Sleeping With the Window Open
and breathing in lilacs during my sleep. Simple pleasures for a complicated life.
That’s A Lot of Ifs
Easter candy I stole borrowed from the boy.
Did you have an amazing holiday weekend? It was wet here and dark and gloomy and basically Oregon in April.
As most of you know, Iz and I sit down and have mochas together every morning. It’s a way of touching bases. You would think two people who both work from home already spend enough time together, but we really cherish our ritual. We talk about last night’s dreams (he has apocalyptic dreams, I have sex dreams. We might need therapy!) and our plans for the upcoming day. We review what happened while I slept (he’s up early, early for work. I sleep best alone) and sometimes we just savor each other’s company in silence.
If it’s a weekend, our coffee time tends to stretch out across the morning. And on those days I have time to wake up and wind up and oh boy. IZ gets treated to all the sermons on my mind. I stand in the kitchen trying to talk over the espresso machine—I get a little angsty. He listens with that bemused smile on his face—and I’ll give him credit, he multi-tasks well. “You know, here’s what I’m thinking I should blog about today. . . ” and I’m off!
Problem is, if IZ endures a sermon blog post from me then it’s highly unlikely that I’ll actually blog on the topic. Despite my orally crafting sentences and themes and putting it all together in a logical fashion. Sometimes these little rants of mine come out completely formed and sometimes, I stand there sifting through the mire chucking  boulders for the splash,
“I’m thinking about “unfriending” half the people I know on Facebook. That’s a good hook, right?”
“What do you mean I’m being hyperbolic? I do too think it should be illegal for 20 somethings to give  marriage advice.”
“What? I can’t say that on the blog? IT’S MY BLOG and I don’t think Jesus would mind.”
“What readers? I can’t alienate readers I don’t have.”
“If you didn’t want me to blog about how you used the force to remove my bra, you shouldn’t have done it. There should be some compensation for living with a man who thinks he has jedi powers.”
And that’s all before I get my cofffee! It’s not that he talks me out of anything. It’s more like I talk myself into boredom on the topic (or in the  case of the jedi mind tricks, laugh myself into an asthma fit!). But it does make me wonder if I’d blog more if we didn’t have coffee together on the weekends.
That’s a lot of ifs.
Just Like His Father
He’s stylish and talks in code
Today’s much anticipated wind storm turned out to be milder than Monday’s gale. It’s blowing, but it’s not urgent. It’s the kind of weather that says, “Stay at home, your house is a pit and needs cleaning anyhow.” Yes, there is that kind of weather and it sounds just like your mother.
So, Â I spent the afternoon straightening up my studio and making room for this kid. Â He’s taken up residence on the far end of my working table. I now have vacuumed floors, relatively clean surfaces, Â and I understand that in php real numbers can be substituted by text. I’m using “understand” loosely here because I really have no idea what that means.
He’s stylish. And he talks in code. Just like his father.
Bad Wolf
Before the wind blows . . .
I’m waiting for the wind to blow down my house. Bad wolf! So, I snuck outside and took a photo of my lovely crabapple trees while they’re still in bloom. Because come this time tomorrow, my lawn is likely to be sprinkled with the carnage of sweet white blossoms and pink buds. BAD WOLF!
I should write more here. And I might, later. But until then, you can suffer through another pretty flower picture. My blog.
The World Seems Brighter
. . . when everything is in bloom.
Condensing
I’ve managed to condense the last 2 weeks of my life into 2.5 minutes. I know that’s an eternity in the video world; but, I have to tell you, it represents so much more. And I’m really proud of it! This is just phase one of Mireio’s Spring line and I promise not to bug you with any more commercials after this one. But go look, ok? And listen. And click the last button when the video is done because technology is really  cool. And so is hard work.
Dear Jillian
Thoughts and Observations on doing the 30 Day Shred.
Day One: If I die in the next 30 days, please tell the Authorities, “Jillian Michaels did it”.
Day Two: Dear Jillian, my fat hurts. Thank you for that.
