Sep 19, 2011 | This Life
Look what arrived in the mail today? Good Mojo! Photo credit and bracelet by the ultra talented Kerri Jones of Ten Things.
When Kerri listed her new line of bracelets few weeks ago I knew I wanted one. It felt like a good omen. The tiny beads remind me of those nuts you put on the end of screws to keep them in place (no you may not read into that any further than the construction metaphor)—and Lord knows I feel like we could use a little Evil Eye protection when it comes to the chaos that is our house. I also knew that with construction budget being squeezed like a proverbial turnip, I had no business just buying one out-right. So, I sent a gushy email and raved like a lunatic and pitched the idea of a trade.
Kerri, being Kerri, just sent me one. Encased in some amazing fabric that I’ll save for another post. I’m wearing it now, and already feel calmer. Call me superstitious. I don’t mind. Â I really needed good mail and a bit of equally good mojo. The Universe knew that and apparently, so did Kerri.
(thank you, thank you!!)
Sep 16, 2011 | This Life
Mom Jeans?! Seriously?! *groan*
Now You’ve Gone and Done It
It was bound to happen eventually. But MUST all mom jeans look so, what’s the word, hideous? I get that once you reach a certain age weight begins to accumulate around your middle, unless you’re Heidi Klum. (I hate you Heidi Klum. No, really, I love you. But honestly girl, this “let me pop out babies and look 22” stuff is so last season!) And that means finding jeans to accommodate your new girth. But seriously, friends, this aging bit is on my last nerve.
And an aside, because I know some of you are not of that certain age and you’re saying in your head, “Oh, that’s never going to happen to me. I will never wear mom jeans.” Bad news, you probably will. I have proof. Go stand in front of a mirror. Who do you see standing there? Heidi Klum?
Anyhow, MY moment has come. I’ve lost some weight. Actually, quite a bit. I’ve not bought jeans in years and one pair of jeans does not a wardrobe make! I had a second pair, and um, blew out the thighs of those ridiculously thin and poorly made denim. My jeans are bagging off me so much I don’t even bother to unzip to pee. Not to mention the serious case of “granddad butt” going on. So, it was time. I just had no idea I’d be walking out of the store with a pair of mid-waisted dark wash mom jeans.
I tried for chic, I honestly did. I can’t explain why  every pair of  not mom jeans I tried on looked ridiculous. I kept looking at myself and thinking, “You’re not fooling anyone.” Besides, do I really need sparkly hearts and roses to decorate my mom ass? I don’t think so.
So, reluctantly (as in after 3 separate and loaded trips to the dressing room) I crossed the aisle to the adult jeans department. Elastic waists? GOD kill me know. Hidden “comfort” bands? Is there no shame? And then I saw them. A pair of mom jeans that promised  to “secretly slim” me.
I’m not sure if they’re actually slimming me. Upon closer inspection the tag doesn’t promise to make me look younger, in fact it reads, “sits higher on the waist.” If that’s not code for “mom jean” what is? It’s official. I’m a woman of a certain age.
And I’m pretty sure it’s no longer a secret.
Sep 14, 2011 | This Life
Note:
I posted this on Facebook this morning. I’m counting it as today’s blog post because I’m sleep depraved. ~~Wende
A Prayer for 4 A.M.
Creator God,
It’s 4 am. I woke up to a dog doing really disgusting things and I find myself up at our demolished house working on the order from hell. Hey, at least I escaped the smell.
And the thing is, God, it’s only Wednesday and already, it’s been a REALLY crappy week. I have friends who were shot, diagnosed with cancer, and facing extraordinarily hard transitions in their lives. Parents who are slipping away, and children uncertain of their futures, and, and, and.
It kinda stinks, God. I mean, more than what I woke up to, God. And I have to wonder. . . can you smell it too?
So, here’s what I’m asking, God. Blow a fresh breeze into the lives of those I love. A healing wind. A calming spirit. A fresh perspective. And, where it is applicable, a mysteriously but well-placed can of Lysol.
Because, God, it’s 4 am.
Sep 12, 2011 | This Life
I’ve become somewhat obsessed with the view out our hotel window. Ships coming and going. It’s particularly beautiful (if not a bit eery) Â at night, how silent and yet how present these behemoths are floating past our view. And of course, there is an interactive map that lets me spy on the inhabitants of the river. Obsession Information is good, right?
I’m hoping to do a house update tomorrow. You know, fingers crossed. It was on my agenda for today’s blog post—but I was up way past my bedtime into the wee hours of the morning—Ok, just 1:30 am, but I’m geriatric!—sourcing bathtubs and toilets and kitchen cabinets, OH. MY. Â So, I’m just a bit too bleary and frankly, drained, to talk about this house project today. However, I’m hopeful we’ll get there tomorrow or Wednesday.
In the meantime, how’s your week shaping up? Any grand adventures planned?
