F is for Fabric

I have this addiction to fabric where I can’t go into a store that sells it and not walk out with an armful of product. I have stacks and stacks of fabric waiting to be made into something. Often, though, buying it is much more fun than actually turning it into anything.

 

Today I am going to turn some fabric into pillow cases. It’ll be fun!

 

I, of course, will be making up my own pattern and whatnot because sometimes following the rules is boring.

 

Step 1 – Pick out thread to match my project and wind it through the machine. Forget how to thread the bobbin because it’s been a really long time since I’ve used my sewing machine despite the fact that it’s been sitting on the desk for at least two years. Try just doing it without thinking about it. It works. Phew.

 

Step 2 – Decide that I’d like stripes on my pillows. Start ripping the fabric into strips to sew together. Start sewing together. Realize I’ve sewed a wrong side to a right side instead of right sides together and take out all the stitches.

 

Step 3 – Sew a bunch more stripes together and iron the seams.

 

Step 4 – Sew the boring back side on. Realize that I have again sewn a right side to a wrong side. Take out all the stitches and try again.

 

Step 5 – Realize that I didn’t match up any of the tree branches on the stripey front side. Decide that I don’t really care.

 

Step 6 – Start sewing shit together in hopes that at some point this will look like a pillow. Make a few wrong stitches but somehow manage to make it look like a pillow cover anyway.

 

Step 7 – Stuff pillow in newly made case and wonder if I can get away with only having one pillow in the room because it took far too long (two hours!) to make. Leave all the fabric and paraphernalia out in hopes that it inspires me to make the other three.

 

Step 8 – Look up instructions to see if this could take less time if I followed someone else’s work.

 

 

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E is for Emperor

Twin A was driving his bushy-haired friend around one evening going from party to party. The friend was in charge of texting me with their plans.

 

Him: We are at Dylan’s house.

Me: Thanks. Keep me updated.

Him: Yes ma’am

 

Later they go to Rachel’s and when it’s Twin A’s curfew, the bushy-haired friend texts to say:

 

Him: Twin A is dropping me back off at Dylan’s then heading home.

Me: Thanks pal. See you tomorrow.

Him: Yes ma’am.

 

Him: So we showed up and cops are at Dylan’s. Yikes! So your awesome son is driving me home.

Me: Okay. Then straight home please.

Him: Yes ma’am

Me: Stop “ma’aming” me. Geez.

Him: Yes my Liege.

Me: That’s better. Also “Your Majesty” works.

Him: What about Luscious Hummingbird of Beauty?

Me: I’m not usually a fan of birds, but I’ll make an exception in this case.

 

And…scene.

 

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D is for Disorder

I’ve noticed recently that the word "disorder" can cover a plethora of things. I get that there are real disorders and they can be very serious, but mostly, I’ve noticed, we all make up disorders as excuses for why we behave in a certain way.

 

A kid on Twin A’s lacrosse team was trying to get out of conditioning the other day by making up all of these “disorders” that he has. His first mistake was telling me that he had a “compulsive liar disorder.” It made it very hard to believe all of the other disorders he came up with:

·       Muscle interruption disorder where his muscles aren’t attached to each other so it makes it hard to run.

·       Explosive vomiting disorder where if he runs too hard he throws up.

·       Left side-right side brain disorder where his brain tells him the wrong side of his body from the actual instructions and it’s very confusing and maybe he should be excused from stretching.

 

Yesterday I excused him from conditioning because he had done a school triathlon in the afternoon and fell off his bike (triathlon coordination disorder) and then when they were playing catch against a wall with their lacrosse sticks while waiting for conditioning to start, he threw the ball at the wall and it came back and hit him in the private area (unprotected testicle disorder).  I figured he had had enough.

 

It did get me thinking, though, about my own disorders.

 

1. I suffer from lazy disorder. I am not a motivated person. I get things done if they need to be done but only at the last minute and never if I don’t have a deadline. I tend to surround myself with go-getters for some reason: people who get stuff done, people who set goals and accomplish them, people who have a deadline but finish their work long before that deadline comes. Those people are crazy.

 

2. I have perfectionist disorder. I like for everything to be in its place. I admire the people who let their kids play with Lego and all those other toys that have a million little pieces that need to be cleaned up. I think it’s fascinating that people will come into their homes and throw their keys in a different place every day and then spend time later searching for them. I’m a little jealous of those people who can walk right past that picture frame that’s been moved a quarter of an inch to the right and not have to fix it.

