More cute smock goodness

 I’ve been back at my sewing machine lately, and along with finishing a few more pairs of boxers and athletic shorts for SMC, I made another smock for the dutchkid. Because the shorts aren’t much to look at, you get to see some pictures of my cute kid.

The pattern was super easy, and gratis from The Mayfly (thank you!). I did adapt it because her pattern is around a 2T and the dutchkid is closer to a 4T these days. I could’ve stood to make the ties a little longer but I love how it criss-crosses in the back. And it’s even reversible. I’ll probably be making a few more of these.

The bedtime shuffle

I tried to go out with some new friends here to a movie this past week.  It did not go well.  My beloved child threw a huge hissy fit and would not sleep for her daddy.  It was painful for us all.  For me who had to field several phone calls, for my dh who had to feel like a bad daddy and for the dutchkid who did a monumental amount of screaming and carrying on.  

My new acquaintances were horrified that I am the one who always puts her to bed.  I find it hard to believe I’m the only one, especially when you consider that for much of her short life he was not even here.  Who else was going to put her to bed?  Granted he’s been home for quite some time but we just had a system and we went with it.   In our old house he could get her to sleep in a pinch, but we hadn’t tried it since the move.  We’re in a big “I want mommy to do it” phase right now anyway. 

But I would like to be able to go out once in awhile without the world as we know it coming to an end.  A lot of my dh’s grad school classes are on the weekends, so every once in a while I really need a break.  So tonight is the beginning of “Operation Daddy-do-it”.  Which is why I am down in his office in the basement writing and updating my Flickr instead of being upstairs and being productive.  I can’t hear the crying from here, so I’m going to regard it as a partial success.

At one with the produce

The other day I bought carrots from my hometown at the commissary.

Yes, this is one of those posts where I’m going to let you in on my strange little world.  When I see something like that it makes me all giddy and I want to grab people and say, “These carrots grew in the ground where I am from!”  Yeah, it’s weird.  Maybe it’s because I’m from a small town or maybe it’s just that I’ve been too far from home for too long.

And then I was stricken with some sort of eco-guilt.  I have totally been swayed by the eat local/organic bandwagon.  I don’t shop that way as much as I should, partly because it’s very expensive to eat that way and my Dutchman dh about has a coronary when he sees how much carrots from the farmer’s market cost.  We had had huge arguments about joining the local CSA (he won).  But it’s a little harder to ignore when you go to buy carrots and you know firsthand how much money and gas it must have cost to get those carrots across the country.  Sigh.

But I have to admit, I’ve never been quite so moved by the local produce before, either.  Plus, at one time I was local to the ground the carrots grew in.  There’s a good chance I’ve actually walked on it before.  I’m hoping to ease my guilty eco-conscience on that technicality.

So that’s why I married him.

Right now I am eating the best green curry to be had in this neck of the woods, better than either of the Thai restaurants in town.

The way that my dh has been relaxing lately is by cooking.  And let me tell you, he needs to de-stress.  He absolutely hates being in a school environment and it shows in every aspect of his attitude about life.  In short, he’s miserable to live with.  He’s trying to do a master’s program along with the Army school and every time he talks about it you can practically see his blood pressure rising.  Sometimes I think that he would have rather deployed than be here, and lately I’ve secretly been wondering if that wouldn’t have been easier on all involved.

Well, easier on everything except my tastebuds.  The man can cook. He has some serious culinary skills, which used to bother me a bit because I’m competitive, but I’m way past that now.  If only I could get him to clean to de-stress I would be set.

Ch-ch-ch-changes…

 

I have almost always had long hair, back in high school it was down to my waist. When I met my dh in college it was shorter but still considered long by most standards. I did have a brief bad haircut for a while and it was chin length, but most of the time these days it’s shoulder length. Since my dh’s last deployment I had been growing it out because I know he likes it.

But since we moved here it has really been driving me crazy. I just think I’m too old to have such long hair anymore. Besides, I always feel frumpy. Someone I met at my new church here just cut her hair for locks of love last month, and it sounded great to me. A good excuse to try something new.

So I did it last night. 11 inches gone, just like that. I had hoped to donate more, but I’m just not that brave. It’s already shorter than I’ve ever worn it. I really liked it yesterday after the stylist did it, but this morning I’m not so sure. It’s always hard to recreate the style at home, I think I’m hair impaired. Plus, even though I am pretty thin, I always have chipmunk cheeks and chin length hair doesn’t help that at all.

My dh is in mourning. Before I left for the salon he actually calculated how long it will be before he sees it that long again: By the time we move early next summer it will be back to my normal shoulder length, then he will undoubtedly deploy again, and I will maybe grow it out for him while he’s gone = approximately 2 years until he sees my long hair again. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I probably won’t ever grow it out that long again.

