On Creativity

So, here’s the thing about me and creativity: I have long been certain and professed openly that I don’t have any. Before we go any further, let me clarify that I don’t believe creativity and talent are the same thing. I’m an excellent execute-er (not to be confused with executor. Hahaha.), and I have lots of “talents.” But even then, I really believe that most things are less talent than practice and determination, and a good majority of the things I’m decent at come down to the fact that I’ve just been willing to try them, despite the fact that they seem weird/hard/insane for a layperson, but I didn’t know any better.

Anyway. I have tried a lot of things and have gotten to be OK at a fair list of them, but I have NEVER been one of those people whom you can go to for “ideas.” I have no ideas. You want ideas for a dance theme? For some cute way to keep kids busy? For just something different to do on a Friday night? Don’t come to me. I got nothin’.

I have similar idea-block when it comes to my creative hobbies. I have loads and loads of yarn (seriously, it’s embarrassing), but what to do with it? I DUNNO. Good thing there’s Ravelry, or I’d just be a crazy hoarder. Instead, I get to go online and basically Yarn Google each lovely skein on Ravelry and look at what everyone else did with my yarn. They all have such great ideas. Thank goodness for other knitters.

But I had an epiphany today. I was thinking about this little dress I finished recently for Audrey

and feeling a little pleased with myself since it looked exactly like the image I’d had in my head when I first saw the fabric. Very “I HAVE MADE FIRE!” if you know what I mean. (Also, I’ve had a sprained ankle for nearly a month, so considering that I needed to alter the sleeves and I can only sew for brief periods at a time right now, it was quite the triumphant moment. Anyway, epiphany:)

I am extremely visual when it comes to sewing. If I look at pattern books first, I end up choosing a pattern I love and then I have a really difficult  time mentally letting go of the exact fabric shown on the cover. I’ve been sewing for more than twenty years, and I’m in my element with fabrics, but I’m just *that* visual.

However, I find that if I peruse the fabrics first, I can look at, say, a red polished cotton printed with big cream flowers and think “Halter dress! With a fat cream band across the neck!” A sheer gingham organza wants to be the skirt overlay for a white satin dress with puffy sleeves and a big black ribbon and red roses at the waist.  And, as you see here, cotton embroidered with hibiscuses just had to be a keyhole-necked short-sleeved summer dress with bias trim.

But the funny part? It only occurred to me today that that ability to visualize with fabric actually counts as creative. Oho! Aha! Ooooooh…. (duh.)

Yeah, I know. It may not be much–I still don’t have a clue where to go for dinner tonight–but hey! It’s something.

My Thoughts on Weight Loss

I just came in from spending a good 30 minutes out on the treadmill in my garage. Yes, I said “good.” Those of you who know me…well, I’ll give you a few seconds to pick your jaws up off the floor.

All my life, I’ve been fat. At least, in my head. Here’s me in high school:

See how fat I am? I was pretty consistently a size 8, and 130-140 pounds. Size 8 is SO HUGE. Holy cow. No really, COW. Because compared to my friends, some of whom barely cracked 100 pounds or even fit into junior sizes, I was huge. I felt fat every day of my life, and that is no exaggeration. It didn’t help that I was told that nearly every day of my junior high career, but that’s a whole other story.

Here’s me a couple of weeks before I got married.

It was the skinniest I’d ever been in my life. I could fit into a size 6, on occasion. I believe I was 132 pounds. I looked pretty rockin’. And I knew I looked good. However, I’d been subsisting on saltine crackers and a little Pasta-Roni for about 6 months. I occasionally had a 1 oz bag of Chee-tos and 32 oz or so of Diet Pepsi for lunch. I couldn’t believe I was staying in “such great shape” while eating such crap food; I laughingly called it the “Chee-tos” diet. Guess what? I was eating about 1,000 calories a day. So, shocker.

But I sure wasn’t exercising.

Let’s be honest: I have always despised exercise. I took ballet classes for years as a kid, but I was no prima ballerina, and really, in high school it was just another excuse to feel fat compared to my peers. I discovered as a teenager that I was great at weight-lifting, but somehow that seemed like a sure way to repel boys. At home, I was surrounded by great examples of exercise: Mom and Dad worked out daily and were the kind of people who “missed” working out when they had to skip a couple of days. Who the bleep misses exercise? I couldn’t figure it out. I just did not enjoy it.

