Verry Sherry

Picture It!

2012-01-05T23:02:00.004Z

On January 1st I spent the morning with scissors in one hand, glue stick in the other. By mid day I had my future in clear view.

A few years ago I had given up making resolutions in exchange of making visionary boards. What fun! Simply find images that represent your goals of 2012--cut and paste, hang it front and centre. In my kitchen, my eyes rest on it several times a day seeing and believing my efforts will bring forward these goals.

Back in the day we would collect the various glossy magazines and cut out images. Today we have our fairy Googlemother. Click Images, type a few words and away we go. My wishes granted--in pictures, anyway.

My future is sectioned into quarters. There is my personal, me, health for mind and body. Images in upper left depict fitness, confidence, hope, healthy choices.

Below, left, is my work life, business--the magazine. The woven theme is a positivity and doubling for 2012. Positive paths, growth of an enthusiastic community and literally twice the business and twice the pay for myself.

Top, right, was a bit risque. The DH dilema. Resulting in a large scope image on a JOB for him. I attempted to prepare him for this vision making and he was reluctant to pick a chosen target--a job he would like for himself. Truth be told this is his general failing in securing a job, if I could be so bold to diagnose him. He doesn't see himself working, is unable or unwilling to articulate what he wants. It's clear he believes he is not given control of his destiny. So much more controls his destiny: the economy, the culture, even his childhood and rearing shapes and determines his future. In life this has become our greatest difference.

Moving south on the board, I think of our long driveway with its front pillars vacant of a gate and the road, pitted with potholes. As DH spotted the images of front gates and even a man in gear filling potholes, a slow smile emerged on his face.

While DH is unable to use visualisation or positive thinking to move forward, he is keen to recognise that I do and can. It is as if he knows I'll add his needs to my magic genie and DH becomes a passive rider of the magic carpet. He knows this and I know this.

The fourth quarter is my family life, a happy smiling singing family. We visualise a safe home, safe from bank, safe from damage, safe from all that harms. For 2012, the girls want to travel and a trampolene. Both of these wishes I accommodated on the visual board.

Afterall, if you jump high enough, one could argue you are traveling.

Happy new year!

When Love Strays

2011-10-22T11:56:00.004+01:00

I've been unfaithful.

That's me. My blogging love and attention have been over here. I'm sorry.
Please forgive me, because I'm back.

Slowly I'm redefining my role as a crafter, mom and wife after nearly four years being held hostage over here. Still there, but trying to be more here!

We have been in our Wexford house since March and patchwork classes began in late September. Really, I wasn't interested in patchwork classes--as I have such limited time and, honestly? What I wanted is a quilting, stitching group gathering where I could work on projects I love but for whom I had little time.

I get it. I should start my own gathering, but it's baby steps--this redefining of life. So I enrolled in the local class for a committed-two-hours-of-sewing a week. I haven't sewn consisently on any one project in years and let's face it, my sewing can always use some instruction.

We meet at the local community centre and the only slot open was the beginners' class. Most other students are older and only one or two know me. As I begin this new quilt--which jumped ahead of all the rest--guilt washes over me. I find myself rushing through my sewing.

The quilt is the Jacob Ladder block, so I am working hard to ensure sharp points. Immediately I took a generous 1/4" seam so already I fail the class, with a block measuring 11" when class sample is 12". My teacher, a friend, has already scolded me on my fast pace. She says many of the ladies know who I am and they expect me to breeze through the class with beautiful work. "So slow down!"

I'd rather not have such expectations of me from strangers. Lord knows, I let down my own family enough! I'm content when I can finish 30 decent blocks. I reckon, 30 perfect blocks will come to me when I'm in my 50s. My brain has limited time for too many responsibilities (wifery, motherhood, accounts, sales, writing, etc.,) that my perfect stitches are not at the top--nor am I the one who makes the featured quilts over there.

I will continue going to sewing class and I'll do my best, but hopefully one or two of these women will take the time to get to know me. Up til now, I'm still very much a 'blow in' in the village and to them.
I've shown my teacher the shrunken block to her dismay, but to my credit, they are all consistently shrunken to 11".

So my block is wrong, but it is consistently wrong.

Worse, if you consult my unfinished projects, each would say they're unloved and that I've been unfaithful.

Again.

Persevering Through Pain

2011-08-23T08:23:00.005+01:00

For the last two months, I've awoken with a pain in my underarm. The day progresses with searing pain down to my fingers and alternates with a dull throb in my elbow.

Must be a trapped nerve. What is it like to be a trapped nerve? A needling little nuisance?

Once I was called a badger by a boss, which in my book is the same thing as a needling nuisance, a royal pain among other working muscles. I guess I bothered her. In fairness to me, she was not at the top of her game and the natives on our team were restless. Back then I was 21, knew it all and was outspoken, unlike my unhappy, but wise, middle-age coworkers working in our department. Although I went onward with promotions and seven years employed in that company, she, on the other hand, endured divorce and redundacy a short while after our time together.

(I would like to stress that I make no link between her shortcomings as a manager, her marital demise and the downsizing of one of America's largest drugstore corporations. Nor does being a badger bring merits--suffice to say, I was and am a hardworker.)

Still I often reflect on this time with my boss and I do regret my behaviour. I was a painful nerve to her and she was trapped as my superior. My comments did nothing but bring criticism and spectulation. The greatest offense was being inexperienced know-it-all clerk. We managed well as a team, but my needling was uncomfortable to us all.

Much like my trapped nerve which serves to disturb my mobility, sleep and mood. Dr. Google says these pressing pests have a way of going away on their own. Treatment is simple a form of pain suppression.

Back then I eventually found my place and confidence in my own work and stopped worrying about my superior.

Treatment was and is life experience. Climb onboard.

Treat yourself today!

Summer's in the Bag

2011-08-07T21:20:00.003+01:00

Just came from my biz blog where I wrote about taking inspiration (with permission, of course) into our sewing projects. This counts in the homefront as well. Recently, I made some very cool and oh, so easy bags. I originally spied them at designer Judith's blog and she credited the original pattern at Grosgrain.

The morning I was sewing, the in-laws dropped in. Handy enough, I was just finishing one and my MIL was thrilled when I gave her the first one.

You can't see the fabric up close, but the floral pattern is a vintage print that came along in a box of excess scraps from a fabric company in Dublin. It seemed to be a perfect fit for Nanny.

This will tell you how behind I am on posting. My scramble to make these bags one morning--and I did, three in one morning-- was for my daughter's teachers as thank you gifts back in June. Needless to say, the girls were delighted to model before taking to them in as gifts.

It was a countdown to school ending. Now we've begun the countdown to school beginning. My cutiepie,who is about to enter the full day in first class, is driving the back-to-school campaign.

And, this mom's right behind her.

Suffering Guilt Block

2011-06-19T22:17:00.003+01:00

I'm working through my demons. I've got guilt blocking me from blogging.

Oh, the amount of times I think of my blog. I love writing and I love writing about my life. This blog was born more than three (four?) years ago. At the time, I worked in an office as a production manager. Looking at my posting history, one might think I did nothing at work. When actually it was quite the opposite--I was very good at my work. HA!! That's not fair. really.

My managerial role was to keep the designers in an ad production studio supported and ensure we made daily deadlines. The reality was the team was that good. My tasks included morning production conference calls; the remainder of my day was to put out fires and resolve problem escalations. The truth of the matter, the artists in the studio were that good--beyond the morning, my role rarely kicked into gear--when it did, it was five minutes before day's end and a working mother's worst wish, but that's another post.

So at my desk, I had plenty of time to write and explore blogs. Irony was this particular company disallowed any internet surfing. Click to any website and a forbidden code appeared. Yet, click to blogs, and viola! I remember thinking how insanely ineffective that IT functionality was. I also figured my postings must fly below the radar, or the IT guys really digged my blog!

My blogging changed when I began working for the magazine. My life changed. I've worked hard to keep my family the same. (Not sure I've succeeded.) I've lost hold of my friends (all of them) and cherish to death those who allow me to lose touch and welcome me anytime. At the height of my blog, I was crafting. Naturally, some of the best bloggers and blog followers are crafters. So I'd like to come back, but I've got a guilt block. Not a writer's block, but guilt. I want to come back with craft. I want to show my creativity and be visually interesting. Meanwhile my mind is bursting and my hands have not known craft for two or more years, beyond the odd project.
So I've decided to come back with or without craft. The creativity will follow, I believe.

When Words Stiffle Us
Last night I had the most vivid dream. It was unreal. This morning it was our entertainment at breakfast.
I was in Disneyland Japan with a tour of quilters. There was one lady who kept trying to steal people's valuables while we stood in line for the park's rides. I was asked to mind someone's camera and caught this lady in the act. Holding tight to her hand, I summoned the park police and told the theft she would be left behind in a Japanese jail. The Japanese cops arrived--they were two sumo wrestlers in police uniforms with a third regular-sized dressed cop. They let the thief go. I went to the cop upset asking why they let her go. He explained that they had to honour the tourists and airlines so as not to cause problems. I began talking fast with my annoyance of this, and the cop raised a microphone to my face and suddenly some liquid sprayed out the end much like a clown's trick water ring. Only, once this water hit my mouth, my lips went numb and my words were drooling slurs. Ultimately. I became the one who missed the flight out of Japan.

Back in reality, we laughed hard.
The girls wondered aloud if there was a Disneyland in Japan.

DH wondered aloud where one could find that special liquid.

And I , well, I wondered if it was time to return to my blogging.

Rainy Thoughts

2011-06-12T12:45:00.005+01:00

We awoke this morning to buckets of rain. This meant two things.

1. I would have a guilt free day working on my laptop indoors.
2. The line of clothes outside were washed, dried and now wet again.

Yesterday was sunny skies, a near scorcher. I was working all day so I had the usual lost Saturday guilt. Doing three loads of wash, I thought the scales of justice balanced. That's if I remembered to bring in the dry wash from the line last night.

In reflection it is has been seven years since I entered into a tumble dryer ~~deprived~~ free world. Amazing, but I manage. What leisure tool do you sacrifice?

The weekend had began with beautiful weather and I was able to celebrate with the photography of the latest quilt. With help from my neighbor who did the peicing and quilting, my US vision has come to life.

Here's a sneak peak.

This Tribute to America quilt is my design and as soon as I can get a fresh coat of pain on our foyer walls, I'm hanging it over the staircase.

From Irish sea to shiny American sea!

Stay dry,

The Troll Who Made Me Cry

2011-03-31T01:58:00.002+01:00

There are days when I regret not writing a post. The regret is when a followup post becomes obvious. Part I is the post never posted. Part II is the irresistible followup.

Part I

Parent/Teacher meetings were the week before we moved house. I met with both girls’ teachers and had opposite experiences. Cutiepie’s teacher was orderly with written lists for every child capturing poignant comments regarding the student. Babydoll’s teacher had a cleared desktop, a large smile and vacant eyes.

Needless to say, this story is about the latter. The teacher’s greeting was, “Well I have nothing really to report on Babydoll.” Oh. Don’t worry, this Mom has questions.

There was this assignment we had been so proud of and yet, it never seemed be handed in. Each day Babydoll would say I must write my story. We would say, ok, well, what more do you need to do? I would scrounge through her backback for teacher’s instructions. Nothing. After two weeks, we were clearly lost in translation. Babydoll said another student was typing it on a computer, so we taught (oy vey) her to type. Then she said it needs more detail. So I helped her think about her readers and what might help them visualise the story as she told it.

A few days before Teacher meeting, the story surfaced yet again at the dinner table. Babydoll said it needs a taped edge. Could she fold it over and put tape on the side? It was all very confusing, but we did our best to create what it was Babydoll thought she needed.

By my fourth search of her backpack, I was very annoyed at the lack of written teacher instructions. For goodness sake, she is 7 years old. If you don’t watch, she’s still capable of brushing two front teeth and considering “brush your teeth” a major accomplishment.

So I said to the starry-eyed teacher, Please tell me about the story assignment—we really struggled and I’m not certain why it is lingering...

The Teacher said, “Oh yes. Well it is an education centre competition that all the children in the particular catchment areas are doing. The books will be sent off and judged and, well, it is very exciting.”

Competition? Books? Sent off? Suddenly, I felt I was on a plane without my boarding pass.

The teacher reached to the immediate shelf behind Babydoll’s seat to a stack of bound (taped edges!) books with illustrations and written stories, albeit one typed. My mouth fell open. I said, really? You’re kidding?

Then. THEN. THEN. (oh I’m still so mad)

The teacher said, “Well Babydoll hasn’t been doing anything for the last ten days or so. She just sits at her desk in her own lalala land.”

WHAT?

The teacher said, “She just seems lost.”

WHAT?

The teacher appears to have what I call nervous laughter. I don’t like nervous laughter—I realise it is an involuntary body language, but I still don’t like it.

The teacher continues, “She must be lost because she is moving. She isn’t doing any of her work.”

I said “but, you said you had nothing to report? Would you not rein that behaviour in? Ten days! Would you not call me?”

The teacher said, “I am sure it is because she is moving, and well, I didn’t want to come down hard on her.”

So you choose to ignore the child and let her miss out on this opportunity? Mention it as happenstance? This is my Babydoll and her gig! She goes to bed with a journal every night. She writes letters and notes and thoughts. She IS a writer! Shame on you, Teacher. How dare you withhold the last ten days of providing education, ahem, YOUR JOB!

I really felt like she was robbing my child of what she deserved and what all kids need to motivate and encourage for the next ten + years of schooling. I was so mad. Ten days was one day too late.

Back in my car, I cried. I cried at the steering wheel in the school parking lot. What if I hadn’t been a prying mom? What if Babydoll had altogether abandoned her story? What if I hadn’t asked about this confusing assignment?

Pushing my anger aside, motivated by shock and concern, I worked with Babydoll that night. I told her what I had seen of the other books. Now we could finish her story correctly. I sourced a few clip arts and inserted according to her. Then I used a sharp knife to create an illustration window on the cover. Babydoll completed it with a title page and author signature.

The next day was Babydoll’s last day in school. She turned in her book, The Troll. Her teacher was absent that day. I sent a thank you note to the Principal commending Cutiepie’s teacher for her commitment and organisation. Some things are better noticed unsaid, if you know what I mean.

Part II

Babydoll is adjusting well to her new school. We did have to explain to Babydoll why telling new classmates that you are from California is a bit of a stretch. From California and born in California have two different meanings.

I was driving yesterday as my phone messages played back on the hands free. The principal from the old school had called to let us know that Babydoll won first place in her age group for her book, The Troll. I pulled the car to one side and played the message back twice, tears filling my eyes. Twice now, this troll had me crying in my car.

There is to be an awards ceremony in Dublin in a week and do I have to say, we are overjoyed? There are no words to express my anger, sadness and happiness found in the creation that is The Troll.

I would love just one more day to walk into that teacher’s class and teach her a lesson. I’ve since talked to the Principal and despite DH’s urging, I did let the Principal know that we were quite lost on the project, and well, why was there no teacher instructions? It was probably wasted words, but she begged me on as she said, well I suppose, she did win—afterall, her mother is a writer. In the end, I will choose to take her comment as a compliment.

Today we received her invitation to the awards ceremony. I had already called nanny and granddad and everyone is ready to parade into Dublin for Babydoll. Unfortunately, only two family members are allowed to attend. We’ve decided to let Babydoll chose and I’m not sure I will make the short list. Nanny pretty much tops any list.

I’m ok with it.

I know I’ll just cry. Again. Damn that troll.

Peck Your Words Carefully

2011-02-05T22:43:00.007Z

If I shall die in my sleep tonight, my heart will be full with pride. That sounds so morbid, but it is how I feel.
This evening, Babydoll, at one month shy of 8yo sat beside me at the computer and typed her first story.
Cue the kleenex.

In actual credit to her, DH and her teacher, she had penned the story yesterday using a story board approach. Teacher identified sections (Begin in one World; Move to an imaginary world; Identify a problem; Resolve the problem) and Babydoll set the scene in a full tale. Tonight she became an accomplished writer.

A classmate of hers is using a computer, as Teacher said it is allowable, she saddled up to one of our computers and next thing I know Babydoll is changing font sizes for titles, and a colour code (desktop publishing? be still my heart) for emphasis within her colourful tale of a human condemned to life as a troll.

Maybe I do have the knack of a writer? I'm not faking this gig afterall? The written word has been seeping out Babydoll's pores since she first held writing utensils as a toddler, and by golly, this trait came from me. Seeing her at the computer, with poised fingers at the proper 10-finger type positions, I felt so accomplished. Nothing like her Dad's hunt and peck, but rather like me.