 

The thing is, it’s hard to get anything done. A perfectionist sees the work involved in any project and then gets too overwhelmed to accomplish it. Painting a room can take weeks—first you have to move all the furniture, then wash the walls, remove anything that can be removed from the walls, tape anything that can’t be moved, notice that the tape ripped vertically instead of horizontally, stop to even out the tape, consider whether you are going to paint the closet door frame or leave it white because it is, after all, a frame and shouldn’t that look different than the rest of the wall or should it actually blend in, do some research to see what the rest of the Internet thinks, wonder if now might be a good time to change all the outlet covers, and maybe get a new light switch cover, check Pintrest and Etsy to find some neat ideas, wonder if that’s really the look you want to go for or if it seems too…matchy-matchy and is that really the impression you want to give off…and this doesn’t even discuss the choosing of the paint colour in the first place.

 

Whereas a non-perfectionist thinks: “This room needs to be painted.” Paints room.

 

3. So, how then, between lazy disorder and perfectionist disorder do I get anything done ever? I like to call it Massive Procrastination Disorder. Writing this post is something I’d like to get done but doesn’t have any clear deadline. Therefore, so far, while writing, I have taken a few breaks to: fold laundry, go for a run, plan dinner, clean the kitchen, have a shower, organize my bookshelf, make lunch plans. And the funny thing is that I’m writing this post to procrastinate actually doing my real live work.  

 

It’s a complicated system guys; not everyone can accomplish as much as I do suffering from all these disorders. I’m tough. I’ll soldier through. Please don’t let your compassion for my problems ruin the rest of your day.  

 

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C is for Chart

Twin A is a very motivated person. He wakes up in the morning (long before he needs to) all by himself with no prompting from me. He goes off to school and does his work and brings home his homework and gets it done and prepares for whatever activity he will be participating in that evening. He takes care of his diabetes without any input from me, he does his laundry when it needs to be done, and he turns out his light when he feels tired. He’s like a machine, a very happy, cute, self-sufficient machine.

 

Twin B is not. Twin B takes after his mama. He won’t get up unless I tell him to, he’ll do his homework but only if he feels like it (thank god he tests well), he sets up camp in his room and watches videos on his laptop until I tell him to get ready for whatever activity he needs to participate in. His laundry gets done when he’s down to too-short track pants and that t-shirt that he hates and he only takes his medication after I ask him too.  He’s like a cliché of a teenager, a very funny, cute, energy-conserving (aka lazy) teenager.

 

A few years ago, Malison took a course in Sports Psychology. She learned that different people are motivated by different things. Some people need a reward at the end, some people are self-motivated, and some people need to see progress as they work towards their goals. I am one of the latter. I did a 30-day challenge for yoga and went for 30 days because every day I got a sticker on a chart. Once I got the first sticker I needed to complete the chart because any holes would look messy. It doesn’t have to make sense, it just is, ok? Geez.

 

This month, I decided Twin B should have a chart. He would pick three goals and every day he would get three stickers. It’s an experiment to see if he is motivated the same way I am. He is. And he decided that if he is doing this chart thing than I would have to too.

 

 

 

Twin B’s goals include:

Eight minutes a day writing with his left hand. He feels that when he’s drumming his right hand is doing exactly what he tells it to while his left hand just flops around. He’s decided that if he practices writing with his left hand then he’ll have more control over it. Nobody needs mention that there is a difference between fine and gross motor skills because the way he’s decided to practice is to write in Letters to Mom.

 

 

Twenty minutes of studying Social every day. Exams are coming up so this is a great goal. A few days after we made the charts, he realized that after exams there is still half a month left. I told him that he could still study Social well into summer vacation, but he heartily disagreed. He’ll think of something to replace that goal after his exam.

 

Random chores is the last goal. Some of his chores aren’t so random like garbage and lawn care, but I don’t really care because, for the first time ever, he’s not complaining about doing them. And he’s excited about doing other chores too, like organizing his bookshelf and closet, grocery shopping, and washing their car.

 

I’m finding that Twin B is a little more present in his life for the last week. That doesn’t mean that he’s stopped hiding in his room with his laptop, but he’s conscious about getting his stickers and plans ahead and it’s fascinating to watch. Every day we have a little contest on who can get all their stickers first (which I totally kick ass at, but I might be cheating a little by being at home while he’s at school).