As a result, I spent most of the time in between those two pictures boomeranging between being thin (still “fat!”) and about 50 pounds heavier, and it just got worse after I got married. I put on 50 pounds of “Oh yay, we’re married and happy!” fat. Then I got pregnant. I clung to the 20 pounds of extra weight I was left with after pregnancy #1, and just for kicks, I threw on another 50. Keep in mind, this did all take about 6 years to put on, but…yeah. In the end, I was more than 100 pounds overweight.

After a while, I did manage to lose about 45 pounds as the side effect of a medication I was prescribed. It was great! I was on a roll! And then I got pregnant again. Haha. The joke was on me.

Luckily, this time, the baby weight–all 40 pounds of it–came right back off without too much effort, but I’m still way heavier than I’d ultimately like to be. I have to be straight here: I am OK with my weight now. I am OK with my body. It is not beautiful, in a fashion/glamor sense, but it is beautiful in the fact that it’s generally healthy and really quite strong, and I am so grateful to have this amazing machine. It’s been several years since I have wasted any time feeling badly or insecure about how I look. I know how I look, and I don’t bother comparing myself to others. I know how to dress myself to look my best, and my face is as pretty as it’s ever been. So I don’t worry about it much.

However, there is a part of me that’s just…over it. I’m kinda tired of looking this way and not the way I do in my head. You know? I’m not the least bit interested in how others perceive me–it’s just about being more healthy and more strong, and not being the 30-something overweight mommy anymore. I’m ready to be the best version of me. That may not turn out to look anything like the pictures up above. I don’t think I’ll ever be 132 pounds again, and I am so alright with that. But I’m ready to do the work I have to do to be better. And I think this is the key.

I am almost 35 years old. I know everything there is to know about dieting, and honestly, what it comes down to for me is calories in and exercise. I have known that for a very long time, but the long and short of it is: you have to be ready. You have to want to do it, and there is no outside motivation on earth that can help you or push you or encourage you if you are not there yet. I have been overweight for almost 10 years now, and it’s only now that I can finally say: I’m ready. I’m willing to do it. And here’s the shocking, amazing thing I have learned: I. AM. ACTUALLY. ENJOYING IT.

Let me know when you’ve picked yourselves back up off the floor. :) Hahaha.

Milk Glass Memories

When I was a young child, Ruth and Bill Fisher watched me and my brother for a few hours each afternoon. They were an older couple, probably in their fifties, and I loved them dearly. Endlessly kind, spunky, and patient, they were like surrogate grandparents to me: my own grandparents were either living in Utah, or just recently divorced (that family dynamic was a little strained, to say the least). But Ruth and Bill were there, day in, day out, every day after school—living proof of the kind of idyllic life of which I’d read in E.B. White books. Deep down, though, I think they provided the knowledge and security that my own parents’ marriage could not only survive that long, but continue as something lovely and wonderful.

Bill & Ruth with my mom at my wedding reception, 2001

Ruth and Bill lived just down the street from our little cul-de-sac. As I remember it, their small, white, frame house stood on what seemed like acres of land, but really it was probably more like half an acre. Regardless, their home was a sort of child’s paradise—the front yard was fenced neatly in white pickets, lined with rose bushes in every color imaginable. The windows on the north side of the house looked out on old orchard trees: cherry, apple, and maybe peach or pear. Under those trees was a wide expanse of lawn that was flood-irrigated in the summer, which to a child meant swimming on the lawn. The water would heat up in the sun, and we could usually discover clover or buttercups growing wild in the grass.

Behind the house lay the garden—on one side, flowers, and produce on the other. We weren’t supposed to go beyond the garden, but we liked to sneak behind it and watch “water-skeeters” skating across the canal. If we were feeling particularly adventurous, we’d cross the canal and go into the neighboring property and sneak raspberries.