Monday is coming fast and we have decisions to make, do we plan our move? Worse, I'm expected at a parents' meeting for a school we may not be attending in 11 days (mid term soon kicks in).

Better still, I could ditch the meeting and really "make" my mind and pop down to the Make and Do group stitching in the pub. Sometimes being a responsible adult is hard. I went to Make and Do last month and loved it. I took an applique chicken. Given that it is set in a pub with pub lighting, one would highly recommend sorting colours earlier in the day. I had stitched my brown chicken's outline, only to realise I was using purple thread. Want to know how I knew? I pulled out my camera and flash shot it. So for the next three colours, I chose by camera.

Time will tell, even over the next 24 hours. Come Monday, I may not get anywhere yet. DH arrived home and Babydoll said, "Dad, look at this! Mom said my story is great. I'm a real writer! She said I get it from her cause you only hunt and peck!"

I'm too busy walking on eggshells.

I'm Back Minus the Hardware

2011-02-04T01:35:00.002Z

Well, not really, minus one coil, but then add another—it’s math, people. Dr. New (the new doctor come to clean up the old doc’s mess) and I had a chat about contraception, and well, since my first coil (IUD) six years ago worked so well, we decided to insert another while he was fishing out the bad (second) one. Truth is, mess-ups like this occur at time of insertion, so I had the Dr. New pinky swear that he’s the best. So I said ok. Besides, I like to live life on the edge.

For those of you living in FaceBook Land, you’ll know I came through the surgery and hospital stay with my own comedic episode, some sleepwalking (oh, yes I did!), and an addiction to posting and commenting on FB.

(Why did I never listen to DH when he said I should get a smart phone many moons ago? Sometimes I swear it would be easier than ignoring him—but then where would be the fun? Smart phones are brilliant, never out of touch with anyone—unless you count the person with me in the room, the one I don’t see cause my head is down at the phone. Rude, I am. But very thankful I finally listened to DH.)

So, I feel fantastic. The surgery was neat and tidy—nothing really daunting to share. Oh, but get this: in the operating room (or theatre, as we say in Europe), one wall had floor-to-ceiling windows! Seriously, I was wheeled in and transferred to the operating gurney, legs facing the windows (in addition to surgery, I’m having a D&C and second coil inserted...v@gin@lly. Sorry for the visual. But. SERIOUSLY. People.).

It was the fifth floor. I could see rooftops and, honestly my mind was blown. Really, all I wanted to do was ask the porter to unlock the gurney’s breaks and wheel me back to my room so I could get my smart phone. (Told you, I was obsessed with FaceBook.) But I didn’t. I started chatting with Dr. New—cause we’re friends now. Asking him, how did they get windows when Grey’s Anatomy and my two C-sections, even my last coil got a tour but not a room with a view? Then I asked, could that be legal? (I might’ve had a cocktail by now from Dr. Anaesthetist) I remember saying, “someone could do a fly by and look right in!”

Alas, I was soon in lalala land. When I awoke, I was back worrying about whether they managed a keyhole surgery or a stomach incision. I was delighted when recovery nurses said all was done using simple keyholes: one for camera, one for prongs and one for pulling out. Later that day, Dr. New came to my bedside to report the good news, though the recovery nurses had taken his thunder. I was already back to the subject of windows.

DH was there (with flowers, might I add?) and I was explaining to him how wild it was to have floor-to-ceiling windows in the surgery room, with a patient on the table and jet planes taking a peek in. (an overactive imagination? I thought not.) At this point, the doctor retorts, “You do know, there is special lining on the windows that prohibit seeing in from outside?” He said it very condemning, as if I, myself was charting a voyeurism trip.

Me, a pilot? I think not. But, if I was, you know I’d bring my smart phone!

House For Rent

2011-01-21T09:14:00.004Z

(cute baby not included)

DH is stressed.

I'm cool as a cucumber.

What can I do?

Five days ago our tenants in our Wexford home (above) gave notice to move out March 1st. They have been in our home for four and half years. We have been renting in Wicklow County for the same time. The girls have been in a Wicklow school for three years. We can't afford a rent AND a mortgage payment. We need to find a tenant in Wexford or give notice here and move.

Starting to get the picture? Yeah, that's why DH is stressed.

I'm chilling because our tenants have been FANTASTIC renters for four and half years. They are a young family who have just bought a house, and I say go! go! go!, make this downward economy work for you! Make the most of it! We have been blessed to have them in our home for four and half years. So yes, I'm grateful still for them and am giving it to the Universe, putting my faith in God and well, I'm as cool as a cucumber.

Even more still, our home business can be run from anywhere. The house is absolutely lovely. I was fond of being a "Wexican" (Wexford is a sunny climate in Ireland and located on Ireland's southern tip, it is coined Wexican, a term that this Californian likes, along with chunky guacamole and salty margaritas!) I would LOVE to create and make my own home--I can't come close to doing that in a rental. DH has a closet green thumb which would totally come out and flourish on our acre in Wexford. We left some very dear neighbors of whom I am still very close.

There's Sue and her family. Sue lives down the road and minded Cutiepie for the first six months of her life. When Babydoll boasted about being born in California, Cutiepie was heard saying, "Yeah? Well I was born in Sue's house!" She wasn't. But yes, home is with Sue.

There's Mary, my quilting neighbor. Mary, I'm guessing is in her late 60s? We first met her the week we moved in, she pedaled up our long driveway on her bicycle to greet us. Her visits continued so she could hold my newborn so I could sew as she taught me patchwork on her second hand machine.

My Wexford home. sigh
Our Wicklow home. sigh

See, Wicklow is a better location for us. Gives me that arm's reach into metropolitan Dublin. Gives me a "welcome to anyone feel" that this cityslicker needs so much. (No offense Wexford people, but you did call me a "blow-in" time and time again.) Kevin's family is in Wicklow. We've made friends here. The girls are in school.

Amazingly, our tenants gave us notice the month before we were due to re-sign on our own lease agreement.

We have options, not always are we given options.

I like options. Don't you?

Thinking It Over

2011-01-19T00:40:00.005Z

Today's homework, "write a sentence with the word 'teeth' in it."

Babydoll writes:

I have 20 sumsomethinking teeth in my mowth.

When school started, we enrolled Babydoll in the Homework Club. Every day she returned home with completed homework, but riddled with silly, rushed errors. We were paying for this teacher-tutored program and expected better results, so we approached the principal one day about this quandry.

"Oh, yes. Well, we help your child with her homework. But we DON'T do their homework for them. The teacher simply reviews and signs it."

Say what?

Ok. Who needs corrections when you've got 20 mathmatical, thinking teeth?

An Oversight Twice as Bad

2011-01-17T21:05:00.007Z

Thursday was four days ago and I think I'm finally recovered.

In the morning was AWCD meeting with me manning the membership desk; the afternoon was for grocery shopping.

We were not yet bare in the cupboards, but the fridge was empty. I've always advised DH to buy nonperishables in twos, even if you need only one. Safety in numbers. With double your need, you've insurance for when you need another.

Thursday night I listed my grocery items while I checklisted all the things needed for AWCD. It would be a full day; I had already planned on not working in the office. DH also ordinarily works on the magazine, but for the first time in months, he had a job of plastering planned. He too was checking his gear and loading the jeep the night before. He had organised a late arrival to the job so he could walk the girls to the bus stop.

The AWCD meets in Ballsbridge, close to the centre of Dublin and to get there in time, I leave really early. On this morning I was twenty minutes from Ballsbridge when his call came in. “You took the jeep!” “Yeah, uh?” In my mind this was no huge revelation: whoever has the girls, by default keeps the family car. The jeep is a two-seater. UNTIL, he reminded me he had a plastering job. Not only did I have the jeep, I had his gear too. Uh oh.

A hundred ladies waiting for sign in badges from me and a grumpy (self-inflicted, I know) DH looking for his jeep and gear. A rock and a hardspot. You been there? I chose to continue on, set up the membership desk and then proceed to abandon it in search of DH. I had asked him to use the car and begin to come in my direction. That didn't sit well, but he didn't really have a choice.

I did have time to snap at a few ladies. There's always that couple ladies who come early, and while I come early to set up, I can be pretty annoyed when I can't use that time to set up. Let's say I had a few apologies to make when I returned to the meeting.

Course my exit wasn't near as smooth as that. I was so worried DH would be really mad, I totally lost my nerves and viola! my parking ticket went missing and I was gated in. With DH's fifth phone call, as if knowing it would help, the waterworks started; I was crying. I suspect that is when he went and ordered a late breakfast, 'cause when I finally pulled up he was smiling with a cup of tea in one hand and a crossiant in the other.

The rest of the day was uneventful (thank goodness). Grocery shopping went smoothly, I even thought to buy a bottle of red wine. Lord knows I needed it. That evening, looking over the rim of my glass, with the now-empty bottle in sight, I heard DH say, “don't you wish you had bought that second bottle?”

Went on to have a great weekend by attaching the binding on three quilts! Check 'em out:

pic 1 is for a friend's baby; pic 2 and 3 are matching quilts for the girls. Babydoll's has pink binding and Cutiepie's has pink binding

Scales of Time

2011-01-08T13:44:00.004Z

My 2011 is a cliche. Yes, I'm trying to lose weight and exercise more. I could only be more cliche if I had a smoking addiction to kick. Thankfully I don't.

I'm also going to try to carve out more sewing time. I thought about calling it "creative time", but honestly creative time is always happening. What is needed is more execution time. The last sewing was the girls' Christmas skirts. Here is the promised photo of skirt set 1.
If I were to do them again, I would shorten the front panel. Due to natural waist/swag of the girls bellies, skinny or chubby (and I have one of each!), the panels lay longer than the skirt hem, whereas it would look best if they align. Just a tip, if you're watching at home!

They're mock Scottish skirts. The girls are interested in Scotland, my father's origin, so that was nice. The fabric itself had a sweet story--originating from a special request from one friend to another friend's visiting relative. "I'd love some plaid fabric and teddy fabric." She made her children pajamas. Years later, the unused remants found their way back to the friend's house, until recently they were passed on to me.

Several skirts later, I'm craving quilting time. I hope to get to that soon.

In the meanwhile, my cliche takes centre stage. Empty the house of sweets and snacks. Begin the daily walks. Weigh myself.

Wait.

We have no weigh scale in the house. We used to have a fancy digital scale. A fancy tempermental scale that you had to step, pounce, step back, wait, re-step, and settle before it would reveal the magic numbers. I was hardly impressed. And even less bothered when it stopped working last year.

I missed the swinging climb of the numbered wheel in a traditional scale. The glassy big electronic diameter of Fancy Scale did nothing for me. DH was its only fan. Personally, I think DH admired the scale's larger-than-usual size. As if by some crazy relation, the more weight, the more acceptable coming from a larger instrument.

Yesterday I found my fitness partner.

A small tidy black and white traditional scale costing 8 bucks. Already DH disapproved. He is the ultimate salesman's target--if it doesn't cost much, it mustn't be good. Quite honestly, I don't need to pay a lot only to be told I've eaten too much. As DH and I were debating the quality of the new device, the girls wandered in. Alas, children have a way of putting all in perspective.

Cutiepie: "Cool! Mommy bought a time machine!"

Oh, don't we wish it were a time machine?

One by one, we climbed aboard and waited for the numbered wheel to stop.

The mom in me fretted as my pre-tween daughters weighed themselves. I figured if we took very little notice of it, we could avoid setting in a deeply-rooted self-conscious.

As DH's size-11 feet covered the entire scale, its numbers spun, bobbing to the nearest to last increment. Cutiepie made her second hilarious observation:

"Whoa!! Daddy made it go almost right back 'round to zero!"

That's right, DH might just like this time machine yet.

May your timing be right for you!

When Contraception Goes AWOL

2011-01-04T21:05:00.007Z

Here's one for the 2010 Bizarre File:
In September, I was in the hospital for a Minera Coil Insertion (aka IUD). A three-inch T-shaped device is a form of contraception inserted into the uterus. My cervix is tricky, surgery is necessary to insert anything as it was also necessary to extract my babies!

In September and October, I was in extreme pelvic and stomach pain. Several doctor appointments and nothing suspected; more tests scheduled for December. (I'm a public patient in Ireland, thus time delay. Luckily, I'm pretty resilient. It takes a lot to take me down.)

Meanwhile, on November 5 after Houston, I awoke to lower left back pain. This, I diagnosed myself: a kidney stone. My kidney spent the next night spasming with the stone finally lodging in the tube. After 136 x-rays and admittance to the hospital, I was prepared for surgery to break up the stone and reset the uretha tube.
Before surgery, the doctor came to my bedside and said he had to discuss something with me. While following the stone movement in x-rays, they found something else. They had been following another moving target. My coil. It had ruptured the uterus and was now touring my insides.

In early x-rays, the coil appears in the uterus region, but upon closer look, it's behind the pelvis.

Other x-rays show the coil in the abdomen beside my gall bladder.

And yet, other x-rays show the coil behind ribs.

The doctor team was, and are, dumbfounded at its mobility and are anxious to remove the coil from the abdomen. Then, as if there wasn't enough bizarre activity, my original OBGYN doctor called my urologist surgeon during surgery and said to leave the coil in. (Apparently they are buddies and Dr. Urlogy sent an x-ray on his iphone to Dr. OBGYN.)

Why Dr. OBGYN wanted to halt the surgery for the coil eluded us all. But he did.

My first visit out of the hospital, of course, was to see Dr. OBGYN. He said he was sorry, it had never happened before, and the act of trying to find and remove via stomach surgery could be worse than if it was left to be in the abdomen. “So just leave it in your abdomen.” I think not.
I actually think he thought I would just roll over and go away. When I said I was going for second opinions, he agreed to consult four colleagues for what to do.

What made it worse, was back in September, in recovery I commented to the female doctor in training that I never even met Dr. OBGYN. I thought it odd that he did not introduce himself before or after surgery, so I had asked her, “Did he even do the surgery?” She said, “Oh yes, he did. You were too groggy to remember him.”

Now when he and I are in his office, and my coil in my abdomen, he introduces himself. (Note to self, he's never met me before.) He began reading the operating notes to me, stressing it was a very difficult insertion for “her”. I told him “she” said he had done the surgery, to which of course, he defensively denied.

Despite this blame game, Dr. OBGYN came back shortly with a new recommendation that the coil be removed. Which is a good thing as all my queries had been returning with vehement yes for removing coil. Surgery is scheduled for 28 January.

Can you believe? Crazy stuff.

Beyond Cutiepie's birth, which was blissfully seamless, this has been my longest experience with Irish health system and Irish hospital staff. The professionalism and the care shown by hospital staff was bar none the best I've ever experienced anywhere. So considerate and caring.
Equally so, they were incredibly candid. With each changing of staff, the nurse would lean in and say, “I saw your x-rays. Wow! That's really bad!” As an American, I was shocked. But I appreciated the humanity of the reaction. It also validated that I wasn't overreacting.

Have you ever heard of such a mess?

So I am now preparing myself for stomach surgery later this month. I trust all will go well.

I'm thankful we're not talking about a certain surgery in, say, nine months?
Because THAT very well could have been the case with contraception gone AWOL!

Skirting Around Christmas

2010-12-31T19:13:00.005Z

When you sew into Christmas eve, wrap expeditiously and proceed to konk out, you risk forgetfulness. And, forgotten are the photographs of cute Christmas skirts.

Lucky for me, yet again this Yuletide season, money was tight :)...forcing me to once again sew the girls' Christmas outfit. It's ok. There'll come a year when my daughters refuse homemade clothes, and well, we'll have cash flowing for department-store fashions. Positive thinking.

About three weeks before Christmas, my neighbor dropped off fabric remnants. Included was a fabulous red tartan plaid with teddy bears. This first set of skirts actually materialised a week before Christmas--and I did take photos--but can't locate them!

Using a simple elastic waist, I added a front panel for extra Scottish flair. The girls wore them on Christmas Eve. I'll take another photo for posting.

Ever more festive, the Christmas Eve sewing resulted in two Christmas patchwork-tiered skirts, made from my Christmas fabric and matching stash. You can just about see them here.

The girls like them as much as I do. Thankfully. Babydoll, hers in aqua blue and red, has been recycling her look by swapping out coloured leggings below the skirt. She is our fashion diva making the gypsy-ish skirt ubercool.

Since my last post I conquered the post-Christmas kitchen, dishes, and floor. Next the dirty laundry. With any luck I can press the skirts just right and redo for post-perfect photography!

