Hard habits

Good LORD you guys.  So much for getting Sofia situated and coming right back to blog.  I am so sorry if I caused any of you any worry for even a fraction of a second.  I am so lame for even putting up such a dumb cliffhanger type post and then not following up immediately after.

I'm lame, I suck, I know it and I'm sorry.

But I'm here now and I have a story that I'd like to share with you.  And since I have no idea where to start, let's just start.

Over the years of me writing this blog, it has morphed from a casual pastime to something much more real and important and valuable to me.  It's more than me just telling stories; over the years you have helped me.  You've seen me through four miscarriages, one successful birth (soon hopefully two), finding out about a new sister.  You've been THERE for me while I worked through my issues, you've made me laugh, think, cry and everything in between.  I've shared more with you, my readers, than I have with a lot of my real life friends.   For that, I thank you.  Thank you for reading, thank you for reaching out, thank you for being there.  You have created a safe space for me; you know my thoughts and my only hope is that I have somehow in some way done the same for you.  It means the world to me to hear from you and know that something I've gone through or shared has helped you in some way, big or small.  That's why I'm here and that's why I'll stay here.

A few days ago, I received an email followed shortly by a phone call talking about the exact same thing and I took that as a sign that I should share my story.  For a while, it's been on my mind but I was always like, Nope.  That's too much.  I CANnot keep doing this to my readers and friends.  I need to talk about sewing pillows.  I must entertain.  But as much as that stuff is my life, this is too and if by sharing my story maybe someone else shares theirs, then that's a good thing. 

Trigger alert:  We're going to talk about eating disorders.  There's a picture.

.......................................................

I've been skinny my whole life.  I've never had to worry about my weight, and at nearly 38 years old and all other things remaining equal, I think it's safe to say I probably never will.  I've also been teased about it my whole life.  When I was younger and got my yearbook signed:  Hey Skeleton Girl, I hope you eat food over the summer.  When I was older and my 'friends' would 'tease' me:  Ugh, you're such a skinny bitch, I hate you.  Must be *nice* to eat whatever you want and not gain an ounce.  Just wait till you hit 30/just wait till you have a kid - you're going to BLOW UP and I'm going to LAUGH.  I was never allowed to say 'that's hurtful, don't say these things to me' because you don't get to feel bad about being thin.  I felt like I couldn't stand up for myself because being thin isn't a real problem.

When I was about ten, I cried to my mom but I never really got a lot of empathy as she spent her whole life being overweight and often told me how lucky I was, how the other kids were just jealous and how I shouldn't let it get to me.  Except it's not that easy; you can't cope when you don't have any coping skills.  When you're a kid you want to be accepted, you want to fit in and if you don't have a place where you're comfortable, life becomes difficult to manage.  

Once, my mom took me to GNC to buy some weight-gain powder but we didn't buy any; when we saw the jugs were nearly fifty dollars, I felt too guilty to ask her to spend that much money on something she clearly didn't think was necessary.  I told her I changed my mind and that was the last we ever talked about it.  As an adult, I understand:  When you have your own demons it's hard to see past them and instead all you see is someone complaining about having something you wish you had for yourself.  Plus, there was that idea back then that kids aren't capable of having complex feelings like adults do and I couldn't really be that upset and it wasn't *that* serious.

Besides, there really was no such thing as 'thin-shaming' when I was growing up and who in their right mind would ever think being skinny was a bad thing?

My mom encouraged me to start modeling, because in modeling being skinny is prized.  You get praised for fitting into a size 0 and I could do that without even trying.  Looking back, that probably wasn't the best decision, but I don't blame my mom for this one.  In this case, I truly believe she did her best.  She didn't know.  I started competing in mall beauty contests and school was always the priority, but the seed was planted.

I was never tall enough for fashion modeling, but I was thin with curves and boobs which made me a perfect candidate for swimsuit modeling, and in my mid 20s I discovered swimsuit competitions.  By this time, I'd moved away from home and was responsible for myself; I still hadn't learned many coping skills and was less emotionally mature than I should have been, to be standing on some stage in a bikini getting judged for my looks.  But I'd been bitten by the competition bug and it wasn't long before I was in the thick of it.

That world revolved around exercise and food:  Bikini models can't be bony sticks, and the best body is a toned body.  I quickly learned to eat egg whites and a small bowl of plain oatmeal for breakfast with a salad for lunch and grilled fish for dinner, while toting around a giant jug of water between trips to the gym to spend hours on the treadmill and lifting weights.  I nearly always at least placed in the contests and I quickly grew to love the spirit of competition.  Eating healthier and working out harder than the next girl became my goal, not because I had to or because I hated myself.  I just wanted to see just how long I could run without passing out; how little I could eat and still survive.  It became about molding my body, about controlling myself and it was only exacerbated when I won, when they applauded me, handing me those giant bouquets of flowers and prize money.  I wanted more and that meant eating less.

No one ever confessed to having a problem with food because the idea was to make it look as effortless as possible.  You don't complain about being hungry; if you can't live off a bowl of oatmeal and a hard boiled egg you didn't need to be there.  If you can't knock out two hours on the treadmill at a hard run, then you're obviously not cut out for the competition.  Winners don't worry about food and I had an edge because I came into the game skinny; it wasn't much of an adjustment to get used to eating less.  The hardest part was the exercise; I hated the gym, but if there was a girl on the elliptical at six in the morning, then I was right next to her.  If I was going to lose a contest, it wasn't going to be because I didn't work out hard enough or I didn't eat small enough portions.  

