The English Geek

My Father's Daffodils

For as long as I have been an aunt, my family has had the tradition of an Easter egg hunt in my mom's backyard on Easter Sunday. Because we tend to enjoy food, we also eat dinner together. As my oldest niece was born when I was 15 or 16, we've been doing this for a long, long time. Certain groupings of experiences have come and gone: the times when the amount of girls vastly outnumbered the boys, the year when we had three babies (this was Haley's first Easter), the times when the amount of boys vastly outnumbered the girls, the year we added cute little baskets to the hunt. Snowy Easters or bright, perfect ones; plenty of new spring outfits admired and photos snapped and strawberry-based desserts devoured

Since Kayci (the oldest niece) got married the year Ben and Kaleb (the youngest grandsons) were born, we didn't have an Easter with every one of my parents' grandchildren before the in-laws started being added. But every year, part of our tradition has been to get all the kids together for an Easter photo. We did some with Grandma and Grandpa and some without. Sometimes we took them in the front yard, sometimes in the back; sometimes, on snowy Easters, on the porch or inside, on the couch.

And for so many of those Easter Sundays, my dad was there, smiling, telling his slightly off-color jokes to Kendell, helping to hide the eggs full of candy. He and I would always talk about spring flowers, which ones were blooming, how the lilac bush was coming along, what the name of those tiny little purple flowers blooming by his antique wagon wheel might be. (He never seemed to remember exactly.) One Easter he played baseball with Nathan, who was just 18 months old. He was quite but still an essential part of the experience. Until he couldn't be any longer. Until silence took him away.

This year, for a variety of reasons, we had our Easter Sunday party on Palm Sunday instead. Some family drama meant that some of the nieces and nephews didn't come. We only had five kids to hunt eggs: my grand-niece Oakley, who is almost one; my two youngest and Becky's two boys. It was cold today, grey and blustery, and none of my father's daffodils were blooming yet. I felt heartsore, missing him, missing the years when all the grandkids were still little, the days when my knowledge was not yet so deeply felt and I thought that things would stay the way they were forever.

"Maybe this will be the last Easter party," my mom, who would like to sell her house and move into something smaller, said to me, while we were waiting for the men to hide the eggs. (It's tradition.) It felt like the last to me. Or maybe the one after the one that should have been the last. I don't know. When do you acknowledge that the family you have might be too large and diverse to continue insisting on pliability and similarity? When do you find that your own small family is enough? When do the edges snap away?

I went out to the front porch of my childhood home, scene of myriad memorable events. I looked up at the trees that were my height when Dad planted them, and then down at his flowerbeds, which were littered with little purple grape hyacinths. I talked to my sisters; I laughed. I went to the backyard and watched the small group hunt for their candy-filled eggs, revisiting the same hiding places the older generation had long ago discovered. When there were only a few eggs left, I walked with Kaleb, trying to help him find just one more treasure.

But it was me who found a treasure, just for a whisper of a moment. I thought of the blooming purple flowers, of the tulips with their green hands still shut tight and the lilac bush just barely covered in pale green leaves. I thought of all that has passed away. And I felt him there, my daddy, in the backyard that he loved and nurtured. Even though it's weedy now, and the swing set is knocked down and rusting. Even though the daffodils weren't blooming yet. He was there with me, just for a moment. He was there because he made it. He's gone but his grandkids still race around the beautiful space he made. He's gone but his grape hyacinths are still spattering the soil with lavender quiet. He's gone, but the trees he planted rustled in the wind and the flowers he planted worked their way towards blooming and somehow all the changes, the edges slowly breaking off, felt OK. Felt like how things just naturally progress. And they felt OK because of that moment. Because he made it OK.

Something moved away from me then. Perhaps it was the expectation that things will ever be the same. Maybe it won't be the last Easter party. But it will be the last time I expect it to bring me the same bright joy. It will have its own sadness, no matter where we have the party. And next Sunday, when it is Easter, I will only have my own children around me. Make it good, the wind whispered to me in my father's voice. Make it your own.

I will, Dad. I will.

{What I Love} no14: this Valentine's Day

Life is ironic. Here I am, an avowed Valentine's Day hater, trying to de-grinch myself by writing all month about stuff I love. And life turns around and gives me one of my favoritest Valentine's Days ever.