 

Fingers crossed that this continues!

 

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B is for Banff

Every year (except one in the last 11 years), BFF and I go to Banff for May Long Weekend. Originally, we went there for a friend’s, let’s call her Red, 30^th birthday. Red and some of her other friends and family got there on the Friday and partied very hard, then they took part in what’s called the Slush Cup (which has something to do with skiing at Sunshine on the hill’s last open weekend. We don’t participate because it would get in the way of our plans to nap), so when we got there on Saturday, Red and friends were ready to be mellow. We, however, were not.

 

This weekend was the first weekend I’d been apart from the boys since X and I split up. I was 29, single, and away from home and responsibility. I was not interested in having a barbeque in someone’s condo. We were there for one night and we were going to sow some oats.

 

Oh boy, did some oats get sown. We drank, we partied, we met new people, we carried on until all hours. To be perfectly truthful, we did not even make it back to our hotel that night. We went out for dinner, we went to a couple of pubs, and we even went to an actual nightclub. We somehow managed to run into a bunch of guys from our hometown who were on a weekend-long stag. And so we continued to party with them until all hours. And, golly, we had fun!

 

The next year looked similar. This time we took Red with us and at one point she ended up in an abandoned shopping cart with some guy racing her down the street.

 

As the years went on we started to skip the nightclub and spend more time at the pubs meeting people and conducting social experiments. Sometimes we’d take little plastic toys (like army men) with us and leave them in odd places. One time we pretended we needed cue-cards in order to talk to men (“Hello” make eye contact, “my name is Alice.” Smile). We were going to pretend we were on a stagette once, but there was only two of us and we thought that would look slightly pathetic.

 

And we can look back at the people we were and giggle at what good times we had. But now we manage to make it back to our own hotel every single night. And the partying aspect doesn’t hold the same draw that it once did. We much prefer nice wine and fancy dinners to pub food and sugary coolers.

 

But, even still, I’m not ready to call it a day. I’m not ready to settle down and just be mellow and old. Luckily, after a lovely and relaxing weekend with my BFF, filled with hiking and napping and wine and SO MUCH food, I can come home. To the place where I share the same sense of humour with a couple of sixteen-year-olds. Where, even though I’m their mom and they have total respect for that, we can practice our secret handshakes and giggle together every time someone says “duty” and wrestle around on the living room floor and imitate the characters from Saturday Night Live. Where I’m lucky enough not to have to act my age.

 

To sum up: BFF and I have fun wherever we go and whatever we do. And it’s always nice to come home.

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A is for Animals

Hi everyone. Let’s just pretend you didn’t notice that I haven’t blogged for a couple of months and I won’t explain why. Cause it’s not very interesting and I don’t want to bore you. Here’s what I’m going to try though: I’m going to alphabet blog. Do you like how I say that like it’s a thing? I have no idea if it’s a thing but that’s what I’m doing. First up: Animals.

 

I’m sure it’s not secret to any of you that I’m not a fan of animals. They smell, they require attention, and even a five-pound dog can take up an entire king-size bed. She’s just a baby here, but trust me, she grows into a monstrous and lethal combination of an almost-five-pound bundle of neediness and cute.

 

The boys, then, have had to be creative when it comes to finding non-human friends. Stuffed animals have always had names and personalities. Our vehicles have names and personalities. Our vacuum cleaner has a name and a personality (Giles reminds me a lot of my brother when he was a kid. He’d always crawl into the oddest places and get stuck. My entire childhood is punctuated by my brother’s muffled voice: “Mo-om, I’m stu-uck.”). 

 

Second time today. Maybe stay out from under there.

 

Twin A found a new pet the other day. This is Steven. He spent the night sleeping on my couch and then after saying “Top of the morning to ya” in a perfect Irish accent, disappeared. I haven’t seen him since (making him the best pet ever)…I hope Giles doesn’t know anything about that.

 

 

 

One more thing about animals: Twin B can be a little…stubborn in his beliefs. If he KNOWS something to be true, then there is no changing his mind about it. Calamari is going to taste disgusting no matter how many times he hasn’t tried it, the book Angela’s Ashes is about some demon kid burning a girl named Angela cause that’s what it looks like from the cover, and for some reason, fish are not animals.