Hey, happy new year!

The Christmas Myth

2010-12-29T01:43:00.003Z

Discussion of whether Santa is real...overheard on Christmas day:

Cutiepie, 6yo: Do you think Santa is real?

Babydoll, 7yo: Of course! There's no way Daddy or Mommy would do all this!

Merry Christmas

2010-12-27T10:18:00.003Z

Two days after Christmas, and who's still merry? Me!

Santa brought lots of goodies to the good girls here and I am no exception.
He and DH must be talking. Under the tree was a DVD of The Secret for me. Now, I have the CDs and listen every chance I get.
For those unfamilar, they are "good feel" inspirational tapings. I don't care what religious or nonreligious stance you take, remembering to be grateful and happy can change your whole day, year and life. These CDs help do that.
My DH is a second-hand smoker to my first-hand smoking--only subsitute the fags for inspirational tapings (ie., good vibes). You will never find him turning on the CD player, but believe me, he knows he is a direct benefacturer.
Exhibit A: DVD of The Secret. That amazed me--I personally would not buy the DVD, a refresher of the CDS, but not the DVD.
This is not to be intrepreted as a complaint, just driving home the point. Good vibes are contagious.

As if I needed more motivation--and who doesn't? Days before Christmas I was given the gift every entrepreneur dreams of--a meeting face to face with a very influential person. The timing was whirlwind and because of this short timing, I did little research. Who unfolded before me was and is incredible. To have an hour of his time three days before Christmas was Santa-like. Before we concluded our meeting, he said Happy Christmas and handed me his book, The Unsinkable Entrepreneur.
Four days later. Incredible reading. My inlaws are probably still scorning me, as I buried my head in the book throughout the holiday. What normal entrpreneural mom, wouldn't? Christmas-hyped kids and leftover Christmas dinner and my time was all mine. A real treat.

I hope you all had a great Christmas adventure whether that be head buried in a book or singing Christmas carols for neighbors!

Right now I've got so much get-up-and-go from my two inspired Christmas treats, I'm contemplating where to put that energy to best use? The year holds so much for our family and for the magazine. I could get a head on in the office. I'm a mom--who am I kidding?

Two days and the dishes won't wash themselves!

Peace to all,

Birthday Time Again!

2010-09-20T19:25:00.002+01:00

Cutiepie and her pals prepare for a party!

I'd Rather Be Quilting than Cruel

2010-09-10T21:22:00.004+01:00

I know most are wondering, when is she going to quilt again?

Well I am quilting here and there.

We had a BYOB party a few Saturdays back. Funny I enjoyed it just as much as when BYOB used to be Bring Your Own Booze. On this day it was Bring Your Own Binding. The best was no hangover!

It was a great day, I had several American-living-Ireland friends visiting; it was a good mixture of quilters and nonquilters, always making the chit chat interesting. Not the same as playing quarters in beer pints, but we aren't fuddie-duddies either! Stitching and bitching. In the end, there was even a few nonquilters fondling fabric and asking about patchwork classes.

Myself, I have a variety of quilts in progress. Let's see, I have a thankyou quilt postcard for a lovely friend who made me lunch, oh, two months ago?? That goes to the top of the list. I have a baby quilt simply needing binding. Three charity quilts needing binding. One twin baby top needing quilting and needing a matching top for twin brother. Still enjoying the Country Club installments from the magazine. And alas, I have started two Christmas wall hangings for family gifts. With any luck this weekend, I'll combine the camera and my projects for a little show and tell.

Summer is over and fall is here. Work has been demanding to say the least. Family life too. But I feel a resurgence. We struggled with a car malfunction, bid farewell to our aupair and produced our best issue yet. Many restless nights. But with the return of the school routine, I feel rejuvinated. Two weeks in and the laundry pile queue is manageable, morning walks awaken me and a reasonable cycle of work is taking shape.

With this newfound peace, my anxiety-driven nocturnal activity is diminishing. I wish I could say the same for Babydoll. Her anxiety and excitement for school reminds me of my early school days; she inherited my sleepwalking. The other night I heard her in the hall. I thought she was going to DH downstairs and he thought she was going to me upstairs. An hour later we found her here:

She generally denies sleepwalking, so this time I captured proof. DH thought it was cruel taking a picture. Was it?

After sharing some of my infamous sleepwalking excursions, I thought she might come to accept her own slumbering ways. As we sat telling sleep stories on the sofa, I noticed fingerprints, that could only come from ninja turtles or my acrobatic daughters, smudged on the very large mirror hanging above us. The mirror is large enough that, if toppled, it could fatally wound one or both of the girls. This offence of theirs is very rare and they know that the fear of it turns me red with rage.

Babydoll spied my face about to erupt and she thought quickly.

"Mom, I'm thinking that might have been done while sleepwalking."

Nah, cruel is actually posting the photograph.

The Facts and Fixes of Life

2010-09-10T06:49:00.002+01:00

Lately our Cutiepie has been preoccupied with acquiring a baby sibling.

Oh, but it ain’t happening.

There are a few of media culprits, but I blame Katie Perry and Charlie of Two and a Half Men. Thanks to them, 6yo Cutiepie knows Mommy and Daddy must “do it” in order to add a baby to our brood.

Oh, but it ain’t happening.

Her campaign for a baby sibling is strong, and while I am astonished—and scared—by her level of knowledge, I am amused at her persistence.

“Please mommy! Can you and Daddy do it? Please!”

We’re too old.

“No you’re not! Please, just go lay down with him and say you want a baby! I think that is all you have to do! I want a baby .”

For heaven’s sake, if only she were asking me to jump on the trampoline or run the Dublin Marathon naked, she’d win a puppy. Seriously, I love her with every ounce of my being, I’d do it. I would. She is so passionate, I so want to give her that baby.

Oh, but it ain’t happening.

“I promise! Babydoll and I will mind the baby! We will! And you know that pain? Like that woman screaming on the TV when she was given her baby?
Well, that will go away. I promise!”

Thanks for the concern, but it’s not the pain that scares me. It’s the added 12-year sentence labour of love. Something that can’t be easily explained to Cutiepie.

While I want to bottle her endless love, bubbling enthusiasm and innocent naiveté, I can’t honestly say I’d want to repeat it all with another babe. Which is why I’m writing this from my hospital bed in Dublin. How is it that kids have that magical ability of timing and intuitiveness that is hidden even from them? While Cutiepie has been marching for maternity, I’ve been fearing the very same nature of process. Our means of contraception—a surgically- planted cervix coil—is overdue for replacement. Despite my darling 6yo, the procedure was scheduled so she could not possibly have her way. Or rather, so I can count on golden years, not tough years ahead.

On the way to the hospital this morning, at 6 o’dark in the morning, my heart broke as Cutiepie asked why does Mommy have to go to the hospital? (We are winging it without an au pair. Be kind to your supporting family who may serve as minders.)

Only time will heal my broken heart and her denied request. She remains on my mind in this maternity ward, where ironically, I recover from the surgery that will ensure that I not return to this very same place, in which, I’d be ‘given’ a baby.

Cause, oh, that ain’t happening.

As I prepare to be discharged, Kevin and I plan our dinner with the girls. For a treat we are headed to Cortina, the latest, greatest Irish find of ours: a Mexican restaurant not too far from home. As I wonder if the tacos and burritos will be enough to preoccupy Cutiepie’s inquisitive nature and her adoring pleas, the nurse comes to sign me out.

“Will you be needing a doctor’s note to excuse you?” The nurse asks.

Yes, please! And be sure to address it to ‘Cutiepie’.

School's Back in Session!

2010-08-31T11:30:00.003+01:00

Hooray says this Mom.

Why We Call Her Cutiepie

2010-08-25T19:28:00.002+01:00

On Babies:

Mommy, I want a baby. Can you go make one with Daddy?
What?
Can you do it with Daddy, so we can have a baby?
Do what?
I think you have to go lay down with him.
Oh.

Next morning, Cutiepie jumps in bed with us, and asks, "So, did you do it?"

On Food:

Mommy, where did you put my donut? Did you eat it??
It's in the boot with the groceries.
Mom!!! Did you eat it?
No, I promise, it's in with the groceries.
Mom, please don't kid about my food.

Mommy, how many days old was I when we left the hospital?
Four days old.
Mommy, did we leave after lunchtime?

On Music:

Mommy, please can we listen to our CD?
You know the one with Dancing on the Queen and Mommy Mommy?

Any Abba fans out there?

You Gotta See This, But Can't

2010-08-23T11:05:00.002+01:00

You know the moment, when you say: Oh, I have to take a picture of this!?

Well, what if you can't? Take the photo?
Like when you've been traveling for four hours on a journey that was scheduled for one hour in a foreign land, in the remote countryside at dusk, and you're hungry, tired and lost because the GPS directed you to go the way the crow flies and not the way the smart one drives?

Picture that.
Throw in a grouchy husband whose back has gone out while schlepping boxes of magazines and manning a booth for four days amid 40,000 quilters. Throw it in for good measure or simply for my reality.

As we drove, I shriek, "Oh! I have to get a picture of that!"

All it took was one look. The camera was packed in the back of the jeep. There was no way in this lifetime, that this tired, hungry, broken lost man was going to pull over and dig out a camera for a mere laugh.

One look. Some marriages take decades for telepathy. Not ours.

The nonexistent picture? In North Wales, in the middle of don't-ask-us-where is a house on a roundabout. Seriously, a house on a roundabout in thoroughfare traffic, a real roundabout with four exits. Five if you count the driveway leading to the house.
The family in the house refused to move.
So said the locals, when we finally stopped to ask for directions.

The Car

2010-07-24T19:41:00.010+01:00

"Hey, Babydoll, take a few pictures of the car for the blog."

That's what you get when you ask a 7yo to photograph the new car.

lol

Summer's in Swing

2010-07-24T17:20:00.011+01:00

Cutiepie on the beach in Cork. Summer fun.
And Babydoll below. Did you know she is Hannah Montana's twin? So she thinks.

I actually managed to get out some quilts out this summer for friends' babies. In my frenzie, I never took photos. Frenzie? ah! these quilts --baby size, I admit--took two years. More like, in my comatosed handling of finishing the quilts.

Lucky for me, my friends take pictures. Besides it's always nicer to see baby quilts WITH the babies!

This one quilt lives in San Francisco. Where my heart is, btw.

And in Florida, this is Natalie with her doll quilt (above).

The idea of doll quilts delayed the first gift for Katherine, her sister here (above) clearly enjoying her quilt! Score!

The final one is baby Ryan, he's also in San Francisco. Home of four Hughes boys and four baby quilts from Ireland!
His oldest brother Harry received my first quilt ever, ever nearly six years ago. Polyester loft wadding and quilt tied. I promised his mommy a new one to better match the other boys' quilts. The last two, incidently, I did two versions of Bento Box patterning, and it was completely by accident!

I'm so glad they enjoy them. Katherine and Natalie's mommy, my good friend Erin was so kind with her compliments as she shared on her blog.

Sniff! Sniff! Makes me homesick for my friends.

Also makes me wish I could go sit and sew and get further on my baby list of quilts!! Today I'm still working --we have a print deadline to make!--but tomorrow, I'm all stitches!

I hope your summer is going great!

xo
<>

Miley, What have you done with my daughter?

2010-07-16T21:52:00.002+01:00

Doting mommy: "Babydoll, I'd like you to brush your teeth now."
Babydoll: "Good luck with that."

Stitching after Gardening? Not So Much

2010-05-30T20:08:00.005+01:00

The weather here in Ireland has been incredible. It's pretty hard to stay indoors --even though I'd be perfectly fine crouched in my sewing corner.

And yet, there is a very large flower bed just out my window that has become a weed and grass haven. It's been sending SOSs to me all spring. So this week, for one hour an evening I've been breaking my back pulling weed and wrestling free the occasional plant uncovered.

I'm making good progress and hope to have the full bed cleared this week. Once I accomplish that goal, I'll share before and after photos. I'm smart like that--not gonna set myself up for a before shot without knowing the after is a reality!

Today I went crazy and made it halfway across the bed, which is at least 18 feet long in total. Now, I'm very motivated to get it finished. Even DH appreciated the progress, he managed dinner for all so I could keep gardening.

Now this evening I'm comfy on the couch ready to do some hand stitching. Wah! Wah! Oh, my aching hands. Is this old age? I've never had a green thumb, and though I admire the results, this dirty weeding biz is not my cup of tea.

Oh, I plow onward. (no pun intended)

Here I share some machine work I did earlier. Both my nieces are celebrating. One is graduating from high school and one is entering beauty school. These are my celebration post (quiltart) cards for them.

Can you guess which is for whom?

Bless You

2010-05-27T00:35:00.005+01:00

Bless those who still believe in me. From my comments on my last post, I see there is life after blogger abductions.

Abductions sound alarming, almost criminal. Again, it's that life keeps getting in the way. I've complained before, I know. My thoughts go dark for a minute, but it doesn't take long to remember, oh, you don't have it that bad. Wimp.

Berrynice the AuPair has gone home for a visit so I've been winging it for the week. Hoping to high goodness I'm not graded or sanctioned for my abilities, or rather, inabilities in her absense. If you want to know how much someone makes a difference in your life, send them away for a week. Me? I knew in the first 24 hours.

Unfortunately, so did Cutiepie.

"Mom, Berrynice does this." "Berrynice does it this way." "But MOM, Berrynice does it like this."

BTW, this was a photo taken before Berrynice ~~ran away~~ left, so catastrophes like leapard print and hot pink does still happen.

I think she finally flipped her 5yo lid on the third morning when, yet again, I asked who wears their gym clothes that day and who does not.

"MOM! We get dressed EVERY single day for EVERY week; don'tcha know by now?"

I would have skyped Berrynice right there and then if I had a minute to spare. At this point I was negative 4 minutes.

And four minutes--well, that's enough to miss the school bus. Since the car is in repair and our family of four is left with a jeep for two, missing the school bus is not an option.

It is funny how in moments of disarray and panic, in a frantic powerstruggle a parent can easily set themselves up.

(DH--bless him too. I must say he makes a better second for Berrynice than I do.) He walks the girls to the bus. ('Cause you sure the heck know I ain't dressed yet.) Today, he had a near miss in saying, "Hurry up or you'll miss the bus. And we have no way of getting you to school!"

Yeah, he might as well have announced there's no school and you can have ice cream for breakfast! Trust me, those girls know when to put on the brakes for the ice cream man!

Luckily I thought quick enough to start crazy screaming over him about some nonsense of homework, shoes and whether Babydoll has knickers on. Thank gawd no one heard his threats.

And me, well at least my crazy-scream nonsense fooled them into thinking I had it all under control.

If only I knew who has gym on Thursdays.

We're Alive, Here's Proof

2010-05-13T11:55:00.002+01:00

Snow Delayed Sewing

2010-01-06T21:21:00.010Z

Over Christmas, my MIL and I conspired. She's a recent convert to quilting. I taught her to make a couple quilted pillow covers a while back, and well, this 70yo lady now sews like she's adding years to her life with every stitch. Bless her soul.

DH answered a phone call earlier today amid the snow blizzard that's keeping us in lockdown. I overheard the start...How's the girls? climbing the walls When's school open? not soon enough How much snow do you have? more than enough. When he hung up, he turned to fill me in.

"You know, the usual. My ma, checking on us all." Then he chuckled, "Actually," he said, "I think she's looking for a fix. She said she's done with her sewing. She's looking for more fabric. She said maybe, when the weather lifts you could bring her what she needs."

MIL had asked me to make some table runners for the other ladies in the family and so I did. They can be seen below. For her, I stripped some William Morris Workshop layer cakes and she's been busy sewing them together for a unique table runner of her own. She's sewing by hand, so it's quite a feat. I'm verry proud of her.

The bad news here is school's been closed. The good news is our au pair is due to arrive today from France. The airport was closed yesterday afternoon, so my fingers are crossed for her safe arrival.
We have so many errands and appointments delayed by the freezing weather, it will be a blizzard of it's own getting busy once we're able to leave this mountain. And, certainly, no one likes to keep a fabric junkie waiting!

This is Time in 2010

2009-12-29T21:44:00.009Z

Happy New Year!!

Wow, it's here...Year 2010. Was it just a yesteryear's NYE ago when I was on-call for conglomerate VISA U.S.A.? As a team member of an 'event management center' in San Francisco, we were ready and armed for an anticipated massive disruption of the big gnarly Y2K (Year 2000)...that never came to be. The disruption, not the year.

