Sara + h

under her pillow

I'm a firm believer that the phenomenon whereby a child treads on his or her parent's very last nerve and then follows that up with a heart achingly sweet act of some sort is a survival tactic honed by thousands of years of evolution.  Historically, the children that employed this strategy lived.  Those that didn't had their heads knocked off their blocks by their parents.

Lola, smart little cookie that she is, is a mistress, a veritable virtuoso, of this tactic.  Last week she was spitting at me (Umm, hello!  I did not sign up for being spat upon when I became pregnant and furthermore, if I had, I wouldn't have agreed to put up with it for at least another six years.  At least.), this week she's writing letters to the Tooth Fairy.  I guess she can live.

When asked why she was writing to the Tooth Fairy, Lola responded with the unintentionally droll, "I have a few questions."  When I inquired as to what those questions might be she quickly rattled off a dozen.  When her letter was opened (...by the Tooth Fairy, of course, a role that in this house is played by Papa) however, it was clear that her hand must've gotten a cramp while she was composing because she'd only included two:  1. What's your name? -and- 2. What do you do with all the teeth?  She wrapped the whole thing up by saying that she'd lost six teeth, a fact the Tooth Fairy could've chosen to dispute since he's only received four.  Lola has, as yet, refused to turn over the last two saying [with sincerity] that she needs more time with them.  The nearly six years they were in her head apparently weren't long enough.

This morning, when I walked in the girls' room and turned on their light at 6:21 a.m., Lola roused herself in an uncharacteristically speedy fashion.  Upon rolling over and literally peeling herself off the mattress, she quickly lifted her pillow to find the Tooth Fairy's response which, I might add, would not have been there had the Tooth Fairy's apprentice (me) not awakened the Tooth Fairy at 11 o'clock last night to confirm that he had performed his duties.  It's good that the Tooth Fairy works unseen and unheard because his response to my query was very unfairylike.  Something along the lines of "fuuuuuck" was muttered from beneath his pillow.  That Tooth Fairy is such a character.

Once roused, he spent a surprisingly long time thinking about what to say and how his responses should be delivered.  After taking a pass on a letter written on leaves, both because he couldn't find a pen that would actually write on a leaf and for fear that Lola would recognize his handwriting, Dan opted for a computer generated note in a teeny tiny eye-straino-vision font size (those fairy computers are small).  It said:

dear lola, my name is a secret that only the fairy queen knows.  all gifts from children make fairy magic stronger.  thank you for your letter.

Just about makes you want to cry, doesn't it?  The big irony here is that we do everything in our power to dispel the myths of Santa Claus ("Santa Claus is a story that some people choose to believe and some people don't..."  I should add here that Lola has chosen to believe.), the Easter Bunny, and the like.  I'm not quite sure how, but the Tooth Fairy is different.  He just is.  As Dan said when he came to bed, "There may not be a Santa Claus but in this house the Tooth Fairy lives, dammit."

a little feather and fan

As alluring as the title may sound (it does sound titillating, don't you think?), I'm talking about knitting and not about anything you would have seen Sally Rand perform at the 1933 World's Fair.  Sorry if that disappoints.  (I'm speaking to those of my readers who somehow stumbled upon me with a search for "up skirt pics."  Clearly they are disappointed with my content.)

Just as everyone seemed to be picking up their knitting needles again after a warm weather hiatus, I was putting mine down.  Since early September my needles have lain dormant and contentedly so.  Their clickety-click was replaced by the hum of my sewing machine's motor.  In the last few weeks though, my hands, really my whole self, have gotten twitchy without any yarn running through my fingers.

On Friday I placed an order so that I could get started on some holiday sock knitting but with that yarn's arrival not likely until the end of this week at the earliest, I began casting about for something else to cast on.   I settled on some Hempathy I've had sitting around since way back when (no, I still haven't written up that pattern) and the soothing mindlessness of Feather and Fan.   Together they've proved to be just what my fingers yearned for and I should have a finished scarf to show you sometime this week.  Oh, the joy of a quick knit.

patience

This apron was an exercise in frustration and patience.  The fabrics I chose, an upholstery weight cotton print and a [very] heavy weight cotton denim, dictated that it be constructed differently than all the other aprons I've made.  There was both experimentation and a lot of seam ripping.  It began with a flat fell seam that, though not completely horrible for a first ever attempt, looked pretty damn shoddy.  Rrrrrrrrip.

From there things continued in a one step forward/two steps back Cha-cha-cha fashion.  It was an exceedingly frustrating process and one that required frequent breaks to avoid chucking the thing into the garbage.  Nearly a week passed between the start and finish of this apron rather than the few hours I'm accustomed to.  A quick project it was not.

I hope its recipient finds it a worthy gift despite its flaws.  For me, the fabric itself is the soothing salve.  The contrast stitching may be uneven in places, the ribbon used for the apron strings may not be the perfect shade of brown, and the pocket may have a pucker or two, but floral design in a muted blue/green with tans and brown...well, if it doesn't make up for all of it, it certainly makes up for some of it.

outgoing

Another apron was sent today.  A small thrifted dish that I picked up for .49 cents was included too.  I've been sending out a lot of packages recently.  You may have noticed.  [Wink, wink.]  I imagine, rightly or wrongly, that some of you might wonder, especially in light of my recent posts, why I keep expending myself in this way.  My completely practical answer is where might you imagine I should put all this stuff otherwise?