 

We used to play this game in restaurants while waiting for our food where one of us would choose a Disney animated character and the other two would have to guess who it was (20 questions with a theme). Is it male? Is he in a princess movie? Is she the main character? Is he an animal? Toy? God? Monster? Car? The game becomes more difficult when you realize that Nemo, Cleo, and Flounder are not considered animals. Geesh.

 

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Wicked Awesome

I went to Massachusetts last week. We saw so much stuff and met so many people and it was wicked fun. Bostonians say "wicked" a lot, and speak with a fun accent. We tried to eavesdrop on as many conversations as we could just to hear it.

I got to Boston at about 5pm. Favourite Cousin (FC) wasn't due to arrive until 10, so I had some time to kill. Luckily there was a Hilton attached to the airport and secret rumour had it that if you "take care" of the bellhop, he'll store your luggage for you.

Conversation between me and the bellhop:
Me (wide-eyed and smiley like a cheerleader): Hi there! I'm not staying at this hotel but I was wondering if there was any way you could hang on to my luggage for me while I kill some time?
Bellhop (in old-timey 30s mobster accent): You take care of me; I'll take care of you.
Me (talking out of the side of my mouth and shifting my eyes around while I nonchalantly put some money into his hand): Thanks.

Honestly, I'm just the kind of person you want around when there's some sort of secret mission happening. You wouldn't even believe how breezy I can be.

Anyway, I then caught the silver line into the city and hopped on the blue line to head to the Aquarium. See? Breezy. Alright, it may not have been that easy; I had to ask four or five different people for directions just to see if I was in the right place. But, eventually, I made it to the Aquarium...10 minutes after it closed.

So I took myself out for dinner instead. I sat in a fancy restaurant looking slightly homeless after travelling for the entire day, and ordered an appetizer, main course, dessert and a couple glasses of wine. It was lovely and so yummy. Every time the waiter brought out another dish, I'd jump up and down in my seat and clap my hands...so appearing not only homeless but perhaps a tad mentally handicapped as well.

Eventually I made it back to the airport, picked up my luggage, waited for FC in the wrong terminal, met her at the car rental place and we headed to our first destination.

We started in Foxboro. It's where they keep the stadium for the New England Patriots. I never actually saw the stadium though. I actually only saw the hotel in Foxboro cause every time I left, I ended up in a different town. There was a 170-shop outlet mall close by. So I did that while FC learned how to make herself look like a Muppet in cake form.

After leaving Foxboro, we went up to the Cape. When I tell people this out loud I always jut my chin out and talk through my teeth. Because that's how you say things like that I suppose. We spent some of our time walking to a lighthouse--through the forest, across the ocean (it was low tide), and over the sand dunes. We think this is probably much more lovely in summer, but it was a nice walk just the same.

 

In Cape Cod, we stayed at a little bed and breakfast in Provincetown called the Whitewind Inn. Cutest place ever. Our hosts name was Jeffrey; he was wicked awesome.

 

 

After leaving there the next morning, we stopped in Plymouth where we saw this.

 

It was overwhelming how much history the state has. I know it's not my history, but to be near a site where something so important happened 400 years ago was amazing.

 

 

That night, we stayed in Salem. We went to a couple of witch museums but I was pretty underwhelmed by them. Like everything else in Massachusetts, most of the good stuff is closed until it warms up.

 

We got our tarot cards read though. What else would you do in a place known for witches and magic? I, apparently, am supposed to meet the love of my life in late-July and he will be "different looking...like Spanish." I'm not really sure what's so different-looking about Spanish people but that's what she said. She also said he "would give me a run for my money." That sounds dramatic and not at all what I'd like. The love of my life sounds like too much work with all his running for my money and different looking-ness. Ugh.

 

After Salem we headed for Harvard and MIT. I loved both places. And what a difference between them. Harvard is all brick and stone and old looking and MIT (though founded in 1861) looks more modern.

 



The picture below is the Bill Gates building. It looks a lot like something from Dr. Seuss. 

 

That night we sat in TD Garden and watched the Boston-Montreal game. It was probably the most exciting game either team had played all year (though I wouldn't actually know because I don't follow the Eastern Conference). It ended in a tie, they played the 5-minute overtime, then did the shootout. It was wicked exciting.

 

 

And finally, we spent the next day touring around Boston. 

 

 

And now I'm home and things are back to normal.

 

 

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