Taking the plunge

I finally have everything ironed out to take some piano lessons again while we are here. There is a very nice continuing ed program here through the local university, and the teacher I will be studying with has a resume about as long as my arm.

I’m really excited, except I’m terrified at the same time. It will be good for me, but I hate the first few lessons of the teacher trying to figure me out, making me sightread, etc. I’m a little concerned too about getting enough practice time since the dutchkid is still averse to me playing anything other than what she deems “pretty”.

I don’t start until the end of the month, which is a good thing. That way I can practice a bunch and hopefully sound ok for at least my first lesson. (The gig will be up as soon as he sees how I play when I’m learning something new). I even dug up good old Hanon, so you know that means I’m nervous!

Where you were.

Last year, I had a really hard time writing anything about 9/11.  This year for some reason I feel compelled to write about where I was.  While memory of that day is very fresh in my mind and I don’t like to think about it, it does seem so long ago now.  People always talk about days where you will never forget where you were, and I’ve had other moments like that in my life (like when the Challenger exploded) but this one gives me such a sickening feeling of dread.  While the Challenger explosion was sad, and I’ll never forget my 4th grade teacher Mr. B, crying, it didn’t feel like life was forever changed afterwards. 

I don’t have a powerful story about the morning of 9/11, just an ordinary one.  I was on my way to work, when I heard what had happened on the radio.  I don’t watch TV in the morning, so that was the first I’d heard.  I remember the road I was on, and how blue the Colorado sky was, and I thought that it couldn’t be real. 

I was working at a health department, and a few people who had radios in their cubicles turned them up so we could hear.  When the plane hit the Pentagon, I just sat alone at my desk and cried.  I thought about the people we knew who worked there.  I wanted to talk to my husband so badly, but he was on the other side of the country, in a training environment where I knew I wouldn’t hear from him for several weeks.

They sent us home from work that day, closing the health department in case there was a risk of someone targeting other goverment buildings.  Paranoia seemed to reign, for the rest of the day I sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket and watched the footage, fielding phone calls from worried family and friends.  I remember hearing that they shut Ft. Carson down and that soldiers stood guard on the perimeter.  We didn’t live on post then, so I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it made me proud, and it made me feel just a little bit safer.  I remember clearly people asking me if we were going to war and what that would mean for us… as if somehow being a military spouse made me clairvoyant. 

I’m glad I didn’t get a glimpse into the future that day.  I think it would have made me sad.  What happened then still impacts the life of my family and many others like mine…. and then there are the families of those that lost their lives that day and the families of those who gave their life in the war on terror.  Somehow, I get the feeling that the average person would just rather forget.   So today I will remember.

In a former life…

 

While I was perusing the Goodwill a while back (I love the Goodwill), I found this 80′s sheet set that just cried out to be made into something more lovable. So here you have it, along with a memory to go with it.

When I was a little girl, every Sunday after church was “coffee” at my grandparents’ house. Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins would be there for coffee and the sweets to go with it. Many times another cousin and I would get to stay and eat Sunday lunch (we called it dinner). Eating Sunday dinner with them was a special treat and usually when you ate you wore a smock over your good Sunday clothes (especially if you forgot to bring your playclothes with you). My grandmother had bunches of them and it was always fun to pick one out.

I had forgotten all about the smocks until about a year ago when I started hunting for things to protect the dutchkid’s clothes. I asked my mother if she knew what had happened to them, but it remains a mystery. They were probably donated or thrown away. After my grandmother passed away, I remember my mom and aunts going through the house and sorting all of the stuff that inevitably has to be gone through. We did get to pick things we would like to have, but at that time (I was in high school) smocks weren’t on my radar screen. I do have a few things that I treasure.

So I had to make this pattern up as I went along. There are smock patterns out there, but not quite how I wanted to make this one (I just had to use those ruffles on the shoulder). It makes me smile when the dutchkid wears it, thinking about my grandma.

One Year

It is hard to believe that I’ve been at this now for one year. 

Its been good therapy, and if nothing else I really like being able to look back and have a record of what’s been going on in life.  Like a journal, except with comments.  I love to look back and see how different things turned out.  When I started this thing, I truly thought we would be going to Korea, and now we are on a different path entirely. 

I wanted to say thanks to everybody who has stopped by and commented, some of you even come back!  I still can’t believe that anybody reads what I have to say except my mom.  (And I have to give some special thanks to Karen, your comments at the beginning encouraged me more than you will ever know). 

So while at the beginning, I thought this would be sort of a temporary thing, I think I’ll stay for awhile.  We’ll see where the next year takes us.