This is an old and grainy picture of a picture

but you get the idea.  I was in my mid 20s.

At this time in my life, I was proud of my body.  I loved it, I never punished myself and there was never any negative self-talk.  I was in the prime of my youth; I traveled, met famous people, and I had tons of fun.  We always got special treatment and VIP access.  Crowds literally parted when contests were in town and all us girls came out to the clubs.  Even though the drugs and sex were there, I knew enough to never mess with that stuff.  I could have won more contests that way and sleeping your way to the top is a very real thing, but even back then I knew the price wasn't worth it.  

Not that I got out unscathed - my brain was re-wired.  Just like muscle memory, after I stopped competing and modeling my brain remembers the satisfaction of being able to control my body and even though I wasn't on stage anymore, I still sought that validation for having that control.  It was powerful and it became a tool.

I began to notice that I was using not eating to manage my stress when I was in my late 20s.  I was in college, working full time and everyone sort of expects that college stresses you out.  It's sort of a badge of honor to walk around in a daze during finals and no one blinks when you eat once a day, or when you eat too much - Freshman 15 anyone?

I really can't even remember when it started again but when I got stressed, I stopped eating.  One of the worst episodes I had was when I got pregnant for the very first time.  It was the darkest time of my life and I went several days without eating.  I have never resorted to binging and purging; I'm not into causing myself pain (stuffing your face makes your stomach hurt too much) and I was too vain to vomit.  Plus, it's too much of a giveaway.  Vomiting makes your teeth rot and your breath stink and I was never keen on sticking my fingers down my throat.  It was much easier to simply never let the food in to begin with.  Plus, vomiting will show a lot quicker than restricting calories.  You have to starve yourself for a little while longer before it starts to show in your skin and hair; at least that's my experience.  I was good at it because no one ever knew.  I could walk the line like a pro.  While I'm genetically thin, I was artificially skinny.  People noticed, but it was more like You're so lucky to be so skinny.  I wish I could be skinny like you, and my brain heard:  You don't get to complain.  You can't ask for help.  What you see as an issue is a blessing most people would love to have.  Keep your mouth shut, you don't have real problems.

So that's what I did.  I found yoga and it actually helped enormously in helping me deal with stress and I thought I was 'cured.'  I even told myself that I probably never really had a problem to begin with, that it was in my head.  Finally, I had coping skills and with the help of a ton of therapy over many years, I took pride in having kicked my bad habit.  I got married and having miscarriages didn't even knock me back into my old habits.  But it's always there; once your brain is re-wired it never goes away. 

One day, I looked in the mirror.  I was a new mom, my husband had gotten a new job in another state, I was alone more than I wasn't, we were trying to sell our house and the burdens got heavy again.  I didn't really have anyone to talk to and using any coping skills became too much effort on top of everything else and it became easier to simply stop eating. 

May 2012.

I keep this picture to remind myself to never get back to this place.  Breastfeeding was literally sucking the pounds off and I was too stressed to replace them.  It was easy to focus on my child and not take care of myself.  Again, no one blinks when you don't eat because you're taking care of your kid; if anything you get praised for losing the baby weight so quickly and being such a devoted mother.  Once again, I didn't feel like I had the right to ask for help, I didn't have the right to speak up and say that I was handling stress in an unhealthy way.  I just quietly stopped eating, just so that there was some tiny part of my life that made sense; I got through the day on crackers and water, not because I was too busy taking care of my baby; crackers and water was a purposeful and conscious decision.  I needed to control something, anything because the world was getting too big and I was feeling too small.

We finally sold the house, moved to Pennsylvania and we were finally together as a family.  Again, I thought it was just an episode and it was over.  And then it happened again.  I cried every day because I knew what was happening and I wanted to face it.  I wanted to deal with it and make the stress go away before I hit that no-eating point but I couldn't.  It was like being trapped in a locked room with a snake and I had to just let it sting me over and over again and I couldn't get away.  I felt trapped and threatened and unheard and alone.  I couldn't get off the roller coaster and I felt like the only way I could survive was to not eat.  I was six months pregnant and I found myself staring at the open fridge at nine at night, realizing that I'd only eaten two bites of lasagna all day long and that was more on purpose than not.

It was one day but one day of choosing not to feed your fetus is one day too many.  Plus, it scared the shit out of me and I was on the phone faster than my shaky fingers could dial, calling any and every hotline I could Google, begging someone to help me eat because I literally couldn't put anything in my mouth and I'll be damned if I make my kid pay for my issues. It was a Saturday night and of course all the hotlines I found were only Monday through Friday 8-5 because don't you know, eating disorders only flare up during business hours.  One place I called directed me to the suicide prevention hotline and I was offended.  "I'm not fucking suicidal you fucking morons.  I just can't eat and if you'd just fucking say the magic words or tell me what I need to do so I can eat, I will fucking do it.  You think like feeling like this?!  You think I'm doing this for attention?!  I need fucking help you fucking assholes." 