Here's how it went:

First, this morning, I treated myself to a caramel hot chocolate from McDonald's on my way home from driving the kids to school. (Yes, I was still in my pajamas!) I made valentines for my kiddos, a batch of pizza dough for dinner, and a batch of sugar cookie dough for dessert, and then I rushed off to work, where my coworker immediately gave me a bar of chocolate.

When my shift was about half-way finished, I was sitting at the main desk. My library has what we call a bridge, which is a glassed-in walkway between two wings. I was working on some book group stuff (as I am wont to do) when I looked up and saw four middle-aged men walking across the bridge. They had on matching outfits: black pants, red sweaters with black shirts underneath, and black and red floral-print ties. I wonder who that obviously-a-barbershop-quartet group is going to sing to? I thought, sitting up straighter to greet them. Whomever it is is going to be slightly embarrassed.

I never thought it would be me.

But it was. Kendell had hired his friend's group to serenade me. In the middle of the library! It was awesome, even though I was blushing so hard I'm fairly certain I was purple. Before they started singing one of them asked me if they could sing as loud as they usually do, or if I would get fired. I made an executive decision to let them sing loudly. It was lovely and sweet and thoughtful and memorable!

When I got home, I discovered that Haley had cleaned the kitchen, Kaleb had made me a sweet Valentine cobbled together from some of his favorites from school, and Kendell had dropped by the jewelry store to pick up my anniversary/Valentine's Day gift (which I shall blog about tomorrow). More sweetness! I had to run to Costco quickly, as I had run out of time that morning to buy the pizza toppings. The second I got home all the kids and I worked together to make the pizzas. When we make pizza at my house, each kid has an 8" pan of his/her own. I spread the dough and then the kids make the exact pizza they want. Kaleb discovered he likes canadian bacon!

After we ate, we cut out the cookies, then baked them, and Kaleb just, all by himself while I was eating, frosted them all.

Tonight, I get it. I get why people love Valentine's Day. And while I don't think I'll get (or even want or need) jewelry, flowers, and a singing quartet every year from now on, that is OK. That it's happened just this year is good enough. It's awesome, in fact. Because now I have this Valentine's Day, the one I can look back on with sweet fondness no matter what any other year brings!

How was your Valentine's Day?

it came without ribbons

(although, there were ribbons—400 feet of curly ones, to be exact; and bows—nearly two entire bagsful; there were boxes and packages and some of my favoritest-ever tags on the Santa gifts)

I didn't know if I would feel it this year, that enveloping spirit of Christmas. I tried to be more prepared so that in the last week before the big day, I could relax. Maybe bake a little, make my traditional candy. Spend time with the kids. I did manage to get nearly everything wrapped before the kids' last days of school, which made me feel a little better. But I still left too many things until the end. Instead of the relaxing pre-Christmas week I'd imagined, I needed to finish a sewing project. I went to my mom's house twice to help her clean out her basement. I made next year's calendar which meant a long stint with Photoshop and the resulting headache. (Am I the only person in the digital world who gets Photoshop-induced headaches? I can't be, can I?) I got the Christmas cards printed (finally) and the Christmas letter written. I agonized over the list of presents, knowing one kid would feel neglected but not entirely certain how to fix it. I nearly had a tiny little temper tantrum in the middle of Buckle over that very worry (luckily Haley was there with me and managed to talk me down). I went to the mall, to Target, to Costco, to Walmart, to Kohls, to another Walmart and another Target and another Costco and two fabric stores and two bakeries and three different gas stations and Office Max for good measure. I stood for two hours inside Target talking to people we kept bumping into. My late nights got progressively later: 12:45, 1:30, 2:15. 3:00. I was surviving on sugar & caffeine and feeling very Bilbo-esque: like butter scraped over too much bread.

But perhaps that very exhaustion (combined with the overwhelming anxiety of feeling like I hadn't done enough or made it good enough) that made it seem impossible to feel the Christmas spirit was the very thing that allowed it (once I let myself relax a little) to flood my heart in unprecedented richness.

I've already written down the details of my children's Christmases, so that come January (or some random other time in the future) when I sit down to scrap the photos, I won't have forgotten any of the details. The moments that felt like my gifts, when I felt the elusive but at last pervasive here is Christmas at last feeling I am setting down here:

The Hug

When I was a kid, my sisters and I had a tradition of drawing names for each other's gifts. I don't remember if we opened these "sister gifts" on Christmas eve or Christmas day, but I know we all looked forward to it. I've kept that tradition with my kids, only we call them the "sibling gifts" and always open them on Christmas eve, after the pajamas but before the reading of Luke chapter 2. This year, Haley gave to Kaleb and she decided to get him a soccer ball. He's been wanting his own soccer ball for awhile but I kept putting it off, so he was completely surprised and excited. After thanking Haley, he came to me where I was sitting on the couch. "Momma," he said. "Thank you for this soccer ball. I love it so much!" And then he hugged me. His affection felt so entirely real and his gratitude so sincere. In just that instant I felt like all my pent-up anxieties melted away and then a flood of Christmas spirit.

