grrlTravels

it's Friday and it's snowing. again.

E.:
"Mom, there's lasers in my toes..."
"What?"
"There's lasers in my toes and I'm trying to shoot them at Z. but there isn't lasers in my toes so even if I'm trying to shoot them at her I'm not, right?"
"Right."

Z.:
Has taken to calling me "Baby Louise". A lot. Most of the time. When she isn't calling me Baby Louise she calls me Butterfly, like such:
"Face forward, Butterfly!" (We say this to her when she's eating her yogurt, and she says it back to us.)
"Me here, Butterfly!"
"Me mad, Butterfly!"
Butterfly is not a happy, lilting name; it's always spoken in a stern or angry voice.

K. says to Z. "How did you get so sweet? Are you made of sugar?"
Z. smiles. "No," she says, "me made of yogurt."
I ask her again and she again confirms she's made of yogurt. Which is essentially true, when you think about it.

ISO one gazillion causes marital strife

You know those times when you decide to do something which you know is going to turn out to be a huge PITA at some point and may make your spouse hate you just a little more but you can't stop yourself because you're feeling really compulsive and so you just do it anyway? I thought you might.

That would be me, K. and 365. I would never have known about 365 if it wasn't for Flickr. [Flickr has informed and shaped my photography habits rather more than I think is actually healthy or good for me and sometimes I think I must give it up or step away for a bit but I love it so much that I can't.] Ok, so on Flickr there are hordes of people who undertake a project to take a photo every day for a year, and these projects are commonly referred to as "365s". So far, so good. The idea behind the project is to improve your photography skillz by having your camera in your hand, day in, day out, noticing light, seeking out photos, thinking photography. Reasonable, right? Makes sense?

In 2009 I decided to try 365. On day 197 I fell asleep before I took my photo and the air went out of it for me. I tried to keep going, I tried to start over, but what I actually did was leave Flickr for almost 6 months. If I was the type who could let things go I would have just finished the thing last year, missing days and all. I am decidedly not that type. In fact I drove myself and poor K. crazy over my daily shots which had to be good and beautiful and thoughtful and liked by others and a whole other list of criteria which cumulatively certifies me as insane.

Sadly the idea popped up again this December because I can't find any online classes that I want to take and I can't spend my weekends traveling to workshops and I have neither the time nor the money to go to grad school. I chewed on it for a bit and then I said something to K. like "Soooooo... [longish pause during which K. thought I fell asleep] I was thinking I might think about doing 365 again," that last part whispered to make it less...stupid. K. immediately recoiled in horror and spat at me, "I'm going to need to start a support group!" I think the next thing he said was "Are you crazy?"

K. is a much lovelier person than I and the next day he said to me, "I think you should do it. I think it's good for you," and even though he rolled his eyes I knew he had given me his blessing. I love him for that, because I know that I'm going to whine at him, throw my usual meltdowns in his general vicinity, and fling my neuroses in his face at awkward moments. He knows it too.

Thank you, K. I appreciate the support and the kindness and even the eye rolling. And I apologize for my wild-eyed rant about how we live in a cave with zero good light and how it's too wintery here and I'm especially ashamed about that last little bit about ISO one gazillion.

if not for the zippers

First
E. and I had our belt tests yesterday. Not only was I sick but I had gotten my period* and my period is a big, bloody mess these days. Hello premenopause! So I floated through the test in a haze of Tylenol Severe Sinus, blood, sweat,** snot, tampons, and fear.

For the "combination kicks***" part of the test I was matched with a snippy little 14-year-old who almost kicked me in the head about 12 times and did actually step on my foot. He gave me vintage 14-year-old dirty looks of the you-are-such-an-old-lady type which in my panicked state I completely ignored. I was also paired with him during the "one steps****" and we were right in front of the table behind which was sitting the master. This was not a happy moment for me. Master Yi spent most of the time glancing around and staring at his large black binder and only asked me to redo one thing (twice).

When it came time for the board breaking I was feeling all satisfied with myself because the first board break is (naturally) the easiest and I felt ready for it. Uh huh. Except they don't bring out the teensy little extremely thin balsa wood boards for the adults like they do for the kids. Our boards are disturbingly thicker.***** I broke it on my first attempt thankfully.

I am not quite officially a yellow belt yet because the belts do not come in for a week or two. But I am semi-officially no longer a white belt, and I didn't cry at all during the test. I get to check off one of my "resolutions" which isn't really fair because I knew that I would get my yellow belt no problem. You need a couple of gimmes in the resolution game I suppose.

E. glided through his test like I knew he would.

Second
If not for the zippers I would be completely finished with Christmas 2009 right now. I was all ready to go today and I sat and cut out my fabric and started my laborious sewing thought processes and then realized that I had no zippers of the correct length. argh. As it stands I am approximately 2 hours of sewing away from saying goodbye to Christmas. Then I can move on to my good friend's birthday which was on Valentine's Day.

Third
The winner of the give-away is KelliAmanda! I shall email you posthaste.