I finally found a treatment center in Arizona that picked up the phone and I talked to a 'counselor' whose only words of advice were "Well, you've just got to eat."  I swear to fucking God that's what this bitch said to me.  Very politely, I was like "Ma'am I am well aware of that, unfortunately I CAN'T EAT.  I'd very much appreciate it if you could just give me a tip or a trick that will help me manage my anxiety enough to where I don't go any longer without eating."

This bitch had nothing.  She was of ZERO help and she was supposed to be a counselor specializing in eating disorders.  I hung up with her and cried my way through the rest of the night and by the grace of God, I was able to eat the next day.

But I was shaken.  I thought I was past this but I realized that this was always going to be an issue and traditional treatment centers and even counselors don't really talk to you until you're 80 pounds and hate yourself and have already attempted suicide.  I felt like that because I never got that far I didn't 'qualify.'  

That's why I'm telling my story.  I got an email the other day from someone who wasn't drowning but knew enough that the water was getting high and they reached out to me.  And then I got a phone call from someone else who also confided their food issues to me and I felt such urgency.  I wanted to grab their shoulders, look them in the eye and say "You qualify.  Your problems are real and valid and I hear you.  I'm beside you, fighting with you.  You matter.  You have the strength to grab that snake by the head and stomp the shit out of it.  You can do this."  I have no expertise, I have no formal training, but I know that when I feel weak, I need to be reminded that weakness is a state of mind, that I've come a long way through a lot of shit and we all need cheerleaders in our corner.

I do not believe in suffering alone.  We all have burdens to bear and we all have some bad habit that we could stand to lose, but there is no reason any of us should take those steps alone.  We all have to walk our own paths, carry our own burdens and be responsible adults but there's no reason why we can't have some company along the way. That night, in that moment I didn't feel like I had anyone in my corner and it was the worst feeling in the world.  

I posted this picture on Facebook and 

one of my 'friends' (more of an acquaintance really) was like 

'OMG could you be any skinnier right now?'

I wanted to say "Well I suppose I could but that would mean my eating disorder is flaring up."

Then I remembered, I've hidden quite well and it's no one's fault if they can't find me.

You can't be mad at people for saying stuff like that if you don't educate them.

So I didn't say anything, but it still stung.

That's the bottom line of why I'm telling my story - to say don't hide so well that you can't be found.  Don't put on a stiff upper lip and try to power through it alone.  At best, it's lonely and makes things harder than they need to be.  At worst, it's dangerous and harmful to your health.  We all need someone in our corner when things get too big and too loud and too much to handle and help should not be restricted to those who have sunk so low that they've gone ahead and attempted suicide or have already lost an alarming amount of weight or they've done whatever other dangerous thing.  Even if you're only two steps down the wrong path, it's still the wrong path.  

I will soon have two daughters and our society is still quite broken and we still have a terribly skewed ideal of body image.  I'm hyper sensitive to it and I'm always on the lookout for my warning signs and I spot my triggers a mile away.  I will keep lines of communication open and I will pray every day that I don't miss warning signs in my daughters.  I will make sure they know every second of every day that I'm in their corner, that while they will have to walk their path with their own two feet, that I will never be far.

I don't know if aaallll these words made any kind of sense or that they conveyed my message, but I sure hope so.  Don't suffer alone, it's not worth it.  I did for just a night and it scared the shit out of me.  I'm not talking 'oh I had a bad day' - it was dark and nasty and I would have given anything to hear someone say "It's going to be ok.  You're not alone and you're going to make it."

I guess what I'm trying to say is I can say that to you, if you need me to.  I've gone through some things and I've made it to the other side in one piece.  I've made it through with your help and if I can return the favor, then sign me up.  Sometimes you need someone who has walked the path before you to tell you that you can indeed put one foot in front of the other, that you can make it through to the other side because they've done it.  I've lost babies and I'm still standing.  I struggle with food and I'm still here.  I have a jacked up family and I still get out of bed in the morning.  And God KNOWS I have zero problems compared with what some people have to go through, but all I'm saying is you've helped me and if by sharing my story I can help, in even the smallest of ways, then I'm here.

Okay, thanks for letting me share.  I'll get back to the funny and the light and the entertaining in short order.    

Over-thinking Santa

It started when I decided not to take Sofia to see Santa this year.  Our first year was innocent enough - Sofia was eight months old, I went with a friend and it was a pretty painless experience.  This year, we were here in Reading and our pathetic mall Santa doesn't even begin to compare to the one in Dallas - you know, where shopping is a city-wide sport and you know, everything's bigger in Texas.  Even Santa.

Additionally, I procrastinated so much that I didn't end up taking Sofia until Christmas Eve, and even our tiny pathetic mall was packed to the brim with people.  However, Sofia was an absolute champ, as always.  She hung out in her stroller, happy to people-watch.

I took this shot before we left the house.

I should have quit while I was ahead.

There was a line to see Santa, because of course there was, and still Sofia was fine.  Our turn came and I placed her in Santa's lap and stood off to the side, never going where she couldn't see me.  But my child is smarter than I am; she knew enough to recognize that sitting on a strange man's lap, dressed up or not, was nothing she wanted any part of.  She promptly lost her shit, and instead of snatching her off of Santa's lap like I should have, I hurried the photographer along and had her take the picture.