The Reading

Even though it causes some eye rolling and "really?"s, I insist on everyone sitting down and reading the Nativity story. Usually I do the actual reading, but this year Jake asked to do it. Oh, my. This made my eyes swell up with tears, although I didn't let anyone see. I want to remember him reading those verses in his not-quite-14-year-old voice.

Cooking in the Dark of Night

Kendell usually falls asleep before I do on Christmas eve. This used to sort of bug me. Wasn't the playing of Santa something couples all across America doing together? But I long ago realized that I actually love doing it myself. It makes me happy and gives me a chance to think. This year, he fell asleep as usual, but Haley stayed up with me while I finished the food for the next day. I needed to make the sausage casserole, finish the sweet rolls, and put together the wassail. Haley did the sweet rolls while I did the rest. We talked and laughed and got stuff done. I'm certain she would have stayed up with me to put out the gifts, too. But I still wanted her to have some magic in the morning. She helped me carry the sacks of presents downstairs and then she went to bed. Having her help with the food gave me a deep happiness. It helped me remember that while the Christmases of her childhood are past, there is much joy to find in these of her adolescence.

 

 

The Sacrament
Our church had an hour-long meeting with the other two congregations in our area. My kids resisted going to church a little bit, but they didn't know it wouldn't ever be an option not to. Aside from the fact that, hello! It's Christmas. We are celebrating Christ here, not commercialism! but there was a moment I wanted to have. In our church, the boys who are 12 and 13 years old pass the sacrament. This means that for the past few weeks, Jake and Nathan have been passing it together. There will never be this moment again in the history of moments: these two brothers passing the sacrament at the same time on Christmas Sunday. I knew it would matter to me. What I didn't realize was the effect the combination of three congregations would have. There were 18-20 boys, in dark suits and ties, gathered together in a mass to serve other people. None of them are perfect, I know. But the combined strength of their goodness and their right intentions was so palpable I almost couldn't look at any of them. It brought, almost more than any other moment, the true meaning of Christmas into sharp focus for me.

The LaughCry
One of the songs we sang in church was "Away in the Manger." It reminded me of something I'd completely forgotten: the cattle were lowing. My dad always used to joke about that. "What does it mean, the cattle are 'lowing'?" he'd joke. "Have you ever heard a cow low? I thought they mooooooooo'd" and then he'd sing the sing with "moo" replacing "low." I did that combination laughcry, a hiccup's-worth of uncontrolled emotion: laughter at his sense of humor and at being able to find it in such an unexpected place, sorrow because—I miss him. I miss him always, but I miss him at Christmas, when he'd always manage to find a dirty joke to tell at the dinner table and then give my mom something wildly inappropriate and too expensive. I miss how he made me laugh but I am joyful that he can still manage it.

The Bells
"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" has never been one of my favorite carols. I don't dislike it, but I don't love singing it. When you compare it to the exuberance of "Far Far Away on Judea's Plain" or the elegant joy of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear," "Bells" just seems so somber. At the end of the meeting, however, we sang it, and the pianist played it on the organ instead of the piano. The organ was set so it sounded just like bells, and that shift in the music completely undid me. Haley and Nathan both asked me why I was crying. I couldn't help it. The anxieties of the preparation, the arguments over spending, the stress of wanting to make everything just right, and the way I had felt so certain that peace would not be found—these things felt perfectly summed up by the idea of "the wrong," which the song says will fail. God is not dead. My heart revolved to day.