Day Three: Dear Jillian, I’m irrational—but you scare me. I’m pretty sure if I look directly into your eyes I’m going to turn to stone. That would make you Medusa and me crazy.
Day Four: Dear Jillian, Your lips are moving but I can’t hear a word you’re saying! Â (Oh the joys of a mute button and an ipod. “I started nothing, I wish I didn’t!“)
Day Five: Dear Jillian, F*&% jumping jacks.
Day Six: Dear Jillian, Â Why didn’t you warn me that I could bounce right out of my jog bra? My walls were embarrassed for me.
Day Seven: Dear Jillian, Black is not my color. I want on the blue team.
Day Eight: Dear Jillian, I’ve been brainstorming some ways to make your exercise  video more marketable.  I think you should have a pudgy, out-of-shape, forty-something in the background huffing and puffing and occasionally swearing at you behind your back. Realism sells. Just look at that show, “The Biggest Loser.”  No, I’m not volunteering. I can swear at you to your face in my front room. Just sayin’.
Day Nine: Dear Jillian, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d rather look at Jason Statham.
Day Ten: Dear Jillian, I got up early today to do your stoopid video so I could sneak off to Portland. I’m going to eat a cheeseburger and think of you.
Day Eleven: Walter Tango Foxtrot (I just moved up to level Two. It’s not pretty.) what did I ever do to deserve  you? Oh, right, that cheeseburger yesterday.
Day Twelve: Dear Jillian, talk to the hand. Dear Knees, please don’t give up, blow out, or cave in before day 30. If you do, the bad woman wins.
Day Thirteen:  Somehow, it’s easier to get through a work-out with a full gospel choir singing back-up.
Day Fourteen: Dear Jillian, I think I’d pay  big money to see you face-plant into a huge box of chocolate. Yum, yum.
Day Fifteen: Dear Jillian, Half way today. That’s all I’ve got. What do you mean I need to write more? Keep going? I’m not working hard enough at this? What’s that? I. Can’t. Hear. You.
Day Sixteen: Dear Jillian, You know how they say you can do anything for 30 days? Well, they lied.
Day Seventeen: Dear Jillian, Why do you keep repeating yourself? And how come you never change your clothes?
This diatribe, er, faithful chronicle has been interrupted by a nasty head-cold. The author is busy extricating the nasty rhino-virus that has taken up residency in her upper respiratory track. This broadcast will continue upon the eradication  of said virus and when her daily consumption of kleenex no longer equals the death of a small forest. Please stay tuned. The snarkiness will resume.
Day Eighteen: Dear Jillian, So! I missed a whole week due to a nasty cold and you didn’t even miss me! Â You could have sent flowers, you know. (And note to all you keeping track: I’m going to keep at this until I’ve done 30 work-outs. It seemed better than starting all over.)
Day Nineteen: This is me waving a white flag. Between the virus, which I’ve still not completely kicked, and a knee injury (yep, it finally gave out!) I’m calling it quits to doing this work-out every day. I’ve decided to scale back to 4 times a week while I let my body heal.
I’ve decided to put these observations in a post and take down the page. And I’ll have an update on my “weight-loss” progress in a few days.
Try It Again
Just one of the many reasons I love this man; he brings me flowers when I’m sick.
I think one of the reasons I feel like I’m on this blog more than I am, is that I’m here daily updating “Dear Jillian.” It’s not much; somedays that’s all I’ve got.
I wish I could say the 30 day shred is going gloriously well. But, it’s not. I came to terms a while ago with the fact that I lose weight slowly. And that I’m piteously out of shape. But it’s come as a cold shock to discover that I’m not the graceful ballerina who pirouettes effortlessly in my head. Color me delusional.  In fact, I’m kinda clumsy. It’s embarrassing. It’s “sad girl tries out for So You Think You Can Dance” cringe-worthy embarrassing.
Good thing I work out alone in my living room. Although, I still don’t understand why my desk dancing at my computer doesn’t yield more results.
Anyhow, I feel like this part of my life is just an endless treadmill. You get up, you get down, and you try it again. And I can’t help but hear the Hives, “Doo Wacko! They say the definition of madness is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.” Â Exercise has to be the exception to the bon mot. Right?