I don't know what we expected for 2000, a few extra zeros, some misplaced millions, computer let downs, and potential hard drive crashes of the century. None of that happened. And yet, if you've read a newspaper in the last nine years, you'll know zeros have come and gone, millions have been misspent, celebrities let us down, and, well, what hard drive crash is not tragic?

Partying like it was 1999 (and it was) my biggest challenge was juggling three jobs as I began my last semester at San Francisco State University. I remember bartending--always the best, lucrative choice to avoiding the anticlimax of NYE-- at Blarney Stone in the Richmond, despite my on-call status for Y2K downtown. Shows how worried I was. Not very.

In the weeks and months leading to the tick tock of Y2K, I attended meetings upon meetings, participated in simulations and drills and composed carefully-worded event protocol for merchant and acquiring banks across the country. Do. Not. Worry. was our message.

Funny, I don't remember one ounce of worry on my part. Our company budgeted hundreds of thousands, created a whole taskforce in a dedicated risk management department solely to battling the doom slaying reputation of the toothless Y2K. And while I reflect on it so lightly, I know the SVPs in charge spent alot of time and worried brows contemplating what was to come.

In fact, my worries of 2009 dwarf those of 1999. They're not worries so much as they're stressors. 1999=single student employed in the City versus 2009=wife, mother, and business woman in non-native countryside.

Sure these transitions come with benefits, like the love of a husband and blessings of adorable children, and opportunities of another country, and alas, fruits of our labor. And yet, it wasn't like I awoke with an ephinany to do all these life-changing things. My life just rolled in this direction. Or so I think. I vaguely recall some decisions: I Do. Let's have a Baby. I can do it. Let's do it. Why not?

Thank goodness wisdom comes with age. Otherwise each of these decisions would have required event management each to their own. We manage and survive one worry only to find tomorrow brings more worries. And for this, I find my archnemisis Time is, at last, on my side. Were it not for time, we could not move forward.

I spend a lot of my time either blaming Time or thanking Time. During this winter holiday, Time was with me as I finished many sewing projects. In this post I share our family Christmas quilt--the trick to this project management is, do the piecing one Christmas and finish the quilting the next Christmas. It worked for me! I particularily love the quilting, I used varigated red/green thread and repeated Merry Christmas in the centre and Ho Ho on the borders. Fun.

Laughter, the Best Medicine

Just in case I painted a care-free loving single life in the city, come now laugh with me.

Once upon a time, I was twenty-something irresponsible and unconcerned with parking tickets acquired easily in San Francisco. (Note reality: the problem is more about paying the tickets, than it is about acquiring them.)

On this day while at work, my roommate called to alert me that my car sat with a tire clamp in front of our trendy Cow Hollow apartment. Bus-commuter by day I arrived home only to learn my car was just towed. The amount to free my car was somewhere above $700 (I'm astonished the actual amount is not emblazened in my head to this day as it was so insurmountable back then. Parking tickets averaged $12, but doubled and tripled every 20 days. You do the math.).

Taxi-passenger, now by panic, I returned to work to get a payroll advance, hop in a cab and rush to the court, pay the fine and onto the tow yard before the $60/hr storage charges kicked in. Finally, we arrived in the tow yard in China Basin, well away from the Courthouse and on the outskirts of the Financial District, only to find that I had left my keys, with my car key, on my desk at the office!

Cue the tears. Oh, I cried. My self-inflicted pain would have no end.

This was not quite 20 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember my bluebird-blue suit, my silk creme blouse and my opaque stockings with my favourite heels. I loved working and dressing downtown. I remember thinking a small thank you for waterproof mascara. (Ironically, with all my stressors of 2009, you won't find me wearing any of those items on a regular basis now.) Anyway, it all paled in comparison when the taxi driver felt my pain and sought to comfort me. He said,

"It's going to be ok. Think about it. Today, this is your biggest problem. In six months, trust me, you'll be onto a different problem. This shall pass."

I will never forget that comforting advice. It shall pass. And it always does.

Enjoy your time today.

Dash over to Dolly Dresses, Now!

2009-12-16T23:23:00.006Z

You have to get over to Elizabeth Scott's Late Bloomer !! She has done an adorable quilt with tiny dolly dresses (fab fabrics from the greatest Holly Holderman!), and guess what? She's auctioning it off for the Irish Quilting Flood Quilts Relief Action!

Some people are just too kind. A complete daisy chain, I'd say. First there is Holly Holderman who kickstarted with her adorable dolly dresses panel and there there's Elizabeth who did amazing creating and embellishing (including her signature scallops!) and there's Darla Padilla of Wildflower Quilting who did the purtiest quilting and now there's name after name of kind people who are bidding. Bidding with dollars that will transfer to euros and will go to help an Irish family (ies) still in the cold following the floods.

Elizabeth has begun the bidding and will keep the auction open til Monday Dec 21st, so feel free to share in the Season of Sharing. Don't forget to oogle all over the tiny cute dresses!

Kissin' Quiltin'

2009-12-15T23:06:00.005Z

I can be a bad mom. I can. Really, I can.

But like me, I have two daughters who can dish it back.

Ha, I'm kidding. Oh, they can, the little rascals. But that's not what this post is about.

My daughters are of the age, they ~~dish~~ mimic it back. Good, bad, or indifferent.

Like, "How many times do I have to tell you? I want a HAM sandwich!" Cell phone attached to my ear.

or, "You're not answering me. I asked you something, Mom? Be polite and answer me." My head down at computer.

and then, Cutiepie comes in the office, rubs her little body against my back and arms, and says "Everynight you say you have to do work. When are you done?"

If you're not moved to berate me just yet, hang onto your hankies. When I turn from my computer, I see Cutiepie is clutching the pink cherries fat quarter I bought her last week.
"You told me you would sew a quilt with me. When, Mom?"

sniff.

Before I've made quilts with Babydoll, but Cutiepie has generally had less attention span in the past. Tonight was different. She did the pressing, the layout, and the kissin'.
Kissin' quiltin', you might ask?

Well as does happen when you explain to a 5 yo how to put her 5" squares right sides together--face to face? good side to good side? It becomes crystal clear. "Ooooh, you mean so they are kissing?"

So, we spent the evening kissin' pink squares and tomorrow, maybe we'll hug'em into rows.

That's if I behave.

Driving While Smiling

2009-12-13T21:06:00.003Z

This weekend there was no sewing for me. Before you feel sorry for me, know that I hadn't expected to sew, so I'm not too upset. It is all about expections, people.

I did, however, expect to make some headway in the office. As usual, as what happens at the twelth hour and no time to spare, the toner cartridge runs out. In both printers. I headed to the N11 hoping to pop in and out of PC World. With so much on my mind, I absent-mindly drove past the exit. The next exit was Dundrum, home of the mothership, Dundrum Shopping Centre. I thought, why not? I headed in to check the magazine racks. Forty minutes queuing for parking and two minutes in and out of two bookstores found no quilting magazines. Good news for our biz, no magazine means another sell out.

I'm not even sure Eason's employs a merchandising manager. If you had stock that sold out every month in record time, wouldn't you up your order? Sometimes I think people don't push themselves, because it is just so much fun to be a complainer than to be a winner? Go figure. Why make money, when we can all complain that times are so hard? Honestly it's probably the trickle down effect; these are store managers--why, sales mean nothing to them. They must just punch in and punch out.

Feeling indifferent to finding nothing (ours nor competitors), I rerouted in the direction of PC World, located in an outlet shopping centre. By this time, Christmas shoppers were in full swing and I was looking at doubling my forty minute parking queue time because the backup began as early as the roundabout ahead of the centre entrance. Once in, I sat a comfortable car's length away, blinkers signalling, waiting for a person loading goods into a car. I made sure to make eye contact; then, politely, I made myself look busy checking my phone (I hate pressuring people by staring, when secretly I wish they would hurry it along). Unfortunately my good manners got me nowhere. Because twice, one person after another turned away from the loaded car and walked back to the shops. Stunned, I nearly expected them to turn back and give me a cheeky smile. Only one other time, did a person waved me off. Wouldn't you wave someone off? Like, did the others think, "watch this sucker. I'm sure she's got no where better to be but sitting in her car waiting for a parking spot that won't be available any time soon!" Grrr!

Finally I parked and got my cartridges in record time, and still nursing my wounds from impolite drivers, my tune changed quickly as I saw a poor motorist looking very forlorn as she stood staring at a car parked horizontally behind her vehicle rendering her immobile.
Apparently, someone thinks she has even more time to spare.

Do the right thing next time you're driving. And remember to smile!

Three Down, Noel to Go

2009-12-08T03:04:00.005Z

Mission accomplished. I finished three baby quilts and am nearly finished quilting our Christmas quilt.

For those of you playing along: if you guessed Option 1, you win!
What was I thinking? I knew my seam ripper (only, my BFF!) was missing in action and I still did experimental quilting knowing I would need to unpick one of the patterns.
Option 1 was my attempt at lassos. For this baby boy quilt, the brothers of baby had received cowboy motif quilts from me in the past and I thought I could pull it off. No way. Sometimes, when a design is very linear, up and down, boxy patchwork, to quilt the opposite--circular--compliments the design. Not this time. I did one wiley block with crazy quilting before I knew I had to get back to straight lines.

The other two quilts (pink pinwheels and Wonky Cowboy) will be heading over the Atlantic for their new home this week. Feels great to have them finished.

I have to say that is one system that works like a charm: Piece a lovely Christmas top while you're in the festive mood (as I did December '08) and then quilt it the next December. It is a real sense of accomplishment. The fact that is was spread over a full year, seems to melt away amid all the decorating fuss and Christmas carols.

'Course Saturday sewing turned into Sunday sewing.

DH and the girls frowned slightly when I begged for my Christmas decorating task to be quilt the Christmas quilt top. Not a lot of ho ho hos.

Just a bunch of no! no! no!s

Progress

2009-12-05T01:12:00.006Z

Same quilt, different blocks. Two choices of quilting. Pick one.
I did.

Now, I'm off to bed to unpick the one I didn't choose.
How well do you know me?

Option 1.
Option 2.

The Plan

2009-12-04T17:23:00.004Z

It never stops.

There's piles of laundry to be done.
There's smudges all down the refrigerator.
~~There's the spare room to tidy for au pair.~~ She canceled. Sniff.
There's magazine content to write.
There's magazine admin to manage.
There's a whole lot magazine stuff to do.
There's the flood relief that needs managing.
There's dinner to make.

Or does it?
The girls have gone off on a playdate and apparently, my mind has too. Because, despite my list above, I'm going to knock off early this Friday night and go sew. Sew to my heart's delight. As carefree as it sounds, oh, there's a list involved there too.

Finish. Finish. Finish my sister's son's baby Mattias' new quilt. Yeehaw! All it needs is a label.
Finish my friend's baby Ryan's quilt. All it needs is quilting.
Finish my friend's ~~baby~~, toddler Katherine's quilt. All it needs is quilting.
Get working on finishing my friends' twins' quilts.
Quilt last-year's Christmas quilt.
And of course, I have plenty of nine-patches to be done.

So I vow to be back on this blog this weekend with pictures. My goal is a picture of the top two on list and maybe the Christmas quilt.

What do I do when my darlings return from playdate? I've that covered:
If you're hungry, check the freezer.
Nuke some soup.
Go to bed when you want, just remember to brush your teeth.
We'll decorate for Christmas tomorrow.

And remember, don't interrupt me, unless you have a quilt-saving-time tip!
Have a great weekend!
Sherry

I've Something in My Eye

2009-12-02T17:59:00.005Z

It was one of those weeks that involved crying at the hair salon, being filmed for television and ignoring your mother-in-law.

Not that I enjoy doing any one of those things. And no, I'm not a Diva. Pu-lease. I wouldn't even know which pristine bottled water to demand.

I've recovered and I'd like to say the same for the hair stylist. Basically I had an appointment with my regular stylist. However, a new receptionist mistakenly booked me with an unfriendly-but-professional stylist in his absense. When I asked if she thought she could do the same as MY stylist, her professionalism went out the window. Next thing, she's slapping the colour treatment on with a bitchy twitch. When I asked if she was comfortable, she scratched back, not at all comfortable, but very confident. She told me I was p'd off and she would be glad once I left. That's all it took for me to begin crying. "€90 please. Oh, and the tears are free."

Too much stress, people, and not enough customer service--that's all I'm gonna say. I'm American living in Ireland. Over-the-top customer service meet low-customer service.

I can't even tell you her name--not that I would--she was that polite when she began my hair appointment. NOT. Thirty minutes delayed and with no name to offer.
I admit, I can be a bit anal about my hair. With appointments, the less frequent and the more costly and time left waiting, my stressors react. You can ask my stylist in years back, I've cried in her chair a few times and sometimes it wasn't even about a boy.

The TV filming was good and may even make it to air in March. It's nothing as exciting as a gag order, but I do have to refrain from any details. Just know my hair rocked.

My MIL came to mind the girls as I set off for my Irish film debut, bringing in a big box of cookies with her. (This is where I fazed out, so I can't even say what she said, or rather what information I ignored.) Luckily for me DH was present for the whole exchange.

Because later, I said to DH, "Why did you mother bring an entire box of these biscuits? No one here likes them. I'm gonna take them back to your Mom's."
That's when DH said, "You can't. She bought and brought them for you. You barely acknowledged her when she said they were especially for you."

Uh oh.
I was worried that I might have upset her. DH reminded me that her hearing is so bad, she usually misses 80% of most conversations herself.

I'm just glad I didn't make her cry.

Flood Quilts and Blocks Relief

2009-12-01T08:33:00.008Z

Did you know sending the same email to 500 people in your contacts will get you kicked off your email account for 24 hours! Some days I'm such a novice, I make myself laugh! I'm trying to spread the word about our Flood Quilts and Blocks relief efforts. Read on:

Most all of you might have heard about the flooding in Ireland. They say it is a flood occurrence that happens once in 800 years. The South and the West were first affected. Closely behind came the midland areas, such as, severely affected Athlone in Co. Roscommon. With more torrential storms this past weekend, the Dublin and Kildare counties are experiencing the same.

The number of homes affected in the beginning was tremendous: 500-600. News from County Cork put the displaced families at a staggering 18,000.
There will be a number of weeks before many residents will be able to adequately estimate the real damage to their home and belongs.

Irish Quilting is asking you if you can help the Irish families displaced. We are donating quilts to bring warmth to these victims.
Can you sew a 13 1/2" unfinished block? (pattern below!)
or
Can you donate a quilt?
or
Can you and your friends create a charity quilt?

If you said yes to any of these questions above, please contact us. Or, just sew and send! Be sure to include your name. We will be working with Saint Vincent De Paul and the Irish Red Cross to give back warmth to our flood victims.

We have a special ninepatch block pattern if you'd like. Heck, we even have a complete pattern for a relief quilt--all you have to do is ask or visit our website. Free!

Many of our quilting groups are breaking for Christmas. Maybe your group can meet with this need in mind?--several people creating 13 1/2" blocks will have a quilt top in no time. Attached is a flyer asking for blocks (with block pattern) and charity quilts.

Forward all your blocks to Irish Quilting, Berowra, Djouce, County Wicklow, Ireland. If you know of charitable amounts of wadding and/or backing available, all is appreciated. So often we work for charities overseas, now there's a clear need for warmth at home, so let's help out!

If you have quilts ready to be donated, please email me and I will arrange the dropoff/collection point for charity.

Ready, Set, Sew!

13 1/2" Block:

Block for Flood Quilt
1. Sew together a nine-patch block, using 5” squares. Use repeat fabric for squares 2, 4, 6, 8 as these become the sashing squares. Press towards sashing. Block should measure 14” at this stage. Trim if necessary.
2. Cut through the sashing and centre squares evenly in both directions, 7” from outside edge.
3. Re-arrange these four in your desired design.
4. Sew the four units into a complete block measuring 13 ½ ”.
Send to Irish Quilting!

Time Marches On

2009-11-29T15:26:00.003Z

The other day I was procratinating. What best to do when killing time, but surf the web?
While most bloggers return to land with lots of good linkage, my find was nothing new. Some time ago I posted the sad fact that my favourite links disappeared on bloglines (a site I use to follow blogs). I barely have time to post, so you can bet relocating these blog urls fell to the bottom of my ToDo list.

Yet, last night I found myself logging into Bloglines and viola! My favourites have reappeared. While clicking and revisiting my long lost friends, I noticed, with exception to some amazing serial bloggers, these blogs, for one reason or another, had sporadic breaks in posts, just like mine. I'm beginning to feel normal, a little.

