Children, Family, Friends, Happiness, Hope, Truth

Spring into action

It’s dumping snow outside… and my dirt is frozen in the greenhouse. I’m a sad farmer when the planting is delayed, because I like for my tomatoes to come up around my son’s birthday; April 8th. Unfortunately, we have 4 feet of snow on the ground, and accumulating…so I don’t dare plant them yet. It’s going to be an even later start this year, but it’s coming!

Happy March! It may snow and rain and suck, but it’s the gateway to April, when all good things return. My babies birthdays begin in April and continue on into the summer. Everyone in our small circle, celebrates another trip around the sun. It’s the best time of year…

Flip-flops, raspberries, fireworks and ripe tomatoes, are on the way. There’s a lot of great things to look forward to!

More importantly though?

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Click for the pattern and make some to share if you’re feeling particularly knitty. ♥

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It’s MARCH! You can find me knitting pink hats for the women I love, or marching for them. ♥ #resist

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Happiness

Stop.

I was working a busy dinner shift this summer, when the man I’d been serving at the bar, decided to help himself to a lakeside table on the patio. He sat himself outside of my section, and I let him know that I had a full section and would do my best to remember him. I helped him walk through the menu and make a complimentary beverage choice. I delivered it all to him, or sent someone in my place so that he did not wait. After he ate and was nursing a glass of wine, I dropped his check and forgot he existed.

He fell off my radar, as his needs had been met. I remembered he existed when my least favorite coworker smugly told me he told her it was the worst service of his life, as he angrily wrote on the comment card, behind her. I approached him immediately and asked him what was wrong. He wouldn’t speak to me.

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I saw him the next day at the grocery store and introduced myself. He still had nothing to say. It was monumental in ways he didn’t know or care about. The manager took it as a green light to joke about what a shitty job I did. Tables that requested me were warned about my recent comment card.

In some strange way, he ruined the last shreds of a job I used to adore with some angry words scratched on a card, left in a fit of drunk entitlement. I’m sure he would have appreciated more attention as he was a moderately tipsy older man, dining alone. I’m afraid I just don’t give a fuck as much as I used to.

Then my dog died. The dog I’d helped be born into our home, 9 years earlier. 

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I wish so much that I could rewind the clock and have her back. She was hit at the end of our driveway, and it played out as horribly as you can imagine. A dear friend of mine just happened to be there and my eldest daughter carried me through grief I’d never experienced before in the following weeks. Losing Peapod was worse than losing my father. I still look for her. I imagine I always will.

When my best friend died, I got divorced. When my grandmother died years later, I broke up with my loser boyfriend of 8 years. Death is a catalyst for me, and this was no exception.

So I quit my job.

No backup plan. No safety net. No savings. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, that’s for sure…. but I couldn’t do anything else. It’d been nearly 7 years to the day since I started serving, and knew if I waited until something else came along, I might be serving indefinitely. My eldest daughter told me she had absolute faith in me, and that  she thought I’d be happier doing anything else.

My first table at the beginning of my last two weeks in the apron, brought two of my favorite faces. Every restaurant worker knows the favorite tables. The folks that make the job worthwhile. Their happy faces turned sad when I told them I had put in my notice and would not be serving anymore. I told them I wholeheartedly appreciated their kindness & support the past few years, but that it was time to do something new.

👩🏼- Too bad you don’t sew.

💁🏼- I love to sew.

As they say… the rest is history. I hung up my apron and now spend my days sewing to my hearts content, earning a living wage. That dream job I had lost sight of or had given up hope existed, is mine.

I never would have had the opportunity, if I hadn’t had the faith to stop doing what made me miserable, and if I hadn’t just leapt… I would never have known how much happier our lives could be. At 40, it’s really nice to be reminded how important it is to have faith.

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Friends, Happiness

Wifey

He reached for me and I swallowed hard as I felt his nails dig into my wrist. They’d been drinking all day and I’d just gotten off work. Being sober in a bar at midnight is no laughing matter and it was a full house of what looked to be, inebriated teenagers.

I needed booze on board, post haste.

The dirty Bombay Sapphire martini I held, felt like a liquid security blanket even though I appeared to be the only person in the room with an actual glass. His hand on my wrist made my heart race, and the icy cold gin wasn’t helping fast enough.