The Gifts

There were three gifts this year I was so excited to see opened:

• a necklace with the saying "Keep calm and carry on" that I found at an Etsy shop for Haley. This has been her motto lately and I knew she would love it. 
• Nathan's iPod. We agonized long and hard over whether or not we should get this for him. It was expensive (although, being us, we didn't buy it until we found an excellent deal), and seemed excessive. He also had his heart set on it. We did a great job at convincing him that we would not buy it for him. It was the last gift he opened and his face made all that agonizing worth it.
• the quilt I made for Jake. (This will eventually get its own post, it's that big!). I bought the fabric for this over a year ago—I know, mother Fail. As a kid who just simply likes to have a blanket around, he's worn out two quilts this year. Plus I wanted him to have one that I'd made just for him. Even though it was a fairly simple design, and tied instead of quilted (per his request), it still stressed me out a bit. And honestly: he wasn't over-the-top excited when he opened it. But the day after Christmas, he told me how good he'd slept with his new quilt, and again with the sincerity: it told me that my efforts were appreciated.

All of which served to let me see that I have arrived squarely in the middle of that part of life when giving really, really is better than receiving.

My Gift
Although, Haley did give me something pretty awesome! She put this four-photo panel together for me, starting with finding the frame, taking the photos (trust me...three boys are hard to photograph), developing the photos, and assembling it all. I love it. The frame is exactly my taste and the photos are perfect. Even the font she used was just right!

I wasn't sure, starting this post, if I could say what I wanted to express. I don't think I have, exactly. Perhaps this is because I don't have the way to put into words what I felt. But I will keep this words I did manage and use them as a reminder, next year, when I am, frazzled and stressed and sad, my own Amy version of Grinchiness: if I let it, it will come. Christmas will visit my heart, too, even if I am anxious and exhausted, in ways I can never imagine but which are exactly what is needed.

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.

Christmas Eve

Right now, I am wishing I had one of those totally-on-top-of-it personalities. Alas, I do not. I'm feeling panicked about my Santa Claus duties: will the kids like their gifts? Will I have disappointed any of them? Is everything evenly dispersed? And about my culinary traditions: the caramel isn't made yet; I did make a batch of fudge but it turned out so disastrously that it was inedible; I haven't made cookies for Santa yet. And slightly disturbed about the list of things I still have to do that I should have accomplished, somehow, this week, like mailing the Christmas cards (we took the photos back in October! like, before Halloween! why was it so hard to get it printed before yesterday?) (But, I did take some solace in the fact that there were twelve other harried mothers waiting in line at Costco to pick up their Christmas cards, too. At least I'm not the only one.), or finishing the little handmade gifts I was going to make for friends, or going to Temple Square to see the lights.

Plus I can't find Kendell's Christmas present. Like, seriously. I'm afraid I might have thrown it away. I don't know where. it. is.

And all this last-minute franticness is making me feel like once again I've missed the point. I so wanted today to be a peaceful one, when I wasn't in full-out panic mode. Because I wanted to feel the spirit of Christmas. I wanted to savor just being with my kids. I wanted to feel like it was all to celebrate Christ's birth, not to celebrate getting and spending.

But, alas, I didn't manage it. So, once more into the fray. But I'm trying to keep this little fragment of poem (which I just memorized) in my heart as I go, just in case:

Then sped my thoughts to keep
     that first Christmas of all
When the shepherds watching
     by their folds ere the dawn
Heard music in the fields
     and marveling could not tell
Whether it were angels
     or the bright stars singing.
                             (Robert Bridges)

I hope your Christmas eve and Christmas day are full of peace and joy!

The Answer to That Question is Always Yes

It's December 16---single-digit countdown to Christmas. I've wrapped nearly every present I've purchased. I've had the traditional Santa-Claus-is-not-real-and-all-this-magic-making-occasionally-takes-me-away-from-the-fing-laundry argument with my husband. I have freaked out by losing a Very Important Gift in one of my super-secret hiding spots but then found it again. I have panicked about failing to maintain my "wow, she's crafty" status and set myself an overwhelmingly impossible-to-finish-in-time sewing task. I have had a meltdown in the middle of Victoria's Secret. I've eaten approximately 1,289 Lindt Dark Chocolate Peppermint Truffles (must. eat. as. many. as. possible. They are a limited edition after all.)

I've reached the snarky stage of December.