Next month's give-away is going to be themed around my favorite things (favorite smallish, inexpensive type things) because March is my birthday month and it is therefore all about me. I need to start working on a list of smallish, inexpensive things that I love. I shall put that list on my list of stuff to do. Perhaps I'll make a list of my lists of lists. Then I shall be very organized while I accomplish next to nothing.

*I have no good euphemism for this--you would think I would by now. The closest I get is when I txt my lucky friend M. and say "The Eagle Has Landed" in my most mysterious voice, except she doesn't get the voice because, well, I'm txting her.
**When there are lots of guests Master Yi turns up the heat. And then it is too hot.
***I have no combination kicks. I have only a few single kicks, and it takes me upwards of a minute to actually get ready to kick. Which is a really, really, really long time in karate-years. It's like 500 karate-years.
****I can't begin to explain these to you because I don't really know what they are. Preset defense patterns. I. Loathe. Them.
*****Although I think they are still pretty balsa-woodsy. Of course not so balsa-woodsy that they don't hurt. They do. Hurt. More than I thought they would. I'm already dreading the elbow break in 10 weeks. I also think that the black belts helpfully attempt to snap them when you hit them. But that's just a guess.

crushing

I've been putting off writing about karate because when I talk about karate these days I tend to be gushy. However my very first belt test is looming and the nervous tension is dampening the gushing enough to talk a little.

I love karate. Surprisingly. Oddly. Passionately. Karate is cool. Karate is tough. Karate is exercise, but it's exercise that makes you think, hard, while you are sweating. It is simultaneously aerobic, contemplative, challenging, and graceful (not for me—I remain clunky). Eeeeeeek! Karate!

I've been floating along on my cloud of love for karate for 3 months. I'm all junior high-ish and squealy and giddy on Tuesdays and Thursdays, primping in the morning with lip gloss and hoping my zits aren't that noticeable. (Mind and Body Control; Ki Hap, Breathing, Coordination, Balance, Attitude, Concentration, Respect) Hi Karate! *swoons*

Gradually through my fog of flustered ardor emerged a great new nervousness about my first belt test and I started getting all anxious and weird and worried about minutia. One day I talked to the instructor about it for so long that I was late to school to pick Z. up. I briefly considered ending my liaison with karate and finding another method of stretching out my ridiculously tight muscles. But I couldn't turn my back on karate. (Tang Soo Do Is Way Of Life)

Finally the instructor explained to me that if the master gives you a form to take the belt test that it basically means that you have already passed because he and the instructor have seen you do everything you need to do during class. I got the slip the other day and I handed it back with my cash (no personal checks) today. (I hereby summit my application for GUP promotion test to the International Martial Arts Association.) So that should have made me feel better, right? Right.

But the thing is, I'm still nervous. It's like being asked to the dance which is all good until you have to show up and actually dance in front of people. There's lots of people at the test (Bring 2 friends to witness your test), including K., who has never seen me in action, and E., who breezed through his first test with the unaware breeziness of youth and will do the same on Saturday morning (9 am). There are strangers watching, and the fact that I'm being tested on my admittedly pathetic karate, and the pressure. According to the master pressure is part of the test, and performing under pressure is part of karate. (Our Goal Is To Be Best Black Belt!) I so HATE karate!

Except that I adore karate. I'm in, karate, hook, line and sinker. Love me, karate, love me back!

I expect that on Saturday I will complete Gi Cho Hyung Il Bu (regular and mirror) and not screw up too badly on the Il Soo Sik Dae Ryun (right) and break the board with a hammer punch and that I will avoid some sort of major eighth grade traumatic hissy fit in the middle of the test. (Two of the women in my class have admitted to me that they have cried during belt tests.) I expect to be a yellow belt on Saturday. I expect the nervousness to evaporate and the full on gushiness to return. I expect to love karate even more.

so, should we sew?

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Most of the time when I'm sewing I'm in a hurry. That's because most of the time I am: a) making 5 or 10 of something; b) making gifts for a holiday that's already passed; and c) squeezing it in while wrastling the kids. I enjoy it, but not as much as I could. [K. is looking at me. He is giving me that look. I must speak with K. later.]

This year I promised myself that I would finish my Christmas gifts in a reasonable amount of time so that I could have some cold days left during which I could sew. Although I sent out a bunch of packages today sadly I am still not finished with Christmas. And I have two birthdays in the next month. [K. is shaking his head. He is saying, "Go to the mall and find something and buy it. Then stick it in an envelope and you're done." Then he shakes his head again. K. doesn't understand.]

Right. So. It's February. I'm not finished with Christmas. I want to sew something "fun" but I can't yet. I must keep my eyes on the prize. I must keep working on Christmas, right now, in February. [K. is leaving the room. He cannot take it another minute. I stick my tongue out at him. It isn't very mature. But it feels good.]

But you, YOU, you are probably more organized than me and you have probably moved on from Christmas 2009 and you got through Valentine's day and you, YOU, you have some free time on your hands. Fabulous! Because I have a give-away just for you. Good if you want an easy, finish-in-an-afternoon project. Good if you are a beginning sewer. Good if you, like me, like everything to be right there ready and waiting for you, shopping and prep work not even a thought in your head. (Well, there is some cutting, but not much.) Warm up that sewing machine and leave me a comment (sewing related or not) and you are entered in the give-away. [I must go and give K. a big kiss. K. is very longsuffering and I know it.]

