, but I'm ready to put this day to rest and save pensive for tomorrow.

And now for something completely different..

(That was an obscure Monty Python reference, BTW.)

This is so random, but a brief recap of...oh, the month so far. That's how slow and uneventful my life is out here- i can recap a month in a couple of paragraphs and an equal number of pictures.Timm and I, out on a date! Following my last post I think he determined that I needed a break, something to lift my spirits- and actually getting out of the house with Timm and without child-that was a treat. Luckily I felt up to it.
Several people expressed concern after that post, be in online or otherwise, which I appreciate. However, I feel like I need to better define what this depression consists of. That post, and all of the feelings I expressed are not at all uncommon. That night I did feel particularly disheartened, but in the revolving door of this malady it always comes back to that. Hence my desperation at times, because it seems that if it's not already at my door, it is just lurking around the corner with brief respites. The bizarre thing is that the next morning I felt almost completely recovered. I woke feeling refreshed and content. I couldn't decide whether to feel hopeful or freaked out by that sudden change in feeling. It seemed like such a reversal overnight that it was slightly alarming at how quickly I can 'switch'. Nevertheless I was grateful. It wasn't until this week sometime that it occurred to me that maybe it was a blessing because of so many prayers on my behalf by those who love me. That was a comfort. This week continues to proceed as usual- each day a struggle to find energy, purpose and fulfillment, but so far so good. Each day I am faced with the same choices and sometimes submit to the easiest choice of acquiescence.
Bella, wearing my Sunday shoes. She has an affinity for shoes like I do, no matter how perilously high they might be. These are particularly tricky, but she does very well in them! She also has the stance down pat.
I am continuing to love our Moosey girl. I think she is the perfect dog for our family, but Timm reminds me that she is the perfect dog for me. She is very nearly faultless. She is my constant companion and easy to have around.
Grandma was able to visit for a couple of days earlier this month when she was in town for the High Point market. You gotta love this picture. Great lighting, freshly bathed with neat hair and a Sunday dress- with her finger squarely inserted in her nose.
Of course Bella was delighted to have her around, and the two brief days seemed longer with all we had a chance to do. Even better is to be with Grandma and Linda, her favorite local. Linda is my mom's friend of about 20 years and she lives in Charlotte. She and her family are our go-to for any question we have pertaining to anything in our new lives here! Bella loves everyone in their family and lists them all by name. She loves to sit with them at church, go 'jumpy-jumpy' at their house, go to lunch with Linda, and basically be adored and fussed over by Linda, Paul and their three children still at home. it also has it's benefits for me.
And that's about it for the month of October. More of the same-riding the waves of depression, trying to tally more good days than bad. I still have no real friends though I continue to be busy helping with crafty church activities, so at least people know who I am. I haven't had a social experience with anyone outside of my home or at church since we moved 3 months ago. I'd love to have a friend to scrap with or anything... even if they have to be imported.

Really long travelogue.