And really. Who wants to bottle up her snark? Bottling it up is the worse thing that you can do. Bottled snark causes cancer, acne, and wrinkles. Better out than in I always say! So instead of keeping it all in the eternal loop that's been going and going and going in my head all day (the 4.5 hours of sleep I got last night? probably not helping my Snarky Stage), I am here to share them, the questions I always answer yes to:

1. Do drivers of SVUs that are so long they trap me in the McDonald's drive thru when they've pulled up into that little "wait here while we fix your order" spot bug me?
2. Do I feel guilty for the voice in my head that judges said SVU drivers for their negative environmental impact?
3. Am I internally rolling my eyes when someone asks me for a happy, uplifting book with no sex, swearing, violence, or anything depressing that will change their life forever?
4. Does my laundry room look like the overflow from an episode of Hoarders?
5. Am I terrified to balance the checkbook?
6. Do I go over and over the Christmas list because I'm paranoid one or another kid will think he or she was treated unfairly?
7. Do I have a secret affection for "Sexy and I Know It?" (Well, only because it's got a beat and you can dance to it.)
8. Have I completely failed in the exercise-and-eat-healthy department lately?
9. Does my back hurt? And my ITB even when I'm just walking up the stairs? (the answer to that question also includes the letters W., T, and F., BTW.)
10. Did I harangue my husband in the middle of WalMart last night?
11. Did I screech like a fishwife at not just one but every. single. one. of my kids this week?
12. Did I completely forget that I was supposed to bring donuts to Kaleb's class yesterday to celebrate his Half Birthday? And then take some giant steps backward in my non-self-flagellation goals once I realized what I'd done?
13. Does my kitchen table look like...well, something no one's invented a simile for, it is that messy?
14. Did I spend too much money at Lands' End, the Gap, Amazon, and Aeropostale? (but! Also! did I get amazing & incredible bargains!?!)
15. Did I really eat three more Lindt truffles while I wrote this blog post?

What question do you always answer yes to?

Christmas Eve Notebook Revisited

Last year I wrote this post at Write. Click. Scrapbook. about my Christmas Eve notebook tradition.

The gist of the idea is this: every year, after I've played Santa, I take a midnight shot of the Christmas tree with its pile of gifts, and then I write in my Christmas Eve notebook. Here is where I focus on my emotional responses to what the holidays have brought so far, and what I am anticipating for the next day. We all work so hard to make sure Christmas is perfect for our kids! This little moment is the thing I do for me to help me feel peaceful and centered and refreshed.

Since that WCS post was done on Christmas Eve day last year, I had a couple of people ask me to remind them to do it this year. SO!

Here's your reminder. You don't have to make an altered notebook like I did. You just have to get a notebook that is dedicated to the experience, set aside some time on Christmas Eve, and write down what you are experiencing this year.

Happy writing!

Finding my Holiday Spirit

Since today is the tenth, December is one-third finished. I've decorated every free and available space, finished a significant amount of shopping and wrapping, survived our Christmas card photo shoot (my sanity was shaky), and gotten the annual "why are we spending so much money on gifts?" argument out of the way. I have managed to proccur the perfect Christmas-Eve pajamas and to settle on the exactly-right new ornament for each of my kids. I've got Christmas music playing and Christmas candles burning and even a few Christmas treats settling into my chubby thighs.

I should be brimming with holiday spirit.

But I can’t seem to find it.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t written either my November in Review or my Thanksgiving posts. Perhaps I can’t embrace December until I get November out of my heart.

Maybe it’s because the Christmas Fabric Selection at my local fabric stores was dismal this year, so I have zero sewing projects.

But really I think it’s because time seems to be going too quickly. Back on make-some-decisions Wednesday (aka the day before Thanksgiving) as I was talking to the kids about what they were hoping Santa might bring them for Christmas, I felt an odd sense of despair growing in my chest. I literally wanted to weep, watching my kids write down their wishes. Didn’t I just do this? It feels like we need to invent another month, insert it right here, and then just exist for 31 days. Maybe then I would feel it—if I just had some time to take a deep breath. Instead it feels like I have only seconds before Christmas will arrive, and everything I have left to do paralyzes me.

I don’t like that I feel this way. I used to love the entire Christmas process, even the stressful bits. In fact, I’ve made it a goal to not be all bah-humbug about the holidays. I remember, as a kid, listening to my mom talk about hating Christmas. Hating Christmas? That sounded like the saddest thing ever. Of course, my perspective was different—I was on the receiving end of the magic, not the making. But I decided after our first Christmas in our house (the year we didn't put a tree up because we'd moved in just a week before Christmas and we were in the no-Christmas-joyland of not having kids) that, even though the magical part—the believing in Santa—was long gone for me, and even though I'd never feel that tingly anticipation of looking at the gifts under the tree and wondering which ones might be for me, I'd still love Christmas. I'd find joy, I promised myself, in making the magic. And really: I’ve never hated Christmas. I’ve always loved playing Santa, figuring out the perfect surprises, wrapping gifts in color- and/or pattern-coordinated wrapping paper. I searched for extra things to do, like crafty, handmade gifts, or a quick mini scrapbook, or a quilt, or even (last year) 35 pieced hot pads.