Gōng Xǐ Fā Cái!

Happy Year of the Tiger! Wishing you a wonderful new year filled with joy, growth, safety, good relationships, prosperity, and new challenges.

(Also, Happy Chinese New Year, Happy Lunar New Year, Happy Spring Festival, Happy Valentine's Day, Happy President's Day Weekend, and Happy Adoption Anniversary to us! Really, take your pick. There must be something there that you can celebrate.)

Happy Family Day!

Today.
2 years ago.
We met R.
In the lobby of the Holiday Inn, Hohhot, Inner Mongolia, PRC.
Poor little guy was sick, afraid, and so, so sad.

A Retrospective of R.

February 13, 2008




October 31, 2008




January 17, 2009




March 4, 2009




May 31, 2009




September 12, 2010 (birthday!)




September 26, 2010




February 13, 2010




February 13, 2010

vday for the unromantic

Here's the thing. If you know me you know I disdain Valentine's Day as a Hallmark holiday created to sell cards, chocolate and roses. K. told me long ago that I'm not romantic and he's right. I'm of too practical a bent to fluff around much.

Reality will intrude on my little sphere of practicality though. The kids do go to school and they will get cards from their friends and it doesn't seem quite the thing to make them pariahs over a holiday that presumably celebrates love. (Another holiday, sure, but not this one.) On the other hand it makes me absolutely crazy (too crazy really, so crazy that I'm actually, you know, crazy) to go and buy the little bits of product placement that are called Valentines these days.

So I must conform, but I must conform with my psychoses intact. This takes some doing. I do not want to buy my way out of my predicament; the "cards" such as they are must be useful or amusing; candy is not to be involved (I am dreading the candy coming home already, to go and sit with the still uneaten Halloween treats and the Christmas stuff); I will not look like a scrooge in the process.

This year Z. is taking in these postcards with stamps already on them and a little note that says "send to someone you love!". The cards are to be accompanied by erasers. I love these postcards a lot, and the idea of giving something that the other person can use right away is appealing. The erasers are a toss-away but at least 60% of the cards will have something attached and at least erasers can be useful.

E. was a little tougher as the postcards were rather too pink to send in with him and I couldn't find boyish postcards suitable for vday and he had requested sharks in any case. I gave the sharks a good try but had to abandon them in the end. So E. is taking in these fortune tellers (we used to call them cootie catchers) which are rather less useful than the postcards but at least can be used for something, along with some tiny notepads I found at Michaels today.

Here are some other ideas which I liked but abandoned for one reason or another:

• bookmarks (personalized or not)


• this ruler bookmark (great idea!)


• magnets (printable ones give immediate gratification)


• small paper house to construct (I love this one and this one is sweet)


• unassembled pinwheels (too much work for me this year!)

I don't quite have the teachers figured out yet and tomorrow night is already on the schedule for printing and folding 22 fortune tellers so I might still be in trouble. But psychoses are intact, kids are not pariahs (yet), and I've got a "romantic" treat (the male version of "romantic") for K. Things are not all bad. Unromantic? Yes. In the spirit of the thing? Also yes.

potholders are important at least once a day

Last night while fussing over an essentially uncomplicated new recipe I caught both potholders on fire. I didn't realize it immediately, plopping them on the counter and then wondering "what smells like it's on fire?" to myself. I tossed them in the sink muttering.

They are my only potholders. I don't like them very much. They have an aggressively 80s vibe, feature moose (an animal with which I have no known affiliations), and smell like 7 or so years of old grease. In fact they perfume the entire cabinet where I store them, and I have to shudder violently every time I go for a frying pan.

Eventually this became a Problem That Needed To Be Solved. I went to Target several times with one item on my list: new potholders. But Target has failed me in the potholder department, and as confounding as I find this several return trips with the certainty that This Time There Will Be Potholders (positive mojo flowing) has not resulted in actual living new potholders residing in my frying pan cabinet.

Last weekend we went to IKEA on a separate but related mission. Generally trips to IKEA are pleasantly stimulating and rewarded with success so I juggled potholders on to the List Of Things I Might Find And Purchase At IKEA. Sadly IKEA was vastly disappointing in the Storage Items Which Might Solve My Vestibule Crisis and I was so crushed that the trip turned into The Wasteland Of Crap At IKEA That Does Not Solve My Vestibule Crisis and I completely missed potholders.

All of this drama has caused me to become so loose when it comes to the potholders that today as I took them out of the drier I planned an elaborate potholder themed online swap. If I cannot find myself a set of potholders I reasoned then I am willing to let a complete stranger choose my potholders for me and I will live with whatever shows up on my doorstep. My second less involved choice was to beg you for potholders.

But just now I realized that the potholders must have a message of some importance for me. I need to be willing to be patient and open my eyes and ears to the vast store of knowledge held by The Most Sensorily Displeasing Potholders On The Face Of This Vast Earth and wait for the Truth to come to me.

Also, I need to get to Crate and Barrel ASAP.