Sep 9, 2011 | It's a Dog's Life
Before:
Miss Sophie on the way to the Groomers. She’s fuzzy and she has no idea what’s in store for her.
AFTER:
Finally! After 4 years of trying, we finally scored a grooming slot at Hammond Groomers. I was excited to get the slot, because there is no way I can groom her here in the hotel. And BONUS! She no longer looks like her mother cut her hair.
Sep 8, 2011 | This Life
Our niece and her new husband cutting cake. How adorable is it, that their wedding cake is actually cupcakes!
Best. Wedding. Ever.
I’m pretty sure that was said a thousand times on Saturday. But it really was perfect. The weather was hot at 4 pm (hello 90’s!), but it cooled quickly after the ceremony to “balmy.” The wedding was held outside at the bride’s parent’s home. They had a huge white tent and gorgeous round tables covered in white cloths with purple accents. Melanie carried lavender roses and hydrangeas…so romantic. The party lasted late into the night—since it was mostly family and close friends.
For me, a great wedding isn’t about decor or flowers or food—though those things help, right? It’s about intention. It was clear that the bride and the groom spent months working on their vows and planning details that would make people feel comfortable. I’ve been to so many weddings where groups of people sat at their own “lunch table” never to mingle. Where it’s clear everyone feels more than a tad awkward? I didn’t make it around to every table, but it felt like people were mingling constantly—getting to know distant cousins or catching up with old friends and I don’t think I saw any wall-flowers hanging on the edges the whole night. It really was an amazing wedding!
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Sep 7, 2011 | This Life
My adorable kid with Ice Cream. In Tillamook. Where else?
So!
We’ve survived the visit from the in-laws and they’ve been deposited with my adorable Sister-in-law. What she does with them is Not. My. Problem. Ahem.
And we’re back from The. Best. Wedding. Ever. All dress angst was solved last minute, though that just led to shoe angst. And shoe angst is never resolved, am I right?
And I’ve survived the LAST dental appointment in a year’s worth of dental appointments. I have the best dentist, but talk about relief.
And I have stories to tell. And I might just do that. OR, I might just pick up blogging like I never left. You’ll play along because you’ll be embarrassed that you didn’t notice I was gone. We’ll both just sheepishly enter the room and begin again.
And, I like beginnings.
Hello September.
Aug 22, 2011 | 94 Days of Summer
What is it, day Sixty-three? I’m throwing in the towel. This cup? This was left, ON MY PIANO (which is in my dining room, and not in the scope of construction), weeks ago by someone in the construction crew. I keep waiting for someone (other than ME) to notice it and do something about it. And the dust build-up is because, despite being told it would happen, nothing was tarped off before they gutted my kitchen. Â It’s clearly time for some Pickle Jars.
Oh Hai!
Remember me? I blog here? Or not. I’m throwing in the towel counting my summer days. It’s pointless and depressing. I’ve fallen into a pattern to survive hotel life, but it’s not creative. It’s more of a “lather, rinse, repeat” endeavor.
Progress on the house is achingly slow. Song and dance, people. That’s what we’ve been getting for weeks. IZ is meeting with our contractor in about an hour and all I can say is that it’s probably a very good thing it’s not ME meeting with him. I was outlining dead bodies on my kitchen floor weeks ago, you can imagine that I’m well past being diplomatic.
It’s beyond me. I know I run my own “business” differently. Customer service (and managing expectations) is a high priority for me, and I’ll confess I get a bit “Judgey” when I bump into poor customer service models. However, I don’t think I’m being completely a diva here—it’s been 7 weeks since the first insurance inspector walked through my door with the contractor and STILL there is no operating budget. And meanwhile, nearly every person (save the two guys who demolished my bathroom, they were AWESOME!) who has worked in my home in the past 2 months have treated it like a trash heap. You think I’m kidding? Um… how about this:
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Aug 15, 2011 | 94 Days of Summer
Day Fifty-six: Diet Coke putting in over-time as both my muse and panacea.
Aug 12, 2011 | 94 Days of Summer
Day Fifty-three: Aromatherapy.
Thank goodness for Mireio. It’s been hard to be productive and get product shots (or product made!) in the middle of a distasterpiece. I’m seriously pouring candles and dyeing slips in what was my packaging station in the studio. However, when I have accomplished it, it’s been soothing. Guess it’s a good thing I make things that allow you to “breathe deeply.”
All day, I’ve been working with this new candle—the fragrance is crisp blackberry mingled with oakmoss, juniper, and bayberry. It’s heavenly and just what my frazzled nerves need. I cannot look at the kitchen (and up all the way into the rafters because there is no ceiling/floor at the moment) without feeling like I might cry. The layer of dust on EVERYTHING is starting to create that abandoned tomb esthetic. Oh, and then there’s the claims adjuster (Presently on Santa’s “Coal” list) who didn’t bother to send us the grocery reimbursement this week. OOPS, he forgot.
Really? Professional much?
Breathe, breathe.
I’m trying people, I’m trying.