This year feels completely different. The joy seems to have seeped away and I feel dangerously close to repeating my mom’s pronouncement about hating Christmas. No—the word "hate" is definitely too strong. Instead, I feel like something is missing. Perhaps it’s energy, because the process of shopping and wrapping gifts for each of my kids feels overwhelming and exhausting. It doesn’t feel like I’m fulfilling desires but just checking objects off of a list they each made out of obligation and because it was time, not because they actually need these things. Perhaps it’s the magic I’m missing—Nathan let me know that he knows, now, the Santa-Claus Truth, so that means I only have one believer left. Or, maybe it’s a feeling of freshness that is missing. All of our traditions seem repetitive and hollow to me right now, motions we make because they are the same motions we’ve always made.

In fact, just now, I had an ah-ha moment. (The very thing I love about writing: it brings you to truths you didn’t know you had in you.) I’m sad because I don’t have a houseful of little believers—but perhaps instead of mourning the loss of what has passed, I need to figure out new ways of enjoying what I do have. Perhaps I need to create new, bigger-kid traditions.

Only—and this is strange and I’ve just recently realized it—my memories of adolescent Christmases are vague. I remember a few things: cracking open my fresh copy of The Clan of The Cave Bear in front of the fireplace on Christmas night when I was 15, putting my Alphaville record on to play for the first time, coaching my mother on which tapes she really should buy for me ("No, Mom, not Paula Abdul"). I remember the excitement I felt the year I got my stereo and I remember shopping for a bottle of perfume for my mom that I was totally getting her because *I* wanted to wear it. (Passion by Elizabeth Taylor.) (Which, by the way, you can still buy, although none of the department stores near me carry it. They sell it on Amazon, though. I just checked.) But I don't remember traditions or experiences that stood out or made things extradordinary.

Which makes me wonder: How did your parents make your adolescent Christmases feel magical? Or what traditions have you implemented with your teenagers (or your older non-believers) to make the holiday feel fresh? My sagging Christmas spirits would love to be advised!

Halloween 2011: the costume stories

Right now, my house looks like Halloween exploded. Kaleb got halfway through sorting his candy before getting tired, so there's candy spread all over the front room floor. There are piles of discarded costumes here and there. And every. single. one. of the donuts are gone (even the one I was saving for myself although, alas, someone else ate it; my donut appetite is annoyed but my belly fat is not).

I need to deHalloween.

Instead I'm trying to clean up the computer room, which has been the scene of all my Halloween sewing. First the quilt, then two costumes. Toss in the few scrapbook layouts I managed to make this month, Kaleb's piles of crayons, markers, and pens (he's been on a drawing spree lately), and the bag of new supplies I bought at Archivers (who had an actual SALE...I don't think I've everbeen to a sale at Archivers before last Friday), and yeah: this room is getting my attention first.

Still, a photo I love from last night's activities:

Haley was a leopard. She and I shared a costume this year, which turned out just fine since I needed the leopard parts on Saturday the 29th. (Note to self: Although I referred to myself as a cheetah, it really was a leopard.)

Jake gave me a last-minute costume meltdown. Sort of. He told me that he wanted one of those "this IS my costume" Halloween t-shirts. I assumed that meant he wanted to wear it as his costume. Then, the day before Halloween, he was like, "Mom! I don't have a costume!" and I was like "what do you mean, you have your cool t-shirt!" and he was all "but I can't wear that for trick or treating!" so I was in a panic to find him a cool, non-stupid, teenage-boy-appropriate costume. ON HALLOWEEN DAY. Haley suggested he be Frankenstein's monster, which really would only require a trip to the Halloween store for make up and then a trip to the thrift store for a suit jacket. Luck was on my side, though, as I found this Frankenstein's monster-esque costume at the Halloween store, on sale, so I didn't even have to go to the thrift store. Add some hand-drawn stitches and he was good!

Nathan was sort of unenthusiastic about Halloween in general this year. He wanted to wear the same cloak he wore last year but didn't want to be Aragorn again. He came up with the idea of being Robin Hood. Easy enough! I sewed his tunic and his hat. (I used this brilliant hat pattern to make the hat; I only had to cut out and re-sew three different times before I figured it out, but it still turned out great I think.) Adding to his Halloween letdown are the facts that his friend from school couldn't come over and the kids from the neighborhood didn't include him in their plans. Plus, in a horrible Bad Mother Moment, I failed at procuring a bow and arrow set from the dollar store for him. I don't think it was his favorite Halloween ever.