I regret this with every fiber of my being.

I hate that I did this to my baby.  I don't find anything cute about Screaming Santa pictures; I think they're terrible and I'm ashamed I have one.  I feel like I let my daughter down and I swore I would never do that to her again.  So, there will be no Santa this year and there won't be one until she asks for it.  But it got me thinking about this whole Santa thing and I'm not sure where he fits into our scheme of things.  

For one thing, I don't agree with the idea of Santa shaming.  You know, You better be good or Santa won't bring you presents.  That doesn't sit well with me because that's not how I discipline Sofia in any other situation.  I don't want her to do the right thing because she's afraid she'll get caught or that if she does the right thing she'll get a reward.  I want her to do the right thing because it's the right thing to do.  In my opinion, raising a child to be afraid of getting caught is just raising a sneaky kid.  And raising a kid who expects a reward every time they do anything nice sends the wrong message too, because what motivation do they have to do the right thing if no one's looking and no one is going to give them a reward or gift for it?  I don't want Sofia to 'be good' or make good choices from either of those places and I don't like that message of Santa.  Never mind the whole 'he sees you when you're sleeping' thing.  That shit is just creepy.

In that same vein, I'm not doing the Elf on the Shelf thing either.  We got one as a gift last year and I halfheartedly participated, moving Finley from one spot to another each night and trying to get Sofia interested and excited about where he would be the next morning.  However, at 18 months old, she could have cared less and I sure as hell wasn't doing it for me.  This year, we brought him out, but Sofia doesn't understand that you can't touch him and pulled him down from his spot within a minute and was like "Finsley, you do yoga!" stretching his legs every which way and trying to take off his hat and gloves.

Plus, I am far too pregnant to be messing with nonsense like this.

These people know the elf doesn't clean up after itself, right?

Besides, this is more my speed.

source

You need to click that link and laugh your ass off at those elves.

Those elves are my people.

But let's not forget the Elf's original job:  To spy on you and report back to Santa.  Apparently, the job is so boring that the Elf has to get into trouble while you're asleep, hence the messes and inappropriate situations.  I get it, Elf.  You get bored, you get curious.  Happens to the best of us.  

I just can't get behind the whole 'spying on you and narc-ing to Santa just so you'll behave in Target' thing.  I don't roll that way as a parent, and I'll be damned if I let an elf or fat man in a red suit undermine my parenting.  *Kidding, but not really.

And let's not even talk about the whole other part of Christmas:  the Jesus part.  Me, I grew up in a super religious household.  My mom is old-school Mexican; they didn't even have a Christmas tree, they had a Nativity.  Gifts weren't exchanged until January at the Epiphany.  Christmas Eve was spent at midnight Mass and they were back in church Christmas morning.  There was no Santa or reindeer or any of that stuff.  My dad was adamantly against Christmas too, saying that gifts are fine but let's do it on another day, so as to concentrate on the real 'reason for the season.'  However, my brother and I wanted a tree and gifts on December 25, and that's what we got.  My parents begrudgingly 'did' Santa, but it was never a huge thing in our house and I went to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve until I was in my late 20s.  Honestly, *not* going feels kind of weird to me, but it also feels kind of fake.  I don't go to church any other time of the year, being that 'Christmas/Easter' churchgoer doesn't feel right either.  But that religious-ness is still in me; I don't think you can ever be 'un-Catholic.'  I remember the prayers and the songs and I probably will forever.

But as I got older, I wanted to learn more about all other religions and today, my Bible shares space on my bookshelf with The Bhagavad Gita, The Handbook of Living Religions, The Language of God, Bulfinch's Mythology, and The Uncensored Bible (hilarious read, btw.)  I'm contemplating reading Killing Jesus, but the excerpt on Amazon is kind of gross, so I'm not sure on that one.  Then you've got the whole theory about Jesus being born in the fall (or the spring,) not in December, that December 25 was a pagan festival date and the Christians piggy-backed so the pagans would accept Christianity, etc blah blah blah.  

My point is, religion in all its forms fascinates me and I'm not inclined to completely dismiss one in favor of another, which tends to be a problem in some organized religions.  There's this idea that their way is the only way, and you have to buy into that in order to be in the club.  Bottom line - as I get older, I get less and less sure about the whole religion thing.  And if I'm not sure, I don't think I'd be the best teacher for my daughter.  When the time comes, I'll share what I've learned and maybe we can continue to learn together.

Now I'm not a total grinch and Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year.  There is a magic around the Christmas season that doesn't happen any other time.  Whole towns light up, people get nicer, they hold doors open for you, they smile more, and that whole 'peace and goodwill towards men' is a real thing.  

Trees with lights are magical.

It is impossible to look at one and *not* feel your heart going all mushy.

I love trees and lights so much I have two of them.

This tree is even more awesome because Sofia picked out that star for the top.

And when else do you get to have an awesome snowman on your porch?

My girlfriend's father is a woodcarver and that is a solid piece of wood - 

how awesome is that?!

I know not everyone gets snow at Christmastime, but 

there is something so, dare I say, magical about eating the first snow

of the season.

Plus, I grew up in Kansas City, home of the Plaza lights.

Being there when they flip that switch is positively amazing.

Some of my best memories are of the lighting ceremonies.