Something had shifted with him and I could feel it hanging in the space between us. I set my glass down and he pulled me out the door and across the street to another bar.

We’re standing at the end of the bar, halfheartedly trying to order a drink, when a man interrupts us.

M- Hey, Hi- excuse me! I can see that you’re having some sort of romantic and special evening, it’s your anniversary, isn’t it! Can I squeeze in and order?

I blink at Perfection. Completely speechless and thankful for the dark, because I’m positive I’m ruby red.

P- It is. What’s it been, wifey- 3 years? Oh no, 3 years and 10 months.

I’m amazed my shaking knees are holding me. The butterflies in my stomach are making me a little nauseous and I feel feverish. I wish I had a drink in my hand so that I could do something other than look stunned. I finally choke out an awkward response.

J- Sure, hubby. Wow, you’re a daddy too.

P- Bonus!

I’m thankful for my sobriety, and manners…because they were the only things keeping me from propositioning him right then and there. The strange guy just wants to buy a drink, but now that he’s celebrating our anniversary with us, he insists on buying us a shot. I am still so stunned by what’s going on with Perfection that I cannot make up my mind about what I want.

J- Not Fireball or Rumple minze. Anything but those. You decide, Darling.

P- I insist, wife. What do you really want? Tell me what sounds good?

The answers that come to mind would leave him equally as speechless, but his hand is drifting lower on my ass and I can hardly breathe, let alone speak. The stranger is looking at me, expectantly.

J- Washington apples. Thank you.

I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. Is this real life? Am I hallucinating? Am I really wasted and I just feel far too sober?

We take the shot and the stranger wishes us well on our marriage and leaves. Perfection leans in.

P- Do you know how many times I’ve had dreams about you?

J- Are you feeling alright? I think you’ve been overserved.

Ever have one of those moments where you’re a million miles away from the noisy room you’re standing in? I could feel his heart racing and hear him struggling like me.

This is real life.

This is Perfection.

This is what it’s supposed to feel like. In and of itself, it is a huge relief that I can recognize that. He doesn’t live here, the timing is wrong and he has a few loose ends I don’t want to get tangled in…

But…. it is fanfuckingtastic to have a Perfect evening, and remember what it feels like to be wildly attracted to not just anyone, but someone really and truly special.

Maybe I’m not a catlady, after all.

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Children, Friends, Happiness

Tula Love

When I found out I was expecting my last child, I bought myself the Baby Bjorn of my dreams. It wasn’t easy to spend $80 on a baby carrier, but I remember how helpful it’d been the first few months.
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I’d had the original navy blue wonder with my second child, and had loved carrying her until she was around 7 months old and it became painfully uncomfortable.

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When she grew so big the Baby Bjorn felt like it was splitting my spine in two, we transitioned to the Kelty backpack carrier. A little much for vacuuming, but what can you do. It gave me a few more months, but getting her into the pack was cumbersome and not terribly comfortable for her. She wasn’t content for long.

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My last two are 13 years apart, and a lot had changed. Someone told me I needed to buy a Moby. I bought black, because most of my clothes are black. My sweet babe was born the first week of July. Consequently, I feel like we were both lucky to come out of the Moby without only a heat rash, and not full blown heat stroke. Getting her in felt like a live origami experiment and I was never completely confident that she wouldn’t fall out through a hole in the 18 yards of fabric I was drowning in. Oy.

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I found an Ergo at my local consignment store, and figured it was worth $60 if I loved it like some of my friends love theirs. It wasn’t bad. She loved it and I liked that I could throw some cash and keys in the pocket and leave the stroller behind. This was the carrier that made our stroller move from the back of the car, to the garage. The straps weren’t terribly comfortable, but I could carry her and everything else, simultaneously.

It seemed like I’d found one that worked. I missed her being able to face out, but after everything I’d read, I knew it was bad for her hips- so I was happy to forgo that feature.

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Which is when my dear friend loaned me a Tula. I had heard her ramble on about her DISO and WC’s and thought she’d lost her mind a little. I love her- crazy or sane- so I agreed to try out her beloved carrier. I was surprised she’d want to loan it out, when she explained she had 6. She was trading her way to the Tula of her dreams, with a market value of $1500. Again, I thought she’d lost her mind.

But.