These shoes are hot- and sexy. That's why I bought them of course, or more accurately, my mom bought them for me. I was feelin pretty good traveling alone for the first time in years... apparently a little too cavalier and maybe even cocky. These shoes really aren't that uncomfortable- for short periods of time. I was telling a disbelieving woman in the airport that I can run in them- and I can.
Fast Forward about 14 hours later... I am hobbling with a crippled gait, punctuating every several steps with a cry. They are retired for the rest of the trip. Flats are on deck for tomorrow.
Also- apparently I was feeling so footloose and fancy free that I decided I wasn't going to check any bags since I didn't have an arsenal of baby equipment with me. (Most of you can imagine my typical suitcase- no matter how long you're gone, you still need the same amount of makeup and hair products, and a pair of shoes for each outfit. Well, if you're me anyway-) So it was not a good plan. I was saddled with a huge overnight bag that was bursting, but has no closures- then I had my huge purse and my Archiver's bag to hold my travel scrap supplies. I am toddling around the airport pretty aptly with these 3 big bags distributed, until the end when I had just given up. My stupid carry on bag was too big to fit in the overhead compartment, so I had to gate-check it. But remember how I said it doesn't close? It just has flaps- SO to avoid losing my underwear on the tarmac I tied it shut with it's straps. But here's the worst part... I don't know how I was this dense- I was so pleased with the carefree packing situation, never pausing to think about carry on restricitons. I had face wash, face scrub, eye makeup remover, toothpaste, moisturizer, 4 different hair products, ranging in price and quality from Suave to Bumble and Bumble. (All of which are contraband.) Well, I was running really late (I may have come over to Timm's side of the airport arrival time issue...)and the security line was frightening. When I realized my folly, my stomach dropped. I sauntered over to the liquid policeman and poised myself for some convincing whining. Remember, I was wearing the shoes! And since I was at the start of my trip I was still strutting pretty well. He didn't go for it! Suddenly I'm handing over 5 of these products, some of which were brand new. I decided enough was enough and I wasn't going to hand the rest over. I only relinquished what he saw- I took all my hair products and buried them at the bottom of my bag. (Remember- I had some $20 Bumble and Bumble pomade, courtesy of my mom.) So even though I'm getting dangerously close to missing my flight, I decided to risk it further by hiding contraband in my carry on. Then I realized that I also had two pairs of fine tip scrapping scissors and an X-acto in my bag. ('Oh no you didn't!' I say with a head snap) That clinched it. I covered those with my art journal and proceeded through security, prepared to feign any memory of packing those. I went through, and they sent my scrap bag through twice and studied it for a long time, but in the end I left with the rest of my belongings on my person. And incidentally, they were calling my name for a final boarding when I raced up to the gate. They were waiting for me, and by this time I was sweating from the stress and racing of it all, which makes me both shiny and cranky-Bad news. Terrorism took on a new reality for me today folks- It has now penetrated my lifestyle and the freedoms I used to so ignorantly enjoy. What kind of a world do we live in when I have to relinquish Clearasil as a possible terrorist weapon? Now it's gone too far. Now it's personal. I estimate about...$30 in product that I just threw away. What's next? I have now become personally acquainted with the effects of terrorism, and I am not pleased. On a high note, I did escape with an estimated $50 in other personal effects. That oughta be a comfort for those actual terrorist threats...
Last item, for tonight.
On the last leg of my flight I boarded one of those tiny planes that you have to climb the stairs to enter, and only seat 3 across, divided in 2 rows. The overhead bins weren't big enough to hold anything larger than a laptop, and you couldn't stand fully erect. Luckily, I sat in the one single seat divided by the aisle that separated me from the other 2 passengers in my row. Enter: Clean cut Goth boy Sans makeup. I noticed him in the terminal, because who wouldn't? and lo and behold here he was. Full wardrobe- platform black leather boots, black pants, black shirt, black floor-length coat, and a charming black hat that resembled a stetson. (It was 97 degrees people. Fashion preferences aside, are you crazy?) He was surprisingly clean cut and otherwise resembled a fairly normal young man. For some reason, he kept catching my eye and kind of sharing these knowing looks at me except I didn't know what I was supposed to know apparently. I politely turned my attention away from him. Until- he took a small tin from his pocket, and curiosity directed my gaze in his direction. It was chew. I immediately turned away to avoid recoiling from him. I cannot express how vile it was. I have never seen someone actually chewing, and I wanted to vomit as he tucked this huge wad under his lip- And then he started using his water bottle as his spitoon, and I physically shuddered. It was the grossest, most practiced, and efficient spit I have ever witnessed. It struck the bottom of the plastic water bottle with a sickening noise. He proceeded to do this through the whole flight,and it never eased my disgust. I tried to bury myself in my book and was pitying the old woman who so mercifully separated me from him, but every time he raised the water bottle for his succinct spit, I shut my eyes and breathed deeply. I couldn't help but react, but I don't think he noticed. Let it be known that I think that is one of the most vile habits, and one that I hope never to witness again. Now that I am in the south however, I may have another such interaction with the Good Ol' Goth Boy.

That was entirely too long, but I felt I really needed to convey the experience accurately. If you've read this far you are either a true friend, or really bored.