But also...

I've been productive recently because I've needed to be.  There is an element of wanting to execute an idea and then perfect it and there's also the fun of thinking of the recipient as I make their gift.  Mostly though, it's about keeping myself, my hands and my head, occupied.  In this case, the giving isn't selfless.  I'm getting exactly as much as I'm giving.  I loose nothing in the equation.  Small kindnesses for myself and others.  And, as an added bonus, I gain a bit of storage space with every package sent.

piece making :: making peace

Making continues in the midst of the emotional upheaval and disequilibrium.  It is, in fact, the one thing that feels sane right now.  The comfort that comes from making a thing.  It doesn't matter what.  And the process itself is not always peaceful.  It's often dotted with frustration and outbursts of profanity.  Even so, piece making is the one tool I have for making peace right now.  My old reliable.  I'm working on adding other tools to my kit.  For now though, this is good.

thank you

The outpouring of support from all of you has left me teary and very nearly speechless.  I was feeling a lot of sadness and turmoil when I sat down to write on Friday night and your comments and emails have comforted me through the last several days.  All is not miraculously better but I'm not in that jagged, frantic place anymore.  Thank you for that.  Thank you.

lost.

I'm in a low place.  If I'm being honest, which I guess I am, I will tell you that I've been here for awhile.  What feels like a long time.  Months.  I've lost track.  I just know that my emotional stores are depleted.  I do not like myself.  Do not know myself.  That person, the one I liked and knew, is lost.

Today was a bad day, but then, most days lately feel like that.  I am angry much of the time.  I begin yelling at the slightest upset.  With two children in the house, upset happens often.  I yell often.

I think other people live their lives better than I do.  Not that their lives or circumstances are better, but that they live them better.  That they appreciate what they have, their spouses, their children, more than I do.  In a way that I want to, strive to, but cannot.

This summer was awful.  I lived for the start of the school year.  I thought that the three hours a day I'd have would be an antidote to it all.  That it would feel like a deep breath after being submerged.  The reality is that three hours a day, five days a week is no cure.  It's more of a tease than anything else.

I am tired.  Chronically.  I've misplaced my ability to cope.  I would desperately like to find it.  And then, perhaps, the self I've lost.  Wouldn't that be nice.

farmers' market

Before moving here, we'd belonged to CSAs every growing season for about six years running.  Having arrived in St. Paul in mid-May and having to deal with the fall out of a cross country move while six months pregnant, finding a CSA that first summer wasn't high on the list of priorities.

The second summer we were here it ranked higher on the list and when asked to split a share with some neighbors up the street, we said yes.  We were disappointed though.  Both the quality of the produce and the experience of belonging weren't anything like what we'd come to expect.  Picking up in a fellow member's garage as opposed to actually going to the farm just wasn't the same.  The next year we didn't rejoin.  We made due with nearby grocery stores, both conventional and otherwise.  Until the end of this summer.  In August we made the commitment to weekly visits to the farmers' market in downtown St. Paul.

Lola and Astrid will tell you that the best part of market days is the donuts.  I like the donuts too but what I like even more are the vibrant colors (especially at this time of year) and the variety of fresh, local farm products available for sale, handing our money straight to the producers of those products, and the sense of community I get just walking around the busy, well patronized market.

More pictures here.

ride lola ride

doings

::losing::

...teeth.  Lola "lost" that tooth, the one at the rakish angle, just hours after this was taken.  Lost being in quotations because it was helped along.  There's only so much dangling by a thread a parent can take.  About ten days is the limit, I think.

::photographing::

...rainbows (this one was truly magnificent even though the photograph isn't)

and living room furniture made beautiful by a little afternoon sunlight.

::frying::

...falafel.  Or rather, waiting for Dan to come home and fry falafel.  He's our resident "fry daddy."  Give him a stove, a pot of oil, and a thermometer and he's good to go.

::sporting::

...a kitty hat.  It may have been in the mid-eighties last Saturday and Sunday, but it isn't anymore.  I was delighted to pull out the hat bin and rediscover this Goodwill find.  I purchased it new, with the tag still on it for $1.  A great deal for a handknit (in Peru by a cooperative of women) hat made of 100% alpaca.  I may try and reverse engineer a pattern.  It shouldn't be to hard.  Famous last words.  And in case you were wondering what Astrid is saying here, she's mid meoooooow.

::sewing::

...aprons.  This being the third in recent weeks.  It's a holiday gift for my sister-in-law.   I'm pretty certain she'll like it seeing as she bought me the printed seersucker fabric I used for it.  I know you can't tell from the photograph but it is a printed seersucker that I used as the contrasting fabric.

::plotting::

...my next non-holiday related gift.  Perhaps an apron.  You didn't think I was done with the aprons did you?

::listening::

...to Band of Horses courtesy of NPR.  I do so love NPR.