I'll be the first to tell you there's magic at Christmastime, and I wholeheartedly celebrate that magic.  And at celebrations, you give gifts; I'm down with that.  We just don't go overboard because again, I'm not trying to raise a greedy child.  The day she whines about not getting enough gifts is the day we take a break from gift-receiving to refocus our priorities.  It's time to celebrate our family and our friends.  It's time to do nice things for other people, regardless of who's looking and whether or not you'll get recognition for it.  I mean, you should do it year-round but there's something about Christmas that just makes people more open and giving.  That's the magic of Christmas. 

That's the part I'm sure about.  And maybe I'm over-thinking the whole Santa thing, but I still think I might just take Sofia to the portrait studio to get pictures in her Christmas dress.

Oh yeah, and I totally say Merry Christmas - no Happy Holidays over here.  It doesn't sound right to my ears so I don't say it.  You know, just in case you were wondering.

*Obligatory disclaimer when you talk about touchy subjects:  All opinions expressed are my own.  I do not judge in any way whatsoever and whatever you do to celebrate the magic of Christmas, in whatever way you do it, whatever your motivation, is A-ok fine with me.  And even if it weren't, that's completely fine too.  I'm one little nobody on this Earth and what I think counts no more than the other seven billion people on this planet.*  

It's a thin line between love and hate

Well hello there.  It's just me, your friendly neighborhood blogger.  Don't mind me, I'm just having a good old fashioned anxiety attack.  Meh, attack isn't even the word - episode is more like it.  I'm having an anxiety episode; on vacation no less.

We've spent this past week in Hilton Head and it's been wonderful.  The resort is great, the weather is great, the food has been great and if you could see Sofia swimming, you'd bust open from happiness.

So why the anxiety?  We're on vacation, it makes no sense.  That's the funny thing about anxiety; everything in your life could be great and you could still be wide awake and not sleeping because your brain won't turn off and you can't calm down.  Wanna hear how ridiculous it is this time?  Sure you do.

TV.

I'm having anxiety over TV.  That's how stupid anxiety is; you'd think I could be freaking out over the economy or the environment or something worth freaking out over, but nope.  This little episode is brought to you by TV.

Specifically, my daughter watches too much TV and it's my fault because I let it happen.  I'm the one who downloaded PBS Kids to the iPad.  I'm the one who allowed her to have Drew's old phone and had him put all the episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba on it.  It is my fault that the kid wakes up and says "May I see PBS Kids on the iPad?"  "Mommy, want Sofia's phone."  That was all me, and I'm kicking myself now because I can't sleep.

See, she wakes up before I do and on the weekends, Drew gets up with her so I can 'sleep in.'  I put that in quotes because it's not like I really sleep, because mere seconds after the both of them are up, I hear either the big TV, or the iPad or her phone, showing whichever episode of Gabba or Martha Speaks or whatever movie he's put on for her.

I tell myself that I can't complain, that I should relish the few extra minutes I get to 'sleep.'  But I don't, because all I can think about is how the kid doesn't freaking blink when she's watching TV.  How her brain is turning to mush, how she's not being engaged, how she's probably being over-stimulated and of course, how I'm being selfish because I'm choosing to sleep when I should be up and out of bed and reading to her, or playing blocks with her, or coloring, or playing with her dollhouse, anything besides letting her watch TV.

And that's why I can't sleep - because I know that she'll wake up before me, that Drew will wake up with her and before she even knows what's happening, she'll have her phone in her hand and Yo Gabba Gabba all cued up.  And it's my fault.

I mean, it's not 100% my fault - Drew could not give her the phone or the iPad.  He's her parent too; he makes that choice too.  It's just that he doesn't see the problem with her watching TV.  He doesn't think it's that big a deal.  But DUDE, the kid doesn't BLINK.  And there is no study anywhere that says that screen time is good for you.  

I searched Google Images for 'kids watching tv' and the results

were depressing.  Nothing but a bunch of little zombie kids.  It didn't do much for my anxiety.

And then of course there's the accompanying article that came 

with this fun little image.

Yet, we're the ones who just bought a bigger TV less than a month ago.  And I'll be the first one to put a movie on for Sofia when I have to do laundry because there is literally no clean underwear in the house or I have to get dinner started because Drew will be home any minute.  I'm sure there are two-year-olds out there who can entertain themselves with books and toys and whatnot, but my kid is not one of them.  I can set her up with her markers and paper and she'll play with them - for ten seconds.  Again, maybe not all toddlers are that way, but kid has the attention span of a gnat.  So, if I don't want her watching TV I have to stop what I'm doing and find another activity that might engage her, which if successful, will buy me about three minutes.

I've also tried to have her help me.  I try to get her to fold laundry with me, which is a big fat joke.  I'll give her a pile of washcloths, hoping that will occupy her long enough that I can get a few things folded.

Minute one:  I can get the diaper covers and inserts sorted so I can 

stuff the diapers.

Minute three:  It's way more fun to knock over the piles and take the 

inserts out of the diapers and then run away.

It's the same thing at dinner time.  I'll pull her tower over to the sink and turn on the water, hoping that'll give me a few minutes to get stuff started.  Except, we have one of those nozzle faucets and Sofia can pull it out, which means water all over her, the tower and the floor, so I have to stop and clean it up before she slips in it.  Then we try non-water activities like sorting beans in a muffin tin, until she dumps the beans all over the floor and I have to clean it up, and aren't I supposed to be making dinner?  