After much discussion, Kaleb decided to be a pirate. Actually...much discussion happened, and then *I* decided he would be a pirate because the pirate costume pattern was on sale at the fabric store for just $1. I finished his vest about a week ago and he wore it as often as he remembered to. At first I was sort of antsy about this, because I didn't want anything to happen to it. Then I decided it didn't matter. He could be a bedraggled pirate if worse came to worst. And nothing did happen, until last night when he was running in to eat dinner (pizza of course!) and he fell, scraped off the entire top half of a fingernail, and tore a hole in his pants. (You know...the pants I finished sewing late Sunday night, after the church Halloween party; another Mom Fail.) He was crying so hard over his fingernail and broken pirate gun, and terrified that he'd have to go to the hospital for stitches instead of going trick or treating, that he didn't even notice the hole in his pants. It's always good to look on the bright side!

How did YOUR Halloween costuming go?

The {finished!} Halloween Quilt

My mom has a theory about holiday quilts: she thinks they don’t have to be perfect because they’re just out for a month or two. Since she’s not especially in love with Halloween, this goes double for Halloween quilts—costumes, too, for that matter. I’ve interpreted her theory in a different way: by "not perfect" I’ve meant "not finished." I have two Halloween quilts in various stages of incompletion.

One is the first quilt I ever pieced. The entire top is finished and has been waiting to be quilted for five years now. I don’t know what to do with it—I hate how it turned out and so spending the time to quilt it seems pointless. But I also don’t want to throw it away. So it sits in the bottom of the box of Halloween decorations and makes me feel guilty every year.

The other one I love. The fabric has these six great witches (witches are my favorite Halloween theme), so I set each one into a big frame, and then freeform quilted around them. The quilting is finished, but I had the great idea of sewing the binding on with a scallop stitch. I got about 1/4 the way through this process, which requires a double needle, when my double needle broke. Every September for the past two years I’ve thought to myself "go! Go right now! Order a new double needle. Order five or six or ten so you’re never in this predicament again!" And then I go back outside.

But! This October, I did something I have never done before: I finished a Halloween quilt. Don’t believe me? See for yourself:

(Kudos go to Kendell for helping me figure out a way to hang the quilt from the fence. The opposite of kudos to me for not waiting until there wasn't a shadow to take this picture.)

Perhaps I managed this because it’s really a simple quilt. I started with the panel and then added strips, frame-style, until it was huge. Then, aside from the panel (which is full of free-form quilting), I quilted in squares. This is a really simple process, sort of the opposite of quilting in the ditch. You start with the right edge of your sewing foot against the seam of the piecing. You use this seam as your guideline. Once you’ve outlined the inside of the seam, you do the same thing for the outside. Here's a close-up of what I mean:

I like the pattern of four long lines it made on the back:

I’m sure there’s a name for this style of quilting, but I don’t know it. I do know it’s what all the cool quilters are doing!

I'm pleased with how the back of this quilt turned out, too:

(Have I said before that I love pieced backings?) (Those little white blobs are ghosts.) Although, that extra strip at the bottom was really a mistake. When I finished quilting I realized that even though I had a good four inches of extra fabric on the top, the bottom edge of the backing was too short. This reflects my impatience with the quilt-sandwich process. I didn’t get it sandwiched straight. So, I straightened up the edge and added the little strip. It’s OK.

But! I’d like to point out the binding, just because it is not, despite how it seems, cut on the bias.

I hate and abhor cutting bias strips on the bias. You end up with 2,857 seams. It makes me crazy. But I love the diagonal-strip look it gives. Enter this fabric, which might just be the perfect Halloween-quilt binding ever  because the stripes are printed diagonally. Brilliant! I would thank the manufacturer except I already threw away the selvage so I don’t know who makes it. Another thing I like about the binding is it’s a little bit wider on the front than I usually do. I cut the strips to 2 ½" instead of the usual 2 1/4", and then I sewed it to the back using a scant 3/8" seam. This made for a little bit of extra fabric to fold up to the top—and, somehow, made all the corners turn out perfectly. (Corners didn’t use to give me trouble, but somehow since the great Hot Pad Sewing Caper of Christmas 2010, I cannot seem to get them square anymore. Or, only half turn out square.)