Our life is the usual lately, consumed by work and amazed by my daughters' growing up each and every day. Isolated time with Babydoll and Cutiepie comes at a price, but it is something I gladly budget. Not surprisingly with little or no distractions, I am most at peace with them in the car or in the pool.

The time in the car is a mental delight, whether I'm eavesdropping on their latest gossip or fielding introspective questions from 5yo Cutiepie, "Mom, what does God do when he's not minding dead people in Heaven?" While I'm squirming to reply in the most mom-appropriate answer, I'm usually saved for words by 6yo Babydoll's rapid-fire answers.
Last week as we drove over the Sally Gap among the many deer in twilight, Cutiepie pondered dinosaurs in the wilderness. Babydoll quickly corrected her, "Silly, we have to go all the way back to the 80s to see dinosaurs!"

Yet it is in the pool where their lanky bodies and fearless swimming age and torment me with time flown by. Babydoll is long and lean and confident in and out of water. Cutiepie, though she swims quite well, manages a pretend float somewhat convincing she still needs me.

Striking a balance on all accounts for this mom is nearly impossible. This month we succumbed to the realisation that afterschool television does nothing but shape our precious daughters into out-of-control brats formerly known as angels. A little bit of rearing can go a long way. Which is why I spent a huge amount of November interviewing and selecting an apair. Deep sigh of relief. My nothing-short-of-a-miracle arrives next weekend. The girls are excited and I'm very much looking forward to it.

Somedays, you just have to admit when you need help!

Sign me,
A Relieved Mom

TV in School

2009-10-17T07:22:00.003+01:00

Here is one of those debates where I find myself polling every parent within a 10mile radius.
DH is perched soundly on the other side. Of course, why else would I enlist everyone I can find, if it isn't to persuade DH to change his position, sheerly based on peer pressure?

Like most heated debates, not all the facts are clear. But that will not stop us. Oh no. It will not.

This is the issue at hand:
Each Friday, Babydoll's first-year class watches television. Television in her school class. You read it right. And we're not talking National Geographic or Big Bird reciting his ABCs. It's been the fun motion-picture movies such as Cars and Toy Story. From her description, the time slot is half a movie long: 30 maybe 45 minutes.

Anyone else have an immediate knee-jerk reaction to this?

School is for educating, not entertaining. Am I correct?

I have enough of a hard time getting my daughters out from in front of the television at home, really does it have to be ON during school hours?

Last year, Babydoll had an incredibly high number of no school days--when researched it was revealed that her teacher's spouse was terminally ill. For this I understand.
Could this next teacher be so similarily unfortunate? I might be persuaded if this was the reason for the babysitter-in-a-tube.

DH feels they are only kids and even teachers need the break. I fully, wholeheartedly disagree. For six hours a day they are meant to be enriched. Take recess, take break, take whatever, but for goodness sake, taking the TV route irks me.

Anyone?

Home Sweet Home

2009-10-14T23:23:00.004+01:00

Thanks for the sweet comments on last post. Yes, I too reread that post 11 times a day, to remind myself how lucky I am. We had a fantastic time in Houston, personally and professionally, and well, most quilters would count a zillion stitches if they could meet half the people we met. It is just proof that everyone's hard work is paying off--it is also huge validation, that if you try, you can. You can! You can!

And we will.

Despite all the joy and the hob-knobbing, there still a long uphill road ahead of us. But first, let's celebrate. RDS. Dublin. 29Oct-1Nov. Be there or be square.

I love me America, but I love me family more. My girls are so precious! And DH done good since my absence Friday. The girls made it to school three out of three days, in their uniforms nonetheless. I was welcomed by a sparkling kitchen sink and a checked and emptied office voicemail.

If it weren't for a demanding pint-size customer at my lunch box counter this morning, I almost would not have known there was chocolate spread sandwiches for all. three. lunches. Uh oh.

Alas, those infamous words, "But daddy made them for all our lunches!" Ah ha.

And in true tradition, he responds, "I asked and that was all she wanted."

Yeah, and if there was Coke Cola in the fridge, she would have insisted on that in her drink container, sucker boy.

Seriously, you have to laugh when a man, thirty-nine years old, six feet and three inches tall, two-hundred-pounds heavy, says, "I had to. She told me to!"
"She" being under three feet tall and weighing less than my packed suitcase somewhere abouts 32kilo.

Oh I still give him a passing grade, otherwise I might not get out of dodge again anytime soon!

Besides, this surprising-he-can-walk-with-no-backbone defense has been around long since our Babydoll began barking orders.

Orders, only a whupped daddy would follow.

I'm home. Home sweet home.

Notes from Houston

2009-10-12T09:13:00.004+01:00

If you're a quilter you can imagine my excitement when, while standing talking to the incredibly talented and beautiful Alex Anderson, I'm nudged by who? Another great, Pat Sloan.

I was like, oh, you must want Alex. No? You want to talk to ME?

Though Pat has worked with us on every issue of our magazine, I hadn't met her in person. She's just as nice and lively as her cyber persona would suggest.

After arriving on Friday evening, Terri (IQ Creative Director) and I have had to pull our jaws shut on more than one occasion.

The market itself is so immense, we quickly had to pick and choose where we go and see. Of course, as a business mission, so there is very little time to spare and so many wonderful people and things to see.

Firstly, Friday evening, Luana of Equilter graciously welcomed us into Houston. Another great: breaking bread with Luana, her team Betty and Dijana and the incredibly sweet and fun Bonnie McCaffery, quilter and videocaster. Real people sharing laughs and the quilting love over a gorgeous meal! If you've been reading my blog, you'll know Luana is an early friend, who has been so helpful with the magazine throughout its life--and particularly before its rollout. She's always been the wise voice or words at the other end of my emails and calls.

Saturday was a whirlwind, where do we start? Funny enough as we turned the first booth, we ran into Yvonne, from Belfast. People, the Irish contingent is alive and well in Houston. That evening I was on a mission for magaritas and guacamole, a must have in Houston Texas. This time, our company was Robyn and Beryl, professional longarmers from North and Cork, respectively, a lively fun pair.

With Mexican dinner where we slurped margaritas and pina coladas, finished a fantastic ending to a full day that included Mark Lipinksi, Kaye Wood, Elizabeth and Pam and much more. Beyond that, Terri and I came away with samples, new books, and cutting templates--oh, did I say an Accquilt Cutter? Did I see a tear in Terri's eye? Bless her little designing soul! We have loads of goodies and demonstrations for the RDS show. Needless to say I've already been on the phone to Twisted Threads increasing our booth size for our birthday celebration in a few weeks. (The magazine turns one!!)

Sunday was Moda-delicious time. I guess, Terri and I were so enjoying the moment, we haven't captured the sights in photos. I promise to do that today. We hung out with Rachel, ooing and ahhing over fabrics until Lissa Alexander the Great, relented. Who are we kidding? Moda has been a huge supportor of the magazine. And now, Rachel is our ace in the sleeve with a direct line to Lissa.

Monday holds another day of bliss in Houston. I promise to take more pictures.

It seems our work is paying off. The magazine is a powerful presence here. My favourite moments swing from thanking existing advertisers to seeing the motivated and excited designers scambling for Terri's attention.

Packing my bags, my journey home begins this afternoon and as much as I'm loving market, I'm missing my girls and DH incredibly. This is the first trip where DH has been everpresent on skype and email. What a treat!

I look around my room now, where to begin packing? Jolly ranchers and lipsmackers, American must-haves, of course!

What's New

2009-10-01T16:10:00.006+01:00

What's new? Well for one, I'm writing a post!

The magazine is so busy, and it keeps our team busy nonstop. The Knitting and Stitching comes to Dublin in October and we aligned our Issue 6 (wow! one full year) with the show. A birthday celebration is the excitement.

But before that issue hits the streets, Terri McNeill and I hit the streets of Houston, for the International Trade Show in mid October. That is exciting. We fly out this Friday!

At home, school days mean I've even managed some sewing and quilting. I'll unveil the projects as they finish.

Busy and fierce. But that's not to say there isn't room for laughter and tears.

Laughter
One day Terri brought a gift for me to the office. She held the gift bag and scanned the room for DH. As she presented it to me, she admitted, "I'm not sure if HE'd like this gift."
For the record, I loved it and apparently so did DH. He hung it up immediately.

Tears
A lousy mood, this I usually call a funk. Some are worse than others. We all have funks, but the inherent nature of a funk, is you think it's just you suffering from a funk. During this "poor me" time, I wallow between sadness and anger. I criticize my choices in life. Do I make good choices? Do I chose the impossible? Do I always have to chose the hardest route? Choices.

One day last week, boy, I was in a baaad funk. One cure for a funk is fresh air, so I took to the bank and postal errands that afternoon. As I walked to the bank, my head muddled and my legs heavy, something caused me to look to my forward right. In my line of vision, I saw in white lettering on green background: I CAN DO BETTER.

I stopped in my tracks and thought "Whaaa?" I can do better than this!

When I looked again, all I saw was a political poster, white lettering on green background: Ireland CAN DO BETTER, vote yes for...

Funny, how your eyes see what you want to see. Or what you need to see!

Promises In Time

2009-09-26T07:03:00.005+01:00

Five years ago to this day, I was a crying mess. A big bloated, swollen, fat puddle, that's what I was. I remember sobbing all day and all night.

I was about to have surgery and my world would change as I knew it. Babydoll was 2 1/2 and her life would change too. My marriage might even changed with this impending surgery.
So you see, that is why I was crying. At the drop of the hat.

I was losing control. What I knew would soon change. What if I can't cope? What if Babydoll has difficulty? Everything was on me and my body.

A few days later I returned from the hospital with my new little Cutiepie wrapped snuggly, and all those big cares and concerns were transferred to feeding, sleeping and pooping routines. Overall, Babydoll gained a best friend and our home and marriage became complete.

Today, and everyday, I thank God for these two girls and the joy and love they bring me. And last night was no different.

DH was gone for the evening, so I let the girls crash with me. And crash I did. My head ached and my eyes were heavy and before I knew it Cutiepie was coaxing me into changing the channels on my bedroom TV. I told her I was so tired and that's when she suggested she would be the mommy for the night.

And so, for the rest of the evening, inbetween TV programming, in my slightly slumber state, I was treated to sporadic little kisses on my forehead, eyes and mouth, with, most pleasantly, whispers of sweetness: "I'll always love you" and "You're my baby forever" .

For five years, this little child has heard these nightly promises, but on this night, they were all mine.

Remember to kiss your loved ones today!

Second Day of School

2009-09-01T21:41:00.002+01:00

And they're off.

Thank goodness, says Mom.

Stripping for Quilts

2009-08-31T21:50:00.008+01:00

Have you ever opened your address book and found the pages stripped of details?

Not good. I logged into my bloglines account to find no details!(What this is: a list of blogs ('feeds') and when a blogger posts, the name is bold--so I'm alerted to the new post) My list of feeds was gone! Whoosh! Vanished! Thirty something blogs, for which I have now have no addresses.
I am left to my mind wanderings and googling favourite bloggers. No worry, I'll find them. I'm left deciding whether or not to go back to Bloglines--I'e emailed them, maybe they'll uncover my lost list of feeds.

I miss the blogging community. Hoping the rekindle the love.

The next two weeks are packed full of work and stress, so I treated myself to a weekend of sewing these last two days.

First, I'm working on Quilt A for a baby boy--I must admit it has hints of my day job. There is a good mixture of hand sewing on this quilt. Soon, we are doing a big article on hand sewing and, well I had to give it a go. There are plenty of aspects about my scrappy cowboy quilt that I particularily like, beyond the hand sewing. I have some stylish maverick Sams, with and without the overalls, and wonky blocks that were a cinch to do!

On Quilt A, both cabins and borders are constructed from all 1 1/2" strips, all plaid fabric, using light and dark placement in the design. For two years now, I've collected boys', mens' and some ladies', plaid shirts in true Bonnie Hunter style. A week ago I began stripping my stash from its canvas bag spilling over with plaid.

One and half inch strips don't make a very big dent in this stash, but it has created a neat and orderly box of folded fabrics. So secondly, it resulted in tidy stashes.

Around about the same time, I spied a square in a square in a square in a square in a square pattern(I like to call it four-squared). And guess what? The squares are made of 1 1/2" strips. The centre is 56 blocks consisting of one square piece and three sets of 56 strip sets. So with every plaid stash I cut to strips, I set aside a set for Quilt B. I cut two quilts at one time.

Finally, when in Festival of Quilts, I picked up some double pink to finish off my Mystery Quilt. I love the pinks. So did I finish the mystery quilt? No. I coordinated pink and white shirtings with the double pink for a simple courthouse block baby quilt. Quilt C. In, you guessed it--1 1/2" strips! I hope to finish the mystery quilt too. Quilt D?

It's About Time

2009-08-26T11:56:00.004+01:00

We were away at the Festival of Quilts in Birmingham England for four nights and five days. By Day Five, there was tears, tears and more tears during our last phone call from the road. Finally Babydoll had to get me and Cutiepie to stop crying, just so she could say hello to her daddy.

I love my daughters so much, my heart pained to be gone from them so long!

This picture is our second day home. Our first day home I took the girls to an art camp where our friend Rebecca and the girls used Simply Spray to create new T-Shirts. Pretty fantastic!

FOQ was good. I think most of the community was pretty happy with the consumer results. We sold enough to cover our costs and that was important. Our magazine was not offically in a stand, so we were glad to sell anything at all. I wish I had more time to see the quilts and the great inspirations all around us.

There was one sight across from us that really annoyed me. Check this out:

div> Dyeing in Plastic Bags? Really? Could no PR person come up with a better name? Ugh!

My marketing spirits were boosted at the end of our journey. DH and I stayed in a little B&B and dined at an adorable restaurant in Cheshire on the eve of our return. Below, you'll see how fitting it was. The sign on The Swan restaurant says, "Creative Country Cooking".

It was delicious! More later, have a good day!

My Tip For You

2009-08-22T13:33:00.004+01:00

Beware of discretionary tips added to the bill.

From previous dining experiences, I had known my friend did not believe in tipping. She is Australian and informs me that there is no tipping in Australia. I’m American and I tell her I grew up tipping. Here in Ireland, it is a mixed bag: some tip, some don’t tip and some hardly tip. I think it is safe to say Ireland is not a country of regular tipping, but more and more, tipping is a part of dining and other Irish service industries.

This week we’re in England—I’m not entirely sure of the tipping practice here. For me, tipping is personal, so unless it is prohibited, offensive, or goes again a custom, I apply my personal routine tipping everywhere I go.

We found ourselves dining in our hotel’s (Crowne Plaza in Birmingham) restaurant. We had already discussed the high prices of a meal (Carvery buffet = £20.95!). When the bill arrived my no-tipping friend pointed out the addition of a 10% charge on our bill for four people. It was labelled: Discretionary service charge. There are so many things wrong with this picture.
1. If it is discretionary, then shouldn’t the diner use his/her own discretion?
2. Why is it added to the bill, if it is left to the diner’s discretion?
3. Just how many times have I paid that 10% without noticing?

Thanks to our no-tipping friend, we inquired further: Where does the 10% go? I was impressed with the hotel host’s honesty. But hugely bothered by the answer.

The amount of 5% is returned to wait staff at the end of the month, whereas the other 5% goes to the hotel. *gasp* Shame on the hotel! My already expensive meal is now 5% more! (and that carvery? It’s really £22.35).

It didn’t take much for the hotel host to realise he had unrest on his hands. He immediately said if we did not want to pay it, we were not obliged and he proceeded to refund the 10%. We, in turn, handed the cash to our server and told her to share as she liked with the kitchen staff, or not.
After several theories, we chose to believe the hotel management is charging 5% to the wait staff to help enforce tipping by adding the discretionary tip on the tab. Just plain wrong!?
Now this didn’t change our no-tipper’s position (or did it strengthen it?), but thanks to her awareness, it sure woke us tippers up.

She and I continued to debate the merits of tipping—but really it became an inquisition as to how I choose to tip. As her position is not to tip, the opposing position to tip is prone for more clarification and criticism from a no tipper. Sensing his wife was feeling boxed in, DH pointed out that to not tip goes against the norm, so why the pressure on the tipper? Nevertheless, it was selection process of tipping that was under study.

I tip if a service is personal, ie., deals with my food or body.

Contrary to some tippers, I do not tip based on the server’s wage. My hair stylist—who I tip-- I’m pretty sure he makes more in one year than I did in my last two years combined. After putting myself through university, I have appreciation for low and high wages. I strongly feel people make choices. You choose to work at that level; only you can control what you achieve; if you want more, find a way (it’s there) and achieve more!