So I give up and hand over her phone and she happily runs to the sofa, plops down and zombies out.  And I hate myself.

This is from the blog Daughter of the Sun and this is her daughter.

The caption says "Where would you rather have your child? In a field of 

wild plants and flowers or in front of a television screen?"

I don't know that I'd have the courage to live like they do, but I sure do love the idea.

I mean, I'd love to live off the grid and be one with nature for real, but seriously? 

My first thought is 'Nope! I'd get way too hairy, way too fast.'

And that's the truth.

But for real, I'm in love with that blog.

I flirt with the idea of doing a 30-day TV cleanse.  No TV or iPads or phones, for any reason, at all.  Nothing.  I don't know how I'd get anything done, but I'd sure love to try.  I've gone a day without TV and I'm embarrassed to say that I was sweating by the end of the day, telling myself that we went the whole day without TV, it's ok to let her watch one show.  It's hard work being the sole entertainment for an active toddler, and not that I'm not up for it, but geez.  We play dollhouse, we play blocks, we read, we eat, we go outside, we chase, we look for bugs, we go inside, we change diapers, we color, we ride the tricycle, we ride in the toy car, we play with stickers.... and I look at the clock and two hours have gone by.  There are eight more hours to go.  Then there's tomorrow, and it's all the same books and toys and games and stickers and how in the world are you supposed to make them fresh and interesting?

I read the stuff that says your kids should be able to entertain themselves, but I'm not entirely sure they're talking about toddlers, or that they're talking about toddlers who are only children and the mom stays at home, because expecting Sofia to play by herself while I'm in the next room and I'm waaaay more interesting than anything she's got going on?  It doesn't happen.

I'm pretty sure I'm doing something wrong, but I'm not sure what it is.  I just know that it's six in the morning on my vacation and I can't sleep because I don't want her watching TV tomorrow and I'm most certainly going to be made out to be the bad guy because of it.  I just loooove being Bad Cop, btw.  It makes me so proud to hear Drew all loud and over-dramatic going, "NO SOFIA.  YOU CAN'T WATCH TV BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER DOESN'T WANT YOU TO."  I feel so good when I get the privilege of whisper fighting with Drew and it's so much fun to be like "Turn off the GD tv!  Be a fucking parent!"  Oh yeah.  Those are the moments I look forward to.  

*sigh*

Well anyway, I got this off my chest.  And I'm sure I'm going to get an earful when a certain someone reads it, but whatever.  I need to speak to my people and I need to hear from you:  Have you ever done a TV cleanse?  How hard was it?  Did your kid get the DTs from withdrawal?  Would you die without TV?  Because don't get me wrong - I love my programs.  Supernatural is my favorite show and I love zoning out at the end of the day with some good trash tv - Million Dollar Listing New York is a good one.  I love any and all design shows and could spend days watching them, so I'm definitely not on anybody's high horse.  I'm just one addict talking to another.

Ok, I'm going to try and get some sleep so I can get up when Sofia does and try this whole 'standing in a field of flowers' thing.  Wish me luck, and thanks for listening.  You're the best.

Let's sew some pillows!

Laughter is vital to life.  Without it, all you're doing is waiting to die.  Laugh every single day and you may not live longer, but the life you do live will be way more worth it.

This is why I'm so thankful for this blog and for the readers and friends that I've found through it.  We found each other and when I get down in the dumps, I write and you read and then miracles happen because you make me laugh and then I forget that I'm down in the dumps and all becomes right with the world.

So I'd like to return the favor and perhaps bring you a little laugh today, courtesy of my friend Ashley.  She left the most brilliant comment on my last post, regarding my sofa pillows.  It was a seemingly innocuous question, a perfectly legitimate query.  But when I tell you I actually laughed out loud - one of those BAH!! kind of outburst laughs, followed by a genuine smile and a chuckle of glee, well....um.....I did one of those BAH!! laughs and then genuinely smiled and chuckled with glee.  ANYWAY!

I want to tell you a story and hopefully you'll laugh.

On the last post, I asked you, my fine readers, where I could get some good pillows for cheap and Ashley was like, Um hello?  Don't you have a sewing machine?  Sew up your own pillows girl!  And then she made my day.  May I show you?

Way back in the day, this was our pillow setup in the old house.

It was Drew's sofa and Drew's pillows, so I'm not going to hate.

At least it's not black leather.

Side note:  Before I had gone to his house, I had a strict no-black-leather-sofa

rule and I would have broken up with him on the spot had he owned a black leather sofa.

Same goes for neon beer signs.

I breathed a complete sigh of relief when I walked into his loft and saw this.

But this isn't about my dating design rules - focus Desiree!  This is about my pillow-sewing prowess.  Fast forward to several years later; we're married, we have a kid, we're on our second house and the tan sofa and brown pillows have moved to the basement playroom.  Brown pillows just won't do in a happy and colorful playroom so I set out to fix that with my trusty sewing machine and a trip to JoAnn's.  I hemmed my jeans, I can sew two squares of fabric together, right?

No.  No, I cannot. 