It better be!
____________________________
I wrote this piece last week right before I succumbed to this ridiculous head cold. I’ve been too out of it since then to even contemplate publishing it—my luck, I would have erased my entire blog due to my cold-medicine haze. To avoid such a catastrophe, I waited until today to post it.
I’m slowly coming around and  I think I’ll be back in the groove of things in another day or so. Until then, I’ll be on the couch watching re-runs of “Everybody Loves Raymond” because I’ve run out of library books. Shh, don’t tell Jillian.
Bribery
They taste so much better than my photograph suggests!
Yesterday I mentioned bribery as a parenting tool. I’m sticking by that word. In the past, I would have used the word incentive. But, really, if it involves sugar of any kind it’s a bribe. Pure and simple.
I’ve always been one of those mothers who wouldn’t buy you a chocolate bar in the check-out line no matter how you howled and cried and lamented  “you not a nice mommy!” And while I firmly believe in incentivizing—-my kid has always been a junior banker. If there’s not money in it for him, he can’t be bought. So, my incentives usually sound like, “If you don’t clean up that room, I’m going to take away your computer and  your candy privileges.” You see the subtle difference, right? In one, I’m bribing you to be good. In the other, I’m reminding you of your responsibilites and the consequences for not meeting them. Or, that’s the case when I’m not desperate.
That would make me a wise parent if my child wasn’t so oppositional. He can try the patience of a saint, and his mother is far from being one. Despite my well-intentioned parenting philosophy. Lately,(since he turned 13!!) no amount of incentivizing (threatening, hounding, preaching, lecturing: Oh yeah, those are all in my arsenal too!) can entice him to focus appropriately on his schoolwork.
This brings me to my end. He’s a smart kid, but so dang lazy. And while most people figure out by the time they’re his age that unsavory tasks are best done quickly, this child slowly pulls off the band-aid of schoolwork. He’s waiting me out. Watching to see if I explode. If he can just push me over the edge, then the focus shifts to conflict resolution, not doing his schoolwork. I swear, he’s a born lawyer!
So, yesterday, I beat him at his game and resorted to bribery. “If you get all your schoolwork done by 3. And that means your German, Math, History, and Programming, then we can bake. If you don’t, no baking for you!”
I’d hang my head in shame, except it worked. We made these incredible bars Kerri put up on her blog. We used dried cherries and almonds and subbed Smart Balance for margarine. Two words: Ah. Mazing.
We had a nice, conflict free day. He got his schoolwork done in a timely fashion. We spent some time together baking and talking. All of which is incentive enough for me to use bribery again very, very soon.
Moments (A Long Post Where Wende Plays Catch-up)
The ironing board in my studio piled up with fabric for the spring/summer line and neglected camellias from yesterday’s photo-shoot.
This week has felt like a “moment”… passing with far more speed than I expected. Why is that? All I know is that I when I logged onto this blog today, I was a bit shocked at how long it’s been since I last posted. And that seems to happen more and more lately.
So, what have you been up to? As you can see from the photo above, I’m attempting to ramp up for the Spring/Summer line. It’s going slower than I expected. (Sensing  a trend yet?) Of course, I compound matters when I decide last minute (today!) to add a Liberty of London line. Oh. My. For those of you who aren’t addicted to fabric, Liberty is a feast for the eyes and a big old drain on the pocket book. But, they just screamed “Mireio” and honestly, if Target can do it, so can I. Right?
Anyhow, I ordered yet more fabric this morning with the help of IZ (you have no idea how hard it is to choose!!), which means the shop update will be a bit prolonged. Not what I expected, but I’m learning to adapt my rhythms to this ever so cranky muse of mine. She’s a handful, people. I think she might need medication. Just sayin’.
Hello ~ Welcome to Evidently
- Introvert and word lover and Christ seeker
- Currently learning Swedish just in case
- ISFP... what are you?
No one really leaves comments any more. But if you did, you'd be my favorite. At least until someone else came along. I'm fickle like that.
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