The home itself was always neat and tidy, and smelled of something cooking. The walls were painted a light, sunny peach, and the doors bore cut-glass handles. The Fishers used a rotary phone and had their washer and dryer behind a partition in the large, blue farmhouse kitchen, because when the house was built, there was no such thing as a “laundry room.”

The kitchen was my favorite place. Ruth was an excellent cook, and she was usually to be found working in the kitchen: snapping beans, making pickles, peeling apples, canning something from the garden, or rolling out pie crust. I “helped” make all kinds of foods in that kitchen, and Ruth was a patient teacher. I also helped clean up after lots of meals. :)

It’s funny, but I didn’t realize until recently how much the time I spent in the Fishers’ home absorbed into my subconscious. Example: nearly every book I read that takes place in a white house/farm house/older house takes place, in my imagination, at the Fishers. Charlotte’s Web? Fishers’. Scarlett O’Hara’s Tara? Fishers’. Sookie Stackhouse? Fishers’.

Yesterday, I was dinking around online, procrastinating laundry or somesuch, and came across a photo of a milk glass vase. Something about it resonated with me, but I wasn’t sure what. I didn’t want it. I didn’t particularly love the design. But something inside me yanked sideways a little. So I started researching milk glass.

The more looking I did, the more I realized it wasn’t just milk glass I was after: I wanted blue opaque Depression glass. But…I still wasn’t sure why. Just that I liked it. I wanted some.

Then I found this:

And it hit me. OH. Ruth had some cups and saucers just like those. And a vase like the one that started this whole search. And you know what? I love those cups and saucers. For a whole lot of reasons, I think, but as much as anything, because I loved her.

So I bought them.

I think it’s time I got in touch with Ruth and Bill.

How would you feel?

Firstly, I would like to point out before I start that my husband is basically the best dad on the planet. He’s awesome at getting down and playing with his kids, making up games, getting into their little worlds, and generally just hanging out with them. Just as importantly, he’s a fair and usually very patient disciplinarian: good at explaining what his expectations are, making the rules appropriate for their level of understanding, and holding them accountable–in a good way. Basically, he’s everything I’d want a dad to be.

With that in mind, you have to see this note from Aidan:

Oh, my.

 

In case you find his nine-year-old new cursive hard to read, I’ll translate:

Why do you (almost) always say no to everything?

_______________________________________

Imagine there is a time machine. You turned into a kid and I turned into a grown man. (dad) If I said no to everything, how would you feel?

a) happy

b) mad

c) shameful

d) sad

 

I’m fairly certain the correct answer here here is  “d.” And possibly Justin was supposed to feel something along the lines of “c” for his behavior? It’s so hard to be sure. Nine year old logic can be a killer.

They did have  a nice talk after this note was furtively delivered…. Something along the lines of how little we like to say no, but that he had, in fact, been warned that there would be no video games today if their room wasn’t cleaned within something like a four-hour period. Sheesh. We’re the meanest.

Once Upon a Time…

…I had the busiest summer ever, and then when everything was finished, I died.

OK, not really. But kinda. I’ve been such a lazy slob for the last few weeks, it’s kind of unbelievable. I finished off October with the babies’ Halloween costumes

HOP!

Spunky little Fall Fairy

Will this kiss make you a prince again?

and promptly declared myself “on vacation” from any new projects. I’ve basically been lying around the house in my yoga pants, playing with the babies and watching reruns of Lost and Parks & Rec on Netflix.

Slowly, though, I’ve been regaining my mojo. I even picked up my knitting needles after more than a month and started work on the center of my Rock Island. It’s such an interesting pattern–almost too interesting when I was tired–but I’m really enjoying working on it now. After 71 repeats of edging rows, the center’s going really quickly.

I’m also plugging along lately with my genealogy. It’s something I’ve been working on for about 5-6 years, now. I have source documents fleshing out most everyone’s lives going back a few generations, but I have some holes and there are a few people whose parentage is in question. I’d like to get them figured out.

But the really fun part has been finding photos of a lot of my family. Between Findagrave.com, Daughters of Utah Pioneers, and Ancestry.com, I’ve found quite a few. It’s so awesome to be able to see the faces of these people whom I feel I’ve come to know. Digging through someone’s life through documents is a fascinating process–you see them as children, with siblings, and then as they marry, have children, lose children, and move from state to state or even to a new country. Census records tell of their occupations, and seeing those change over the years is fascinating. Through time, you really come to create a story for these people who came before you, and putting a face with those names is kind of incredible. I’m really enjoying that.