I tip if I think the service went above and beyond what was needed; often tipping might be based on my requests, but no necessarily always. (ie., cab driver rushing)

I tip more at the holidays, the season of giving. (ie, postman, garbage man)

I tip by way of gifts. (teacher’s gifts, thank you gifts, bottle of wine)

If I can't afford the tip, I don’t take of the service. For me, tipping is all part of the package. This also explains why I’ve only had my hair cut twice this year! I won’t take a taxi if I don’t have a tip.

I do not tip if the service was poor for one reason or another. My tip is a reflection of my happiness. And I will always tell my servicer why I was not happy with hopes that service improves. (Some ritual tippers tip irregardless of performance and this is bad, bad, bad, I say!)

This still leaves the question: how do I decide which service gets tips?

As we’re at the Festival of Quilts this week, our debate naturally fell to our crafty nature...who tips their long arm quilter?

For the record, I have never had a quilt of mine longarm quilted. (However, I am a manager of a magazine that does contract for longarm quilting. The prices paid are based on a rate chart supplied by the quilter. Tipping did not enter my budget or thinking—should it?

Tell us, do you tip your longarm quilter?

Marco My Summer

2009-08-13T23:36:00.003+01:00

Marco?
If I'm not mistaken, I once blogged of this silly notion: kids--add water and watch grow. This summer, we added water and my girls have grown. And grown. And grown.

Babydoll has begun doing handstands on the pool's bottom. Handstands? Pool? Bottom? Two months ago my daughter was a 6 year old child obsessed with licking cookies, now she wants hi-tech googles and swims like salmon on a mission. Really, how can I stay ahead of her?

Cutiepie will not be held back. She's abandoned the swim armband wings as quickly as Babydoll could say Marco Polo. It's riddled my leisure swimming with anxiety. I spend my time saying, "Come up!" "Don't dive" "Don't splash" and worst of all, "Don't kick off of me--it hurts!" Really, those armbands were sedatives for mexican jumping beans. Wet mexican jumping beans. If could fit them over my arms, I'd have a go.

The pool. It is our relief in every way this summer. Especially comedy relief. DH always wanted a gym membership, but until this year I was too stingy and thrifty. Finally and with true telepathy, I gazed into our crystal ball last Christmas and caved into buying a full family membership. I thought, maybe come summer, when we can afford nothing else, a pool membership might be nice. That is the understatement of the year.

I constantly ask DH, how great was my idea? A gym w/pool membership! Sheer brillance. haha Poor guy, he never gets the credit.

I've nearly forgotten the best tidbits--we had a sewin here at the house. It was great! I'm trying my hardest to figure out my picture process on blogger. I could then show you the goods. We had a great time. In true style Cathi and I were up to 2amish sewing! Next post, photos I promise!
Work, swimming and a few sewing projects--no complaints here.

Well maybe one...

Is anyone else out there counting the days until school's back in?
Polo!

Staying in Touch

2009-05-26T00:37:00.006+01:00

Long ago, I used to write. I wrote letters. I wrote pages of letters to friends. These long letters I mailed to friends. I'm sure the stuff I wrote was so insignificant, I would cringe to reread those letters now.

But at the time, it was my life, my day, my thoughts.

These days if my friends are lucky they'll get encrypted text, a rushed email, facebook comment, or a rare posting on Blogger. If they're real (NOT) lucky, they'll get a chain, deadline-driven, promised goodluck/threatened bad luck, generically written plea asking them to pass the same assembly-line sentiments to their friends...who also haven't heard from their friends in 4 months.

Facebook? It overwhelms me:
Poking? I'm not sure of the whole premise. Poking? It just plain annoys me.
Cyber invitations? Instills the "I should be there" guilt.
Friends' Requests? Really? The 40yo high school mate who sends me a photo with himself in a wife beater t-shirt sitting atop a hot rod. Need I go on?
What's on Your Mind? Does anyone really want to know what's on my mind when I click on Facebook? As much as it is not my gig; I'm amazed at those who correspond there regularily.

What's it going to take to bring back the old pen and paper? Even if we were to restrict it to personal hey-I-miss-you messages?
What do you use to say I miss you? I like you? How are you? Anyone still using snailmail for written sentiments? I dare you.

From the Peanut Gallery
Taken from the reality show, Millionaire Matchmaker. Which goes like,
"Ladies, here's my millionaires!"

Taken from the mouth of my babe, 4yo Cutiepie: "Ladies, here's my mommyaire!"

Ok. Ok. It is cutier hearing it in person. But it still makes this mommy feel like a million bucks!

********************

Babydoll, on the day of her daddy and mommy's wedding anniversary.

"Oh! Mommy! We have to go out and celebrate what your marriage used to be like!"

Time Flies, Let Me Count The Ways

2009-05-25T22:39:00.004+01:00

Wow! I'd list all the things that have happened since my last post, but I'm sure most of you have family to feed, jobs to work, or at the least, hair that needs washing.

Instead, I recommend you spend your time watching a Saturday television marathon such as Lifetime for Women (in America) or Living TV (in Ireland).
Predictable, occasionally scandalous and always entertaining. Yes, that's my life.

(Alright, alright, scandalous hasn't been in my repertoire since singlehood, but don't we all like to imagine a little spice in life?)

The Top Ten Reasons I Have Not Blogged:

10. My photos won't display correctly, and grrr! that makes me mad.
9. My harddrive died.
8. My 6 yo can now read sentences.
7. My 6 yo sits, with eager eyes and ears, waiting for her 'go' on the laptop.
6. My 6 yo now journals everything; something about her toting her Spiderman diary in the car and recording license plates makes me think my sarcasm is not appropriate for our wee Magnum PI of the 2000s.
5. Half of my posts would ~~humilate~~ feature my new coworker, DH.
4. The other half of my posts would ~~ramble on~~ feature the magazine.
3. The only quilting I see in progress belongs to other people.
2. My ~~six~~ ~~four~~ two readers have given up on me.

and the No.1 reason I haven't blogged...

1. I forgot my blogger password.

Wee Bit of Misinformation

2009-04-18T02:45:00.002+01:00

From my home yesterday, it took me just under two hours to reach Belfast in Northern Ireland. Five years living in this country and, yet 98 minutes, a thick dialog and funny looking coins can still throw me.

When can there ever be a coin system where size of coin is relevant to its value? The American in me will always spot a penny in a bushel, but never a pence in a pocket.

Also, tell me, people of world, how can we, collectively, allow one sound to have so many interpretations? Can this wee word we use have wee meaning outside of when my girls have to wee before playing their wii? Oui.

My hotel is actually very nice. The staff is mighty nice, but thus far they’re not the most informed on customers' needs and solutions.

Last night I was told WIFI in my room would be an additional charge, but that in the lobby and bar WIFI was free of charge. Funny enough, I booted up in the luxury of my room tonight and viola! the same free connection exists.

Though last night downstairs did work for me as I enjoyed a glass of wine. Going on the misinformation, this morning I did a sleepy walk down the many flights of stairs (they do have elevators here, but I’m trying to be good for the bod!). I logged into email and proceeded to have a tumultuous morning in the office, I mean, lobby bar turn virtual office.

I’m thinking now I should’ve had vodka with my OJ.

Anyway, showtime nears and I scurry up to my room via the elevator (yeah, I may be big on exercise, but I’m not out-of-breath-stupid. Six flights of stairs? Come on people!)

Preparing to shower, I, in my bathrobe, ring the front desk and request an iron:

“May I please get an iron sent to my room?” says me.

“Yes, you can. You’ll have to come to reception to collect the iron," says she.

Excuse me, but isn’t that a poorly disguised ‘no’ to my question? Just checking. Wee bit frazzled ‘cause I’m monitoring the time, but hey, I’m not a hotel snob, I’m above noone. And yet, I still I have my demands:

“Is there an iron there now? If I come down right now, will there be an iron?” Only a multi-tasking mother knows to ask.

I look at it like this: if you’re going to inconvenience me, please make it as painless as possible. Like his Friday-pint night when DH calls at 11pm looking for a lift home from the pub. My only question after I say yes, is, “Are you going to be waiting outside?”

And like my DH, only in her Northern accent, the lady at the desk complies with a friendly “Aye”.

So I redressed and once again took the stairs, this time, two at a time. Very soon, I found myself facing six hotel staff at reception. Six. Count ‘em. Focus, Sherry, focus. I asked nicely for the iron. The iron, that, clearly would’ve left this crowd of staff shorthanded had it been delivered to me.

The lady behind the counter looked around and in all of two seconds, she came back with this:

“We don’t have one right now. We only have a limited number of irons.” She says.

Now people, you can’t even ask DH what happens when he is not there when I’ve asked if he’ll be there. Because he knows. And because he knows, he's never disappointed me. Now I’ve been inconvenienced for no good reason and I’m tardy in a very wrinkly skirt.

I could drag on and on and tell you how it went down, but I won’t. Just know it involves a manager, an executive room with iron and an iPod streaming my favorites, including Bob Marley.

And yes, this time I walked up the six flights of stairs.

Nothing Wrong with Being Prepared

2009-04-15T23:52:00.002+01:00

Tomorrow morning...I'm headed here.

Meanwhile, my daughters are headed to Wexford to stay with Sue and family. Sue is a friend who would do anything for you. I am blessed with her friendship and we are equally blessed with children who adore each other. Often, she or I combine our children so the other mom has a little me-time or get-out-of-town time.

I don't know who gets more excited, me or the girls.

While I'm still putting out yesterday's fires, the girls began packing for this two-day trip about two bites into their french toast this morning.

Tonight before bed, I thought maybe I should put on my Mom hat and actually check their packed bag.

Sue's favourite pasttime is calling me and reporting that my daughters arrived with 6 toothbrushes, mismatched shirts, and a lonely sock. We end up snickering and laughing, cause it's usually DH who's the 'prepare for dropoff' parent.

But this time, as I zipped and pulled from bag, I knew the girls packed their own bag. And this is how I know:

Let's recap: 2-day trip. 4yo & 6yo girls. my daughters. four feet. sixteen feet apparel.

Suffice to say, these shoes don't fall far from the foot.

Blame Him. He Told Me To Do It

2009-04-14T21:48:00.003+01:00

People, tonight we make history.

DH said those three harmonious words: you should sew
In that order. In a complete sentence.

Well, I nearly dropped the baby! Ok, if I had a baby and if I was holding the baby, she/he surely would have fallen to the floor.

Today was a full work day, plus, kids home from school and that makes one tired mom. Yet, come evening, the girls in bed and I still debate. Should I do the numbers again? Should I do editing? Should I email? My mind so full, I nearly paralyze myself with indecision. And then he said it.

"You should sew."

It began on Easter Sunday. I'd like to credit DH entirely, but the truth be told, I slipped in some sewing relaxation over the weekend, and it would seem, he's reaping the rewards. Somethin' about happy wife, happy life.

I'm so trying to finish a Mystery Quilt I began with Bonnie Hunter a few months back. I'm only on step 4 (of 7?) and it involves 130 one inch nine patches--that's 1,170 1 1/2 inch squares for any non-mathmatical, non-patchwork types who might be reading. But don't scare easily, we're working with strips so the numbers are deceiving.

It's funny how nine months can change you. Unless, of course, you are having a baby--then it's less fun and more miraculous.

It's incredible how a new profession in that nine months can change a person. Before the magazine, I was a scrapaholic. Our house was a breeding ground for discarded fabrics. However, when we moved house last month, there were 9 bursting black bin bags set at the curb for Red Cross collection. Bags full of fabrics that either didn't fit the 100% cotton category, or if they did, they were in need of seam ripping...i.e. still in clothes form and would need to be stripped down for actual sewing use. Either way, too much time for someone with too little time.

So here I am sewing the gazillionth strip of light fabric when I realise I have no light fabric left for the gazillion-and-one light strip. *gasp* I'm just certain in those bags was one or twenty light fabrics. Frantically, I go to my now seriously-reduced stash in hopes of finding something which I know is not there. Spare light fabrics.

And then I see it. A little itty bitty cotton baby button-up shirt that Babydoll wore when she was 8months old. With pretty pearl buttons, she flitted in and out of my scrap boxes organised by colour. Never finding a home between the oranges, blues and most likely belonging to lights, this baby blouse escaped the purging of last month.

How? Who knows.

Why? I know.

Cause I'm a scrapaholic by nature. I do it for the nostalgia. I do it for the memories. Many of my scraps have meaning. This one certainly does. Like this quilt I'm working on, it's destiny remained a mystery.

Until now.

Happy yawn Easter

2009-04-12T14:26:00.004+01:00

What happened to the Easter mornings when I awoke to anxiety for the excitement of chocolates, jelly beans and hidden colorful eggs?

This morning I awoke to anxiety and fear. "Oh! Did we oversleep? Are the girls awake? Did we sleep through our responsibilities as an Easter Bunny?" Oh, the same at Christmas. I just know one day we'll be found sleeping on the job!

There were the many years of sleeping in, no care to either expecting an animated visitor nor to playing out a childhood fantasy as a parent. Sunny single days in San Francisco, where the biggest worry at 6am, was whether my car was parked on a street set for street cleaning, which quickly meant a $40 fine for sleepy, and broke, me.

It will be another 10 years before I'm facing those carefree mornings again--only without the urban parking. And another 20 years and my own daughters will be on guard and duty for Easter and Christmas, and all things that sparkle and shine in their own childrens' eyes.

Back to the present day, I tiptoed into the girls' room, gathered the empty Easter baskets they has set out the night before, filled them to the brim and relocated them and 25 colourful eggs all about the family room.

When I heard their stirring I went into their room to give 'em Easter hugs 'n kisses. Catching me and my greeting off guard, Babydoll gave a sour "Happy NOT Easter!" from her bed. When I asked what was wrong, she explained her Easter basket had gone missing.

Cutiepie, always our problem solver, quickly explained the Easter Bunny might have taken them to fill. With that, Babydoll quickly brightened and said, "Oh! Yeah! I did hear hopping in the hallway!"

Of course, you heard hopping in the hallway.
I guess we can keep our parental job another season long.

When Life Resembles A Circus

2009-04-06T20:40:00.004+01:00

I’m back.

Catching up with blogs is a full time job. As I browse my bloglines and read posts, I contemplate: Do I read backward in time or do I scroll and read forward in time?

Either way, I’m glad to be caught up. Life is good.

The site is officially relaunched and Issue 3 is on newsstands, in Europe anyway. We’ve even begun an IQ blog. Because I’m so good at keeping up this blog. NOT. But we can always dream. In reality, though, we are chipping away at progress and what was formerly known as routine for us.

Heck, I may even get to sew an actual quilt soon. I have several baby quilts to finish and a great Bonnie Hunter mystery quilt. Until then, things move along at lightning speed.

Babydoll has her own sign of the times. Her baby teeth are falling out one at a time, and her smile grows gap toothed. It’s like knowing your daughter is about to experience a bad perm for two years of her young life.

Meanwhile 4yo Cutiepie is in love. She shows no shame in professing her love for him. This loverboy actually ‘loves’ three other school girls as well, and yet, Cutiepie remains loyal. She says he loves them all but he’s only gonna marry her. Well that's a relief, I guess.

The biggest problem with so many lovers, besides the fact that Loverboy doesn’t live in Utah, is kissing four people at one time. So says Cutiepie.

During a playdate, I cornered the 4yo beau, ”Tell me, Loverboy, did you kiss my daughter today?"

His reply: "No." Hold on. "I kissed her the other day." Just so we’re clear.

Playdate ended and off came the power ranger costumes they had put on in the playroom. Unbeknownst to this chaperon, Loverboy emerged stark naked from under the costume. Clearly, we have bigger problems than kissing.

Other strong signals, like Internet has set the world back on kilter at IQ headquarters and at home.

(Some of you may not know we moved house and office. Honestly? This move came out of nowhere and next thing I know, I’m cooking, sleeping and walking in someone else’s house. We thought our last house would be a permanent fixture for some time to come—or at least until we could figure where to begin transplanting our roots. And then the magazine happened. Took over. So we stumbled upon a house with an office. For the first 29 days, we struggled with no broadband and an AWOL real estate agent who tells fibs. Grrrr!!)

On March 31, Wicklow Broadband answered all my prayers. We now have a broadband connection that rocks. The second night, I actually worked all night, through the night with Sarah & Vinnie, DJs all the way from SF, tunes piping through my connection. It is bliss. I’m manic like that with work. So much to do. So little time. I spend my days regretting I took the time to sleep the night before. Imagine. If I had just gotten THIS and THAT done!