At any rate. This quilt is based on a pattern called "Russian Shawl," from Jane Brocket's book The Gentle Art of Quiltmaking. Her quilt is assembled as a giant log cabin; I assembled mine as a giant frame square: start with the middle square/rectangle; add the top and bottom strips and then the left and right strips and just keep building. I don't think it matters which way you go! If you wanted to make something similar, here are the measurements: 

• Fabric A (the middle piece): Mine is a panel about 15" x 18". If you don’t want to use a panel, you could start with an 18"x18" square. Use a fabric with a big, bold print for the middle!
• Fabric B (the narrow strip around A and E): ½ yard
• Fabric C (the first wide strip): ½ yard
• Fabric D (the narrow strip around C and F): 3/4 yard
• Fabric E (the second wide strip): 24"
• Fabric F (the third wide strip): 28"
• Fabric G (the fourth wide strip): 1 yard
• Fabric H (the binding): 3/4 yard

(You will have bits and pieces left over; use them to piece the backing.)

The narrow strips are 2" (cut, not finished) and the wide strips are 5 ½" (cut, not finished).

Happy {Halloween} quilting!

 

on Celebrating my Motherhood

Yesterday I had a Mom Meltdown. You know how it goes: one random kid manages to push just the wrong random button and it was the wrong button to push for no apparent reason. Cue Mom Meltdown, which is just as ugly and devastating as a nuclear meltdown; the poison is all metaphorical, but still. And the thing is, it's not just the surrounding people who bear the damage, but the reactor, too. So I wandered through the rest of the afternoon feeling dejected and horrid and pathetic.

Then I had a chat with one of my Costco friends. (Yes, it's true: I go to Costco enough that I have friends who work there. I mean...I don't know her last name, but we talk like long-lost pals every time she gets me my food court order.) She wished me a happy mother's day and my eyes started leaking (and yes, another truth: I wore my sunglasses the whole time I was shopping for groceries so no one could see my red eyes) and we both said at the same time "I don't really like Mother's Day." Then I said, "I'm not sure anyone but the perfect mothers do" and we both laughed and I felt better.

This morning I woke up to an instant, clear thought: just celebrate your motherhood. Not because I am perfect at it—I am not. I have far too many nuclear reactor moments. My house is rarely picked up enough and I can't manage a dinner that makes everyone happy and there's almost never fresh baked cookies after school. Last week (yes, all five school days) everyone had to fish for their socks in the clean socks bucket instead of pulling them out of their drawers. My toilets need to be cleaned and I haven't taught any of my kids the habit of making their beds every day.

Actually, the list of my failures is too long to continue writing.

But I felt, with an astounding clarity, that the failures weren't the point. The successes, also, didn't matter. Instead, the prompting was simply: celebrate the fact of your motherhood. Be joyful that you were given children. Be certain that you are giving them strengths.

And so, all day, I have been thinking about that. Although I am often overwhelmed with those failures, and with feeling that I am doing far less than I am capable of, I don't want my children to think that I am not grateful to be their mom. In ways I almost don't have words for, along with stories I cannot blog about, I am grateful for my motherhood. Grateful for what it has taught me, to be sure: patience, and the boundless capabilities of love, and the sheer miraculous joy of being alive. But grateful, also, for what it has given me: these amazing children—these unique, individual people—with their strengths and personalities and dreams. I ache for them and rejoice with them and cherish them beyond everything else.

The path that brought me to motherhood was an unusual one. Things happened that created many changes in my heart. Had those hard choices not been made, I don't think I would have wanted to have children. The hard things happened in order to create that desire within me. Perhaps, had I not become a mother, I would have accomplished the other goals I had: living in a glamorous city with dozens of friends and a PhD on my bookshelf. You know—the bookshelf full of my novels. But now, knowing what I know—the sheer happiness of seeing one of them do something amazing, or that exhausted contentment when an illness finally passes, or the quiet peace of reading together—I couldn't give up what I have for any dream.

I wish I were better at it. I wish this because I want the best for them. Because I want them to never feel hurt or dejected or discouraged, especially because of me. Because I want them to stride forward into the world with certain knowledge: my mother loves me. I want that knowledge to be a strength to them. I want, more than anything, not to fail because I want them to be happy. They are the best part of my life.

I am blessed beyond belief to have become a mom, and that is what I celebrated in my heart today