Best news? Thanksgiving’s coming soon! Woot! It’s my favorite holiday of the year–and not just for the food. :) There’s something so comforting and wonderful about a holiday that’s just devoted to being with family and being grateful for what we have. I’m looking forward to it.

Things I have learned in the last month:*

• How to keep track of time in 42-minute-”Law & Order:CI” intervals.
• How to hold a baby on my lap and pins in my mouth at the same time (safely).
• That the babies will stay most entertained if I actually hide their toys under my bed, thereby making them believe they’re getting into something naughty.
• All the words to every damned moment of “Elmo’s World.”
• That I can get away with an inordinate amount of stalling. Oh, the second part of the order isn’t due for three weeks? I’ll take a break for a couple of days, then. And then maybe I’ll just do a few and have another day or so off. Or a week. Or…shoot–are those due NEXT WEEK?
• On a related note, I spend way too much time on the internet. Funny how much more gets done around here when both the laptop battery and the charger are dead. (shame)
• How to deal with having my house in a state of almost complete chaos. “What are we having for dinner?” Who cares?! “Why are there free-range Goldfish all over the bed?” Who cares?! “Why are the babies polishing the kitchen floor with my underwear?” WHO CARES?!
• That, of all the things you can step on, while Legos may be the most painful, pulverized Quaker granola bars are the most irritating. Those suckers stick to your socks FOREVER, and it doesn’t matter how many times you think you’ve picked off the little pieces or vacuumed up the remains, there’s still a piece on you, somewhere, that will haunt you ’til you’re dead. Take it from me: never, NEVER let your toddler eat a granola bar outside the high chair. It’s just not worth it.
• That most of the things I stress about on a usual basis are totally ridiculous. (Seriously.)
• But having my floor clean really is worth it.

* In case you weren’t aware, I’ve spent the last month sewing overalls for a customer via my Etsy store. I opened the store in July and have had a steady stream of business already, via the site and my affiliated blog, so yay! But one customer ordered a large quantity of overalls, and no matter how thrilled I have been for the opportunity to make them…OY, I am so ready for a break!

Have I really only missed ONE month?!

I swear, I was going to come over here and make some kind of epic blog post to catch everyone up on the thousands of things I’ve missed posting in the ages and ages since my last entry and…yeah. So. It’s only been, well, OK, 10 weeks, but that’s really not all that long and I’ve missed a month before. WHY DOES IT SEEM LIKE AN ETERNITY?!

It really has been busy around here. I’ve been directing the music for next week’s Primary Program, which has been both cool and quasi-stressful. We added some special musical numbers, and I’m really hoping they’ll turn out well, especially with a bit of extra practice this Saturday. Regardless, the kids are really sweet, and they’ll be cute no matter what happens.

Ohh, and let’s see. The boys got their yellow belts

and started third grade

and we went to the Night Glow balloon festival (COOL!), just one of a whole slew of fun things with friends

and there was a surprise online baby shower (giraffe! Isn’t he cute?)

OH YEAH, and I started an Etsy store (more on that in another post)

and the boys’ school Halloween party was last weekend

and, p.s., my kids are getting HUGE. The boys will be NINE in two months, and just after that the babies will turn two. I guess maybe I’ll have to stop calling them “the babies?” (nah.) They’re getting so big, I can hardly stand it. They talk constantly and, actually, A “read” me a book today: “Blue coat! Oopf!” She’s got it memorized, the smart little stink. She’s naughty and stubborn and and absolute riot. R is the sweetest boy God ever put on this earth, and is nearly always running and smiling. R’s favorite phrases are “thank you” and “they-you go!” He loves to give me things. Even Especially if they’re realllly gross. I can’t remember life without them.

Oh, and their Halloween costumes are almost finished. A will be a fairy princess, covered in autumn leaves and sunflowers, and R will be a frog prince. Awww. I can’t wait to take them Trick-or-Treating!