My mind is full of stuff. STUFF. My nights are sleepless fits of activity. When I’m not working, I’m sleep talking, walking and annoying the heck out of a startled, sleeping DH.

DH is now on the mag full time so at least he gets it. But then again, he also gets his sleep.

The other night DH exclaimed, “You’re like Las Vegas! Would you ever just shut down for awhile?” Vegas? Really? Oh, honey, I could be so many things, but Vegas???

QVC shopping channel. Internet. Emergency Room. DriveThru Fastfood.

All perfectly good, opportunists offering wholesome, well kinda wholesome, product to the wider public, twenty-four hours of the day. But Vegas?

Surely he’d rather compare his wife to infomercials or dotcoms than to the plastic material world of fast living known as Sin City?

When You're Richer Than You Think

2009-02-19T00:27:00.003Z

I was off to bed a minute ago with my head down low ‘cause I haven’t blogged in, oh, so long! Waiting ‘til I might have something crafty to share. And then I thought, wait! I do have ~~something~~ several things cool to share.

The first treat is from my sister Angie, aka Angie Angie or Auntie Angie depending if it’s you or your 4yo saying her name. Nothing but exciting news coming from her part of the world. In an email, she’s informed us she’s planning a visit to Ireland in May! And in the post, goodies from her! Sweet fabric for sweet quilts.

While on the subject of sisters, most know my younger sister Karri is battling breast cancer. In December she underwent chemo and last Monday she started radiation once a day. And later that week she lectured to a room full of women for her business.

She lectured. To a room full of women. For her business. GOT ALL THAT? And her business, for those who don’t know her, is image consulting. IMAGE CONSULTING. Mind you, this was her business before she was diagnosed with cancer. It will be her business after cancer. And apparently, it is her business during cancer. Inspiration, you say? I’ll take a cup of that. And you?

Of course on this side of the pond, I’m still working on the Double Delight from Bonnie. It is a mystery project. Most quilters think the finished design is the mystery. However, the real mystery is, just-how-long-will-it-take-Sherry-to-finish? I’m loving the chocolates—many of which were given to me by Cathi...

Now to the thing that was, the thing that is, the thing that will be...Irish Quilting. People, the website is coming. Trust me. We are nearing the light. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile us drones work on. One of the greatest challenges in the world of quilting, and within that, the land of Ireland, is the scarcity of resources. In fact, this very issue helped conceive the notion of the Irish Quilting magazine. We provide resources to the Irish quilters, like Main Street provides window shopping. And with any luck, our readers, like those window shoppers, will find the door and open into a world of quilting goodies. These doors may be their local shops or they may be online shops—the important thing is they find it.

One aspect of the quilting magazine platform has always been to showcase new designs and fabric lines. In the early days we set about introducing ourselves to the various fabric companies, asking, begging to use their fabrics for sample quilts (materials not yet hit the market, but ready for promoting). Most were gladly willing. Others were darn hard to reach! And being on an island separated by vast sea doesn’t help.

First, you begin with the local distributor, which for Ireland, takes us to England.

You kindly ask that distributor for an opportunity to work together with fabric samples.

Then you pray and hope that this particular distributor, who may very well be in his job for donkey years and has no interest in stretching for the sake of new markets, new possibilities--well, you hope he sheds his stereotype.

But, he doesn’t. “We’ve never done that.” “No I don’t think that is possible.”

Then you begin paddling...toward America, the land of opportunity. The land where this fabric began. It was a journey of emails, calls and flattery—it will get you everywhere.

Finally, on a morning that was today, your postman brings you this:
Heaven in a box.

Irish Quilting is proud to be working with Moda, among other great fabric lines, to serve up fresh new delicious fabrics.

Oh, resilience and persistence, we must have been reared on it. Just ask my sister.

Unlike Sewing, Sleeping is Overrated

2009-02-05T02:27:00.002Z

This weekend friends and I flocked to the friendly home of an American Quilter in Ireland for weekend of sewing. Sew in. Sew happy.

DH had childwatch that weekend. He was hoping to invoke a one-night-away-only, but luckily for me, I hitched a ride with two others heading from Wicklow to our sewing oasis in Wexford. Whoops! Guess that return time is out of my control. Sneaky, eh?

With some familiar and not-so-familiar faces, Friday night began with introductions and a spin of show and tells. Beautiful quilts unfolded. I regret I took no photos. We drank, laughed and conspired for the following day’s projects.

Bunked up like girls at camp--luxury camp-- it wasn’t long before my roomie regretted her pick. I can be a very active sleeper, particularly when I’ve been especially active. Like say, the last five years? You can ask DH. There is not a week goes by when I don’t push, pull or otherwise smother him in a sleepless manic fit. Usually it’s accompanied by insane workaholic mommy shrieks, like, “the baby!”, “where’s the baby?” or better yet, “did you call the printer?!” Clearly, my babes, human and literary, are on my mind.

I failed to mention all this extracurricular activity when roommates were being matched. And yet, in my sleep I remember everything in a nocturnal frenzy. Needless to say, on the second night I was given my own room.

Only I didn’t need my own room, cause I was gonna sew. And sew. And sew. There was plenty of sewing. Beck had her hands full with some dresiden plates, which funny enough changed colours from pink to apricot on an hourly basis.

Linda tediously reconstructed the gorgeous pattern that is the great Irish Charm Sensational Scrappy (all turn to IQ Vol I Issue I, page 33 and ohhh and ahhh).

Oh! And Cathi shared her stash. Bless her quilting soul! I came short of chocolate brown needed for my Double Delight mystery quilt until Cathi gave me generous helpings. Back home I finish my chocolate piecing, with each one more delicious than the next, I think of Cathi. And how to repay her? Ironically, I think some delicious yummy boxed chocolate would be perfect. But since I know Cathi is flying smooth on her new year’s weight challenge, I’ll keep searching for the better way to thank her.

Everyone had such fun. There were so many with different projects, you had to stop every so often and admire the other’s work. There were some lovely hand quilters and, of course, amazing hand quilting happening. Makes me wish I had more time to try it all!

And of course, it’s these get togethers where you actually find someone from your locale, someone in similar circumstances, on an out-of-town trip where you cross paths. We quickly were conspiring the next sewing retreat.

We could not have been better hosted. Though we did miss our quilting hostess, for between stocking food and clean dishes, she kept busy teaching two new quilters. We didn’t even see her as she set them up in a faraway room. Something to do with picking up bad habits...who us? Bad habits? Never!

I couldn't be more thankful for all the laughs and good food and drink. I think my sleep totalled 2 hours from Saturday to Sunday.

Which was fine for me, since I gave my single room to a deserving quilter who was smart enough to leave her sleeping antics at home.

In the Nick of Time

2009-01-31T23:08:00.006Z

My finished project for January

He's Belly Up

2009-01-25T18:24:00.004Z

This weekend DH went to a football game in England and I killed his goldfish.
In case you're wondering, the incidents are not related. It's not like I said, YOU GO AWAY BUDDY AND YOUR FISH GETS IT. I've made a lot of marital threats, but none that include murder.

Anyway Mr. Fish died and he didn't go quietly. There was lots of crying. From Cutiepie, not Mr. Fish. The first morning DH was away I warned Cutiepie that feeding the fish too much could kill him. Now she thinks she killed the fish.

It is sad. Both DH and our last au pair were quite fond of Mr. Fish. (My condolences, Natalie.) DH took complete care of him. He fed him. He... He... Well he wasn't hard to keep anyway. He never cleaned his fish bowl, and this is where I come in. I thought I would surprise DH with a nice clean bowl for his fish. SURPRISE. The fishbowl is clean. And empty.

This weekend has been a catch-up-on-my-life-as-a-mom-and-housewife. So I've done a few cleaning chores. My mind has been whistling clean.

And I ask you, what is it with whole European one sheeted bed? We've hosted a few European au pairs and despite my best arrangement of matching flat and bottom sheets in the cupboard, it never fails, only one sheet makes it to the girls' beds. One sheet and the duvet. In fact, you can usually tell when DH makes our bed from fresh. You got it: one sheet only.
Conundrum prevailed as my less-American-everyday-5yo insisted on no top sheet in her bed making this morning. So she did.

Is using both sheets only an American thing? If so, then why buy into the whole flat and fitted proganda, if you're only going to use one? Why do European stores bother selling top sheets? I'd like to blame it on the hot weather making you want to sleep with less layers--but ahem, we are in Ireland, a pretty wet and cold climate.

Are you a two sheeter? Or are sheets an either/or for you? Soup or Salad? Fitted or flat?

Now that I've convinced my 4yo she is not a murderer, I still have to fess up to DH.
Bad news: I killed your fish. Good news: your daughters are still alive."
Believe it or not, somedays even that's a miracle.

My Daughter is a Writer, So She Is

2009-01-23T20:47:00.000Z

Overheard at bedtime:

Babydoll: Daddy, I have homework! I can't go to bed now.

I ask: What? Why did you tell Daddy you have homework? You DID your homework earlier!

Babydoll: I know. BUT, at bedtime my fingers feel like writing! So they do.

(That explains the morning bed filled with pens and paper every day. No joke, people.)

Note: "So they do." I'm told this is part of the County Wicklow Irish dialog. I fight the urge to giggle--it is so foreign to me and yet it flows naturally from my daughter's tongue.

"Mommy, I'm hungry. So I am."
"The movie is just about over. So it is."
"Her mother is a teacher. So she is."

Babydoll must pick it up from school. So she does.

Finally, I Can Breathe

2009-01-22T21:17:00.003Z

I’ve held the peace long enough.

The gag order is officially removed.

On the eve of Issue No. 2, I’m outing myself: we publish Irish Quilting and I’m proud of this accomplishment.

You see, nine months ago, it was an idea. And then it grew. And grew and grew. Unfortunately, I was knee deep with a newish job. Quickly, I developed a second persona. With one, I was bubbly and exuberant with a new prospect. With the other, I was dredging along in a boring, but secure, job--all while struggling to conceal the other.

In November, we launched Irish Quilting, the magazine.

Behind the chaos of life, children, work (count 'em-2) and no play, I was miserable keeping secrets and my absences and inattention at work became noticeable and unacceptable. As my persona fought to hide so much, the charade continued with my resignation, clouded with shame, secrecy and unexplainable circumstances. Paranoia set in. Worried this blog might reveal all to a curious co-worker or worse, my boss, I envoked a gag order even after I quit my job.

I still worry my former boss or co workers might stumble upon my new life. The very same life that once interrupted my old life with them, but I move forward and I hope they would too.
Besides I can’t contain myself any longer!

I begin this saga by announcing a fully equipped website to go live in February for Irish Quilting. This post is simply to get you up to speed. Beginning next week, you can find more IQ tales on the IQ blog. Watch for its link on this blog!

So it began with a bunch of us gals wrangling over imported quilting magazines. We thought, what if we had a quilting magazine for Ireland? What if?

So we headed to the local Enterprise Board. Because we target the American market alongside our Irish quilters, Irish Quilting was deemed an innovative biz idea. We went on to win a feasibility grant. Money. Real, live money.

We went on to convince our bank manager to gamble on us. Of course, this was before the big R. We were approved. Money. Real, live money.

We went on from there. But not without a lot of help. Help from designers, quilters, friends, and family members. Folks, the real, live money only lasts so long and publication sales are very slow to trickle in. And advertising revenue? Well, say a prayer for us. Until then, bless everyone’s generous hearts and souls!!

We are appreciative as we are now a case study for our local enterprise board. Our sales increased 70% from Issue 1 to Issue 2. Our direct sales with Stonehouse Publications, our US/Canadian distributor grew by 50% and we just signed on with Honeysuckle Cottage for distributing in Australia and New Zealand. Tomorrow I hope to finalize details for Irish Quilting to appear in Eason stores all over Ireland.

For exciting content news:

Terri McNeill is an Irish designer who, without her, this magazine would not be what it is. She is unbelievable! I remember the day I met her, she was so humble as she mentioned she MIGHT have a quilt design suitable for the magazine. (ah-hem, pls see below and on pg 33 Vol1, Issue1, nothing short of spectacularly stunning!) Her talents and her heart stretch beyond imagination. She has given her personal (endless!) time for proofing patterns and advising. Watch for more of her fabulous creations. (On a personal note, my new persona now finds time and place for learning patchwork techniques and tomorrow I start a class, taught the very one and only Terri McNeill. I can’t wait!)

We are also blessed to host Pat Sloan each and every month. She is a very impressive quilter who quilts, speaks, visits among us like a close friend. If you get a chance to follow her blog, do. She’s great! And turn to our pages to converse with her—send us comments/questions for Pat.

We also signed on Janet Rowe of Wildcraft Farm (an Irish gal living Down Under), so we can all take part in her adorable stitchery projects. She’ll be with us every issue and sure to win our hearts with her finished projects. Watch for her in Issue No. 3.

For news of here, there, and everywhere:

Cover project for Issue No. 2 goes on the road with the Cotton-By-Post Quilt Shoppe, for promoting their The Third Annual Quilt Exhibition, featuring Ireland. Designed and made by Terri McNeill for our Quilting Getaway feature in Issue No. 2 we are excited to see it travel the globe. (FYI for you subscribers--if you're in Europe, we are a week ahead, issue 2 should be in your post boxes next week!)

We’ve been selected as one of ten Irish businesses nationally to meet with the representatives of the US and Canadian Enterprise committee. In this meeting we hope to discuss innovative business and commerce on a global level. What this means for Irish Quilting, is how can we deliver globally in a more timely manner—my number one concern at the moment!

So there you go, a taste of my once-hidden life and the sweetness to come!

Have a great day!

Good News, Bad News

2009-01-15T07:04:00.004Z

The good news is I made time for sewing.

The bad news is I forgot I wanted to wash this floor this morning.

Yesterday we put IQ issue 2 to bed at the printers. Hooray! And life returns, a little, to normal. But the beat goes on, and we want to keep ahead so each issue is not a frenzy to the finish line. It will get easier with some hard days interpersed so to keep real.

This quilt is traditional. I've gone back to my roots: scrapping. A little boy was born in September and I'm aching to do a quilt for him--and then I heard his Christianing is happening on Sunday. Here we go again.

In case you can't tell, this is a color wash--I'm hoping it turns out that way. The center is very light blue, in fact blue shirting (bits of blue on white) the next section is darker light blue, and the outside rows are dark blue. The border or binding will take a nearly black blue.

Love the look of color wash. Let's hope it comes out that way.

Last night I went to my sewing group, another, hooray! I missed them all last fall. But before that I did my WW weigh in--I'm chumming along with Cathi on our weight loss program. I lost 2 lbs, thankfully.

I hope you all saw in my last post that we did not forget you at Christmas. The cards never did appear; but Vistaprint did give me a refund. Now I have to mail the dozen or so gifts who were waiting for the cards. Party happened, but their date never showed for them!

Oh, the best news in this sewing post is AM over here is doing a sewing retreat. Big hooray for her. I cannot wait. No, I, CANNOT, wait! One of my friends from sewing group last night is going, and she said bought new pjs for that weekend. Of course! I can't remember when I last had new pjs, so I'm off to snag me a pair.

Hope you all have a great day!

There Is Such A Thing As Too Late

2009-01-08T19:42:00.003Z

This was our family Christmas 2008 greeting. But it never arrived.

Drat.

Granted, I ordered my cards Dec 12, knowing full well that once I recieved, addressed and mailed them, our family and friends would receive theirs late...um, ah, meaning the week after Christmas. What I didn't bank on was receiving it so late myself. Or , um, ah never receiving it!

Last week, VistaPrint said they had issues with delivery and that the order would arrive in two days. Today I threw in the towel and cancelled the order. What I'd really like to do now is reorder new cards with with this greeting:

We wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, but VistaPrint thought otherwise.

Now, we wish you a Happy Valentine's Day.

So if you think I forgot you on our Christmas list, I didn't.

Lost Already

2009-01-02T21:03:00.002Z

For three years now, DH has wanted to join the nearby leisure centre (hotel with gym). I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the gym.

Sure, when I was in my twenties with work hours stretching into midnight, I held a membership with 24 Hour Fitness. It seemed to come automatic with living in San Francisco amid four roommates and eating Top Ramen soup in between happy hours and frivolous dates.

Now living in Ireland with a growing and restless brood, dishing up meals between school runs and bathtime, the only thing I stand to earn from a gym membership are lots more towels and kit to wash.

But alas, Santa was generous this year. Each girl received a dolly, one teething and the other crying. We are just thankful neither include, fake but still gross, poop or pee.