My pillows are 16x16.  I got my fabric, lined it up and cut two 16x16 squares.  (The sewing people just smiled and shook their heads.)

You need a seam allowance, derr.  That's the part that the sewing machine foot grabs so the fabric will stay straight and it's usually an inch on all sides.  I sewed one side, realized my mistake and was like, no big, I'll just add a strip of fabric to fudge the width I need.

Don't do that, because you end up with a Frankenpillow.

Cute little ikat-ish, chevron-y type print.

The back of my pillow.  Did I line up my pattern? Nope.

Did I do that on purpose.  Nope.

Seam allowance, y'all.  You need it.

The mismatch-y pattern just hurts my feelings but I pressed on.

Fudging the seam allowance on the other side.

Some Franken-stitches on one corner because I still didn't get my measurements right.

Seam allowance!

You have to say in your 'Toe pick!' voice.

Seam allowance *and* closing it up.  Oh so pretty!

You'd think that sewing two squares together wouldn't be that hard, but this is me we're talking about.  I'm the one who put nineteen holes in the wall to hang a 1x2 piece of wood on the wall.  However, I was not to be deterred.  I had other pillows!  I'll just try again!

Same print, contrasting color.

PS, I have no idea why I was drawn to these prints because I hate them now.

'Fun' does not equal 'busy' and these are too busy for me.

I gave myself a proper seam allowance and I was even able to almost line up my pattern!

Except.....

Ummm.....

(The sewing people are wiping the tears from their eyes right now.)

See, on the edge of every fabric there's something called the selvedge.  It tells you what colors are in the fabric, the name of it, the manufacturer and whatever else you need to know about the fabric.  You should not include the selvedge when measuring your seam allowance, but I was so excited that I had solved the seam allowance mystery that I didn't even think about the selvedge snafu.  So ended pillow number two.

I was so annoyed by then, I didn't even bother trying to leave a small opening to stuff the pillow through.  I literally stuffed the pillow and sewed it closed with the pillow inside.

But I'm no quitter - I got started on pillow number three with renewed strength.  My next fabrics didn't even have a selvedge so there was nothing to trip me up!  It wasn't wide enough, but I knew how to measure for a seam allowance so I wasn't scared.  I envisioned a cool color block design and got to piecing it together.  

These pictures are harder to see because the center fabric is pink and the outer

fabric is red, but you get the idea.  I can't sew.

However, I did get a little wiser and use a long strip of fabric so I'd only have three seams

to sew instead of four.  Somehow I thought that would make my lfie easier.

As you will see, it did not.

I sorta got the colorblocking right on one side.

Then it kind of fell apart on the other side.

I kept getting the measurements wrong 

and I just kept adding strips of fabric until I got it right.

I'm using the term 'right' very loosely here.

Using the flash so you can really appreciate what's going on here.

We're not even going to talk about the pillow with piping because this is as far as I got.  

I told myself I could figure out piping.  I can put it back together, I told myself.

No.  No I can't.

Now, these were my very first attempts at sewing pillows.  I want to believe that I've learned something and that if I were to continue, I might eventually get mildly proficient at sewing pillows.  Then again, I could just buy some pillow covers from Etsy and leave the sewing to the people who really know how to do and save myself the headache.

But where's the laughter in that?

The bamboo shades that nearly ended me

Hi.  It's me.  I have an epic tale to tell and I need a favor from you.

I don't ask for favors often.  Well, maybe I do, but this one is for real.  I need you to pin this post. I need you to share this with your friends, your mom, your grandma, your teacher at school.  I nearly lost my will to live completing this particular task and I don't want my suffering to be in vain.  If I can help just one person, if I can keep one person from cursing and crying and shaking their fist at the sky, well then, my job here is done.  So please, tell a friend or use this info yourself, whatever.  I just don't want this information to go to waste.  Here goes.

And just so you know I'm serious about you sharing this, I'm not even going to curse in this post.  Even though there was so much cursing in real life.  

Oh so much.

Okay, so here's the deal.  We have a ranch house built in the 1960s.  Ranch houses very commonly have what I will henceforth refer to as 'weird windows.'

They're gorgeous and huge, but they're horizontal instead of vertical

 and they're really close to the ceiling.

I come from the land of 'regular windows.'  You know, vertical rectangular windows where you can cut some fabric, hang a rod and call it a window treatment.  I was all ready to do the same to these windows, scouring Pinterest and Google for 'corner window treatments' when I ran into the problem that nearly ended it all for me.

We have baseboard heat in this house.  That's the white thing along the floor.  Instead of central heat with the vents in the ceiling or even old school vents in the floor, we have to have these long heaters along all the floors, TOTALLY jacking up my plan for window treatments.

Because you see, you can't hang curtains anywhere near baseboard heat because of the fire hazard.  Even though the heaters don't get hot enough to burn and I've seen people ignore the rule and hang curtains anyway, I didn't want to chance it in my baby's nursery.  The furniture is in front of them, a safe distance away, but that didn't solve my curtain dilemma.

They say that IF you did curtains, they'd have to stop 12 inches away from the heater.  That's in the middle of the wall and that is NOT the business.  So I ditched that idea with a quickness and went straight to Plan B:  Bamboo shades.

