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Category Archives: Make It Sappy

Keep It Going Full Steam

It would seem like my main two goals (on the making front, that is) would work together well. Number one is to use up what I have; the second is to not put a project aside until it’s finished. Decide on something, prep it, and crank it out.

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Oh, but, whoops! These squares have been sitting on my sewing table for at least a week, probably two. (Probably more, but really that’s beside the point.) Also, there’s a similar one sitting on the shelf all cut and ready to go, and that’s not even mentioning the denim one that’s sitting half on the table and half in a box below. In fairness, that one is in limbo because I ran out of materials, and not at all because I ran out of interest after cutting the first fifty-six squares from the legs of old jeans. Nooo….

You can see where this is all heading. Backward, and quickly. So, today, I decided to fight the urge to start on a brand new and exciting quilt in favor of finishing a half-done one. (Let’s not talk about its companion, please. It’ll get its turn soon enough.) And now it’s all done but the snipping, ready to be put away for next year. A small but significant victory in the war on…myself? Yeah, that’s about right.

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A couple of nights ago, I was in a sad state and just poured my heart into a post about some of the ways in which I’ve missed my dad over the six years he’s been gone. Then I woke up this morning — the anniversary of his death — and realized that the writing was really enough for me, and that the story didn’t need to go any further than my drafts folder. It can be summed up thusly:

I love my dad. I miss my dad, especially when there’s a particularly good game (it never did matter which sport) or concert on TV.

I don’t like March, but I try to make the best of it.

I can’t believe a day will come when I’ll stop missing my dad, or when I’ll stop dreading March.

No good month filled with terrible memories March.

Meant To Be [A Brief Salute]

[Veering off from my 31 Days series in honor of a very special occasion.]

There are those who believe only in random chance. I’m not one of those people. I believe that, many times, God throws us a line. And we don’t even need to meet Him halfway to grab hold — sometimes it’s enough to just stick our hand out the tiniest bit and our lives will forever be changed for the better.

Heather was one of those lifelines for me, and I’ll always be grateful for the fact that we just “happened” to be in the same college class — which was kind of something given the fact that we’re not the same age, and only went to the same school for one semester — and that we “happened” to sit next to one another. Did we have much in common? No, we did not! But we soon became friendly enough that she invited me to her church’s College and Career group (which, knowing her as I do now, was not an easy thing for her to do!). In a fit of crazy, I actually took her up on it — I’m not a joiner, and just about make myself sick with anxiety before socializing with new people, and often times old friends, for that matter — and, well, my life took a completely different direction. Life is funny that way.

Nineteen years later, having her for a friend is still one of my great joys. Happy Birthday, my sister! I love ya bunches and hope that you celebrate for the rest of the week!

And So It Begins

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Yesterday was Joey’s first day of preschool. He’s been telling anyone who would listen, “I’m going to preschool on Tuesday!” for weeks now. Yet, on Monday, he grew eerily silent about the whole affair. He was getting a little nervous. That, in turn, made me a lot nervous. Needlessly so: When I dropped him off, he was already playing before I could get the goodbye out of my mouth!

And that’s when it happened. I almost turned into one of those moms.

Oh, if you’ve ever worked with kids, you know the ones. Or maybe you’re one of them, in which case, I hope you won’t take offense. They stand at the door saying goodbye to a kid, who is either perfectly content or maybe just a little apprehensive, until they’re absolutely sure their baby knows that Mama is leaving, and won’t be back til who knows when. Not I, though—no, no. I know that the key is to get that fake cheery “see ya!” out of your mouth as quickly as possible, and then (because, really, who wants to make a trip back to pick up your squalling kid ten minutes later?) you go and stand around the corner, out of their visual range but close enough to hear the screams. At least that’s my method; it’s not for everyone.

Yesterday, though, it was all I could do not to stand in the doorway like some kind of sap, calling after him,”OK, so, Mama loves you! I’ll miss you! Are you going to miss me? Because I’ll be back before you know it! I mean, it’ll be a few hours. . .it’ll probably seem like a really long time to you. . .but I’ll be back! Oh, wait. Let me get one more picture. OK, and then a big hug. How about a kiss for your sis?”

Seriously. On and on in my head, as I stood there dumbly, in the ten seconds it took me to realize that he was not, in fact, clinging to my leg.  Taking his cue, I (bravely? Can I say that?) shuffled back down the hall. And then I spent the rest of the morning sort of wandering around the house, kicking myself for wasting the precious time, and then reminding myself that it might take a few days to get used to the new routine.

At 36, I still have transitional issues. Sending my baby to school, even if it is only a couple of days a week, is most definitely a big change. The bubble has officially been pierced.

The Boy, on the other hand, had a fantastic time. When I sped in to pick him up, he was working on a puzzle with his new buddy. He can’t wait to go back tomorrow, even though he was equally happy to be staying home today. I’m sure it’s because he missed me so; that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.