Nothing fit like the Tula did. My sweet girl was asleep in minutes, and had never fallen asleep in any carrier. It was warm, while breathable- so a light jacket kept us both warm on a brisk fall walk. In a matter of days, I would find my little lady trying to buckle herself in. She asked to be “up” and picking the green beans had never been easier.

I decided I needed one, and hopped online to find a deal.

Ha… I had the misfortune of falling in love with Tula at the same time as everyone else in the free world. Deals were nonexistent in Tula-land. These days they have done a lot to keep up with the demand, and with the recent purchase of Baby Tula by Ergo, hopefully supply will increase without losing quality. Ergos are great, but they are definitely not Tulas.

I decided I’d try to “score”. Scoring means being online at precisely 3 PM PST every other Sunday, when Tula releases its highly sought after wrap-conversion Tulas, and managing to purchase one in the 3 split seconds you have before they sell out. These are considerably more expensive, but also increase in value over time. The preview of the Tulas that will be for sale is posted on Friday. I fell in love with a brilliant magenta full wrap conversion, and told my friend I was going to bite the bullet and buy it.

She had a good laugh, and told me she’d been trying to “score” for 8 months, with no luck.

Sunday came around and I’d saved my $330 the carrier cost. I was sick to my stomach spending so much, but this is Tula and common sense is the first to go. My alarm went off and I began following the “scoring” instructions.

Hit refresh, hit refresh, hit refresh… Oh MY GOD… The pictures start to load and I see mine. Blind click, add to cart, submit payment, done.

I scored. I didn’t even know what I bought, I just knew I saw pink and said yes.

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I don’t know where my stroller is. Somewhere collecting dust. We hike, walk, pick beans…and dance in the Tula. As a single mother, I don’t know that I could have done it without it. I know I wouldn’t have been able to hold her as much, or as often as I have. I know the sleepless nights would have been harder and at nearly 40… I’ll take all the help I can get in snuggling her close while she grows at the speed of light.

We own three Tulas now. One for the car, one for home and one to share with other mamas who have no idea what they’re missing until they try one on.

Don’t even get me started on the http://http://www.tulababycarriers.com/collections/blankets….

30 Days of Truth, Happiness, Internet Dating, Love

30 Days of Truth, Day 6

Day 6: Something you hope you never have to do.

Now we’re talking!!! I was just about to throw in the towel on this 30 Days of Truth, nonsense.

I hope I never have to go on another date.

Oh… I mean it.

I can’t even fathom having a conversation that lasted long enough for a man to ask, and that feels wonderful. After the dreadful time I’ve had, trying to coexist and cohabitate with the opposite sex, I’m cutting my losses and beginning my collection of yarn and cats.

With yarn, the worst that can happen is an overabundance of hats and toys. Knitting brings me such peace… and did I mention that it utterly decimates your sex drive? It turns out that you can’t worry about blow jobs when you’re counting stitches and working cables. My ex used to threaten to hide my knitting needles.

The cats are dual purpose. They’re wonderful fluffy bits of love that will deter even the most determined man, in large enough numbers. I have three… which is definitely not enough to scare off an ardent fan. Once you get to 7, 12 or 16 cats… then you’ve attained true cat lady independence. Ever walked through a house with 16 cats?

You’d only do it once. 🙂

Aside from them fucking with my yarn, it’s perfectly wonderful.

Unlike dating.

I think back, (or better yet, read back) and can’t believe I had such low expectations for myself. The internet dating was a blast after I decided to do it purely for the writing material, but as a real woman, looking for love?

No.

Two thirds of the men dating online are looking for sex, only. The other third is creepy. There’s two or three guys that you’d actually want to get to know…. but they’re married.

Dating someone locally means hiding from someone locally after it doesn’t work out. I live in a small town, and that is a REAL problem.

Most importantly, my baby girl is at an age where she’s realizing she doesn’t have a daddy like the kids she sees. Her dad pays his child support and calls, but he’s not present physically. She saw him a handful of times last year. So if I were to date, she’d have to make sense of it, and I just don’t feel like it’s fair to add to her already confusing situation. Her dad is already engaged and being a dad to three other kids. She deserves to be my #1.

Is it lonely? No. I suppose it may get lonely at some point, but the animal shelter is only ten minutes away.

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