They look great, give a bit of texture and they're not expensive.  I ordered mine from Overstock because they have a billion different kinds with not-easily-found widths and lengths.  Plus, they have fast shipping and their customer service is the BOMB.  My windows are 41.5 inches and I mistakenly ordered the 40 inch shades instead of the 41 inch ones.  When I went to return them, online it said I couldn't.  But when I called customer service, not only did they authorize my return, they gave me a $15 credit to use when I ordered the 41 inch shades!  How's that for customer service!  So buy your shades from Overstock.  That's about the only thing I did right.

However, the 41 inch shades were 98 inches long - waaay too long for my 35 inch long windows.  So off I went to Google to find a tutorial for shortening bamboo shades.

Found it!

source

This is a great tutorial, and I don't have much to add to it.  But her shades and mine have different hardware so between the two, I'm sure you'll be able to shorten your shades too.

I flipped my shade over and it looked nothing like hers, but it was very straightforward.  The loopy things on the left control the accordion motion of the shade.  The straight cord makes it go up and down.  I measured how long I wanted my shade to be and started to unwind the cords from the keyring holder things.

Once you've decided how short your shade will be, tie a knot at the lower ring and carefully make your cut.  If your desired length falls between rings, cut your shade so it's longer.

It's better to be longer.

So far, you haven't cut the shade itself.  That's because you have to hot glue it first, otherwise when you cut it, it will promptly unravel and you'll have little bamboo shoots all over your floor.  That's the first time I cursed.  The tutorial was like 'you may want to glue the leftover part of the shade.'  I say you MUST glue it unless you want to stop in the middle of your project to clean up bamboo shoots.

 Glue dots above and below the bamboo shoot I'm going to remove.

The tutorial said to glue the front and back of the shade; 

I found that gluing just the back was plenty fine.

I used a box cutter to get underneath each little thread to cut it loose and remove the shoot.  Once I had it removed, I used scissors to cut the rest of the threads.

I don't know why this picture won't load right, but you can still get the idea.

See how my ring is a good distance from the end of the shade.  You want that because you're going to fold up the shade at least a couple of inches to 'hem' it.

So that's how much I folded up to hem the shade.  I just ran a line of glue across the shade, folded it up and pressed them together.

This is different from the previous picture because I was learning as I was going.

Good thing I had three shades.

The previous picture didn't have as big a hem and I wish it did because the shade lays better with a bigger hem.  Let my mistake make your shades be more awesome.

That's it!  Flip your shade over and hang your new, shorter, bamboo shade!  A few notes of caution though:

• The pull cord will be crazy long.  Make sure the shade is all the way down before you cut the cord.  Otherwise you will curse your face off because it took you so ridiculously long to figure out how to shorten the stupid shade, only to cut the cord so short that the dumb thing can't be let down all the way.  Then you'll have to go to JoAnn's, cursing the whole way to buy more cord because you have to restring the whole stupid shade because you weren't paying attention.
• Hot glue will burn you.  Be careful.  I lost feeling in my right pointer finger for a minute because I burned it so badly.
• Now that you know how to do it, it won't take you three days and lots of cursing to do it.  Be happy about that. 

But you will have your shades!

And no, they're not even on the bottom and I don't care.

Getting this far took me entirely too long, with way too much cursing

and near tears so guess what, that's how they're staying.

Now comes the hard part.

Sofia's room is at the front of the house and when cars drive down our street, it's as bright as the day in there, so I had to line the shades with blackout fabric.  For that, I found this tutorial.

She made it look so easy.

It's not, unless you do it right.

This tutorial is very straightforward, but she left out one very significant bit of knowledge.  A bit of knowledge that caused me to yet again curse my face off when I realized my mistake.  But I'm giving you this bit of knowledge so you won't have to curse your face off and once again, you'll be able to do this right the first time instead of having to hang up and take down your shade at least five times, like I did.  You ready for me to drop this knowledge?  Okay!

You must stitch your shade at the points where it folds.  For my shade, it was at the rings.  If you don't, regardless of where you stitch, your lining will droop and you will curse your face off.

Like so.

This was the first shade I stitched and there was oh so much cursing when I pulled it up and the blackout lining drooped from behind.

I learned from my mistake and the second and third shade went off without a hitch.

Again with the horizontal pictures loading vertically.

Blogger is working my nerves tonight.

Anyway, you see the outline of the ring under the blackout fabric?  You draw an imaginary line across your shade at the ring and you stitch along that line.  You must have a curved upholstery needle to do this; a straight one won't work and you can get a pack of them at JoAnn's for like five bucks. Feel the shade for any of the threads and sew the liner to the shade, being careful to stay clear of the pulleys.  

After about a week of trying to get this done during naps that were never long enough, I finally finished.  I shortened my shades and lined them with blackout fabric.  It's totally worth it because Sofia's room is pitch black now and the shades look great in the daytime.  It wasn't easy and I cursed and cried, but it's done.  And again, if I can help just one person then it was worth it.

Now I just have to muster the will to finish her curtain.  I mean, her faux no sew roman shade/valance.  That little project is going just swimmingly.  There's not nearly as much cursing, but trying to construct a 95 inch valance is kind of a pain.

Actually, it's a huge pain.  A 95 inch pain.  I really hope it looks good when I'm done.