We took a chance with the crying baby, as all parents do with toys and sound. Its whimper is as realistic as a newborn, pleasantly reminding us why we chose against a baby #3. This doll cries and our [Dr.] Babydoll, inserts plastic medicine needle, and per the instructions, baby feels better in two minutes and stops crying. Ah, just like in real life. If you believe that, allow me to give you loan of my husband, he does all the dishes and the housecleaning. Ha.

Under the tree was a Wii, coincidently, also atop DH’s wishlist. So while I’ve been dreaming of piecing nine patches and machine mastering quilting swirls, really I’m finessing my hip action with hula hoops and other self humiliating movements all for the sake of fitness. Not only do I now have more laundry, I have more remotes to tidy and consoles to dust.

And what Santa doesn’t give, godmutters make up for. Both Twirly and Colleen sent me my beloved Reese’s Cups. I used to find them at a petrol station near our Wexford house, but since we’ve moved, they’ve stopped stocking them. Could it be I was the only one buying them?

Twirly’s candies arrived a few days before Christmas. A few careless moves among the Christmas wrapping and Babydoll spied the bag. Gone. Long. Before. Christmas.

Colleen’s package came the day after Christmas. I quickly detected RCs, gift wrapped and all.
Keeping them wrapped, I gently opened one end only to sparingly, and secretly, help myself to chocolately peanut butter goodness. Until.

New Year’s Eve.
Last I saw them: DH with the still-conspicuously wrapped xmas love cups and other goodies in one arm and two wine bottles in the other arm. We proceeded to count down the last 102 minutes of 2008 with wine sips and TV remote clicks.

I remember thinking I can’t waste these RCs on a drunken anti-climactic NYE, pushing them to one side. What side? I don’t remember. And now, they’re gone. I’ve looked everywhere. In a fright, I think, someone’s mistaken them for trash, and they’ve been thrown out! Then I remember I’m the only one who cleans in this house.

There is nothing worse than losing something you care dearly for, so much so, life becomes uncertain. Once, after a party in our apartment, Colleen lost her sunglasses. The two of us looked high and low, but they were nowhere. Our parties were the type that required sunglasses the day after. That, or you didn’t bother to leave the comfort or darkness of your bedcovers. Oh yes, they were great parties, but even bigger clean-up sessions followed; and this time it was at the demise of the shades.

Several days—or weeks—later we were headed to the gym. (Just because we had memberships didn’t mean we exercised regularly.) As Colleen went to pull on her gym shoes, she found her sunglasses tucked deep within. Dumbfounded we quickly learned Roommate#3, during a silly party moment, or in a cleaning-up stupor, stashed the sunglasses in Colleen’s shoes. So when something goes missing, check the shoes. I do.

You can imagine how hard it is to ask a 5yo if she’s seen candy that she is not allowed to know exists, and worse, have, if she finds.

I’ve backtracked the last 48 hours. Before DH’s grand appearance on NYE, I gleefully was cutting pieces from my stash to make my new year project. So I checked my stash, thinking I stashed my goods with my stash. Sounds smart to me.

No such luck. Meanwhile, the girls think Mommy’s gone bonkers.

Especially, after I insisted on inspecting everyone’s shoes.

PS. Before you start blaming the DH, know he hates RCs. Many Irish aren’t hip on peanut butter; I blame a childhood without President Jimmy Carter.

Visualizing 2009

2008-12-31T00:14:00.005Z

The other day I phoned my sister...she’s finished her last round of chemo so we're thinking positive thoughts. Thanks everyone for your well wishes. She’s scheduled for mid-January surgery and we’re hoping for a non-radiation recovery.

Our last few calls we’ve focused on the positive. The year 2008 was a positive one for me, where the good outweighed the bad. Even despite my sister’s illness, we focus on the present and a positive outlook. And, people? It works. Some of you who know me outside this blog, know what I mean. And if you don’t, just drop me an email and I will share my *secret*.

Tonight my sister told me she did her visionary board to back up all her positive thoughts and to drive them forward into 2009. Visionary boards are a visual confirmation of your positive thoughts—a board with pictures of concepts, things and words that convey your affirmations, your desires and your positive thinking. What you want, what you deserve and what you’ll get!

After a week of hanging with lozenges and lemsip (think Theraflu), I decided it was time to reclaim my girls. Together we spent a few hours cutting up glossy magazines into insightful mementos, enlightening and inspiring in pictures and in words. Here’s mine.
Allow me to clarify:

New Home, kitchen, study, bedroom: while we live in a gorgeous area, our house is old and we either need to build or buy...Rock on

Mind Over Matter: need I say more?

Sleek and slim: more so, free and happy with your bod, baby!

Flowers: natural beauty

France: from the girls, home of previous au pair and Euro Disney, need I say more?

Love: for all and to all

Sandy Beach: for DH, he’s craving a vacation hotspot

Movies: more free time to catch my matinees, me myself and I

Flowers: more natural beauty

Mascara wand: from the girls, the only off-limits tool in my makeup kit

Irish Quilting: need I say more?

Shampoo: from the girls, I'm not sure, but I'm all for clean hair

Baby sleeping: from the girls, I had a startling moment with this one, but ahh, it's the sleeping! more ZZZZzzzzzz.

So there you go, a preview of this verry new year for 2009.

What’s in store for you?
Happy New Year!

I Blame the Sneezes

2008-12-23T23:14:00.004Z

All last week my girls were sick. Coughs, fevers and runny noses. Oh my.

This week I’m sick. Feverish, stuffy and sneezing. Oh my.

At least I have that. I am sick. So when social services come to ask why my kids aren’t in school, I have an excuse. Buried under three pounds of Kleenex, I ask you, is anyone else afraid to drive during an attack of the sneezes?

I kid. Not about thoughts of sneezing into a roadside ditch, but rather the excuse. The truth be told I had no excuse.

Yesterday DH called to ask why Babydoll was home when he saw other kids in the school grounds. Really? The fridge calendar says ‘School Holidays’ on Monday, Dec 22—whoops! Must have meant after school on Monday.

Today DH called to tell me, yet again, he’s seen kids at school. Not again.
Quickly I displace. “Yeah? So why didn’t YOU take Babydoll to school?” After a phone call, it’s confirmed. School holidays began at half day today. Darn! What I wouldn’t give for a quiet, albeit sneeze-induced, morning!

All was better when DH arrived home to nurse me and mind his truant children. A private nurse. Oh yes. This was quickly debated by our 4yo and 5yo unschooled scholars.

Babydoll: Mom, Daddy can’t be your nurse because he is a boy. Boys are doctors and girls are nurses.

Cutiepie: Yes he can, Babydoll!

Babydoll: No, he can’t!

Cutipie: Yes, he can. He’s like, you know, that boy? You know, our godmother in America? You know, her wife! He’s a nurse AND he’s a boy!

Refusing defeat, she turns to me, “Mom! What is Babydoll’s godmother’s wife’s name?”

Me: achoo! uh? achoo! wife? achoo! who?

Cutiepie: You know! What is his name? Babydoll’s godmother’s wife in America?

Me: You mean Steve?

Cutiepie: Yeah! Steve. See? Babydoll, your godmother’s wife Steve, he’s a boy AND a nurse!!

Let’s hear it for gender equality! I think?

I'll Huff and Puff and Eat Your House Down!

2008-12-17T21:40:00.003Z

Here I sit eating cookies.

Chocolate ginger snaps, chocolate biscuits, chocolate mints. You name it, I eat it.

I'd like to say I don't know what has gotten into me, but I do. Besides cookies, of course.

You see, our au pair has gone home. But before she left, between her and DH, there was more candy, sweets and chocolate in this house than at a grandmother's who's awaiting her grandchildren.

Anyway, I'm trying to empty the house of such evil (and young Ms. Au Pair, I found the stash of chocolate you donated to the cookie jar, thank you very much--NOT a very kind goodbye gesture, if you get my drift, my heavy overweight drift!).

I realize I could just toss the sweet selections in the trash, but really, what challenge would that be?

Besides I have a good friend, here in Ireland, who had just returned to work after many years at home. She's returned to her consulting position with Unislim (Weight Watcher equivalent). So yes, I'm supporting her. Oh yes, I've already signed up for classes in January.

See? I have a plan. And it does reach beyond the cookie jar, I promise.

It doesn't help that I have been housebound with two little sickies for the last five days. We think and hope they are improving, but the sick bug is in deep.

It all started the morning after our gingerbread party. Hmmm? Which by the way are on display here. Mind you, we did remodel several times over in our construction phases.

Babydoll's house actually withstood the building phase--no remodeling required, walls stood firm and roof upheld. I like to say the candies have remained the same. But I can't. Why? Reread post, no sweets are safe from me!

Ah! Here is the entrepreneur of the bunch. While the others experienced remodeling hassles, reinforcing roofs and walls, this little chicky was outwittingly building panel pieces--why fuss with the whole mess, when you can build, decorate and eat as you go?
Here is a happy builder. Hopefully the manor survived his transit home.

ps., sorry for the stretch photos-- it's the seasonal new graphics, they tweak out my photos!

Cause I have nothing better to do at 6 a.m.

2008-12-12T07:30:00.004Z

This morning I plastered six houses. Yes. Really I did. Take that DH! (aka stucco man among friends)

Well, I joined the walls, and that's paramount to a good house. A gingerbread house.

Afterschool there are six little architects arrriving to create and design masterpieces. It should be good fun.

Yesterday was a more productive day than lately. I only had one errand amid my work and that was depositing money in the bank. A feel-good errand. Until you lose the bank. Can I help it, if all the storefronts on Main Street look alike? So here I was on Main Street, which looks like every other Main Street in every other Irish town, walking to a bank I can't find. Clearly I don't visit the bank enough.

Just when I think I've gone completely bonkers, I spy the bank's colors way over yonder. Apparently the bank moved into shiny new digs, you feel golden just by walking in. I must have missed my housewarming invite.

Tomorrow DH and I brave the cold and crazed as we head out to do our Christmas shopping. A little late for my taste, but sometimes we can't schedule chaos as good as create it. The girls have been good gift-receivers in training. According to how our Santa works, he's bringing a big item (luckily he's on top of that Wii thing), a Man U t shirt (DH influence all the way, or need I say?) and a surprise. So it's surprise time and, honestly, I can handle shopping for a 'surprise' for 5 and 4 yos. That's a walk in a park for me and DH.

Well, that is, if we can convince the other shoppers to stay home.

Do I have something on my nose?

I Never Liked Homework

2008-12-10T21:35:00.003Z

Working from home ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. You know?

The notion, that, as your own boss, no one is keeping tabs on you is soooo overrated. In fact, the freedom, the liberty, or whatever blissful name you call it, well, it’s just downright deceiving. A grand illusion, that’s what I call it.

Sure, I can come collect it. Freedom? Oh, yeah, freedom to over commit.

Well, I’ll just fit that in between this and that. Yes! I’m at liberty to squeeze in tasks.

Um, ok, I’ll do that while I do this. Right. Now I’m imaging I’ve cloned myself.

They say, "it's 5pm quitting time somewhere", and I say, "it's 9am starting time somewhere, and in that place is someone I can channel." Yeah, like who needs sleep, when there's work to be done?

And housework? Oh, it's there too.

If I walk down the hall one more time with that flint and fluff snickering in the corner, out comes the hoover. Really, how long can that take? Too long.

Or, as I feel the sun streaming through the windows, I look and quiz myself: how did I manage so many streaks—surely I can wipe a window better than that! What? A challenge? Here I come.

One glance in the girls’ room and I’m chasing another taunt. I mean, tangent. How sneaky and good would that be if, while they're in school, I sweep clean of toys outgrown? Too good.

Today I found myself calculating for when rented offices are a possibility in the budget.

Until then my choice of concentration--aka denial of the obvious--is the closed door. If you can’t see it, it can’t be added to the list.

Oh and Christmas decorations? Boxes were opened; garland and shining balls are protruding all sides. Still. Beyond the decorated tree, it’s as if Santa’s elves ~~DH and the girls~~ just lost interest. With each peek, I feel those boxes calling me. And yet, I admire and pine from afar.

When I’m done admiring, or more like, when my mind drifts to the next task, I close the door.

And Then, A Tree Appeared in My Living Room

2008-12-08T23:24:00.001Z

I have friends who do not have children. For one reason or another, it is their chosen path. For that matter, I also have single friends who are very happily single. And trust me, when I say, there are those days that I think, “Oh! I wonder what Girlfriend’s doing right now? I bet she’s not home wiping jello from her dining room windows.”

And then there are the other days. Such as...in an airport , 18 hours travel in and 6 hours to go, amid a showing of anxious and weary passengers, Cutiepie climbs into my lap hooking her plump hands around my neck, pulling us face to face, and with volume control that is nonexistent, says, “Mommy, I’m in love with you.”

Or the morning we needed to bring boxes down from the attic. Confident and informing, Babydoll orchestrated the task. “Mommy, you will have to go up into the attic.” Cutiepie chimes in, “Yeah, cause the hole is small and Daddy is too wide to fit.” At which time Babydoll clarifies, “You know, wide is just a nice word for fat.”

Or like today, when I came home late from meetings and exhausted to the bone. I was greeted by my enthusiastic daughters. “Mommy, mommy!” “Guess what!” “You’ll never guess!” The excitement was bursting through the house.
Finally, Babydoll spilled. “Daddy’s making dinner!!” “Really! He is!”

And then like that, I realized there’s a tree in my living room. Christmas has arrived.

Enjoy Your Day

2008-11-27T19:23:00.000Z

Wishing you the best Thanksgiving!!
yummmm

Sharp Points

2008-11-11T14:36:00.003Z

Finally, I have (triangular/square corners) points in my quilting that are sharp. Clearly I can be taught...just takes me awhile. I have to give out props to AnneMarie, cause all that nonsense about the quarter inch foot? Well, let's just say it works. And see? I made this little Christmas cheer last Saturday. Notice all my points? Sharp and none dull? Yes, that would be the quarter inch foot.
For months now, I've been run ragged with you-know-what and I decided I get a little play time.
Things are going well. Unfortunately you'll have to wait just a little bit longer for a full update on IT and everything, but trust me IT will be worth the wait.

Lately it's been catch up time with my girls and my sewing box. (but don't worry, just cause I'm not blogging about IT doesn't mean IT is not in full force. And if you haven't a clue about what I'm blogging, then don't worry all will soon be revealed.

Until then, all smiles, have a nice Tuesday.

ReMark on Houston

2008-10-31T03:34:00.007Z

Well, I've returned home from Houston. What a blast! It was worth every jet lagged moment. Truth be told, I was not on US soil long enough to be jet lagged, and that, my friends is the best of both worlds when you can't afford to be tired. Houston, was as I know it to be, vast and large, but most importantly, sunny. I was as happy as a kitten purring in the sunshine walking into Quilt (trade show) Festival 2008.

Inside, the show was vast as well. A great display of real quilt talent and treasures. Including, you know who from above, the gregarious and ever friendly Mark Lipinski.

What a hoot. He is everything you think he is. His incredible humor aside, within a minute or two you feel like you're dishing the dirt with a long time friend.

At one point, I had to remind myself my hours in Houston were turning to minutes, and I forced myself to move along. But not before Mark ever so kindly offered to collaborate on our next issue of Irish Quilting.

YES. MARK LIPINSKI IS GOING TO WORK WITH ME. A FEATURE, FABRICS AND QUILTS. PATTERNS, DID I MENTION, FOR YOU MY READERS, A MARK LIPINSKI PATTERN?

Alright, alright, I'll lower my voice.

But really, guys, this is an editor's dream. The whole 3am-layouts, printing-stresses, missed-flight, 5-hour-Houston stay, well it's pretty much all gift wrapped in a bow after landing this loot. And listen, if you aren't a subscriber of Irish Quilting, then this is your kick in the butt to do something!

All U.S. or Canada people order here now and if you're anywhere else in the world, call now 353 1 201 9938 or order via info@irishquilting.ie for your copy of Irish Quilting!

While the economy might be in the tanks, it makes for good schmoozing, what with the absense of crowds, the isles were clear and the hosts easily accessible.

And schmooze I did. I love Americans for schmoozing. I don't think we schmooze in Ireland. It is more like storytelling here. But still, a story is a story? Doesn't matter if you schmooze it or singsong it.

And stories we told.

Which reminds me. Ted of Gutermann, originally from New York--the home of schmoozers--and I shared some stories of common thread. (Get it? Gutermann, thread? haha)

Anyway, he and I reckon there's a story in everyone. And anyone with an ounce of f-u-n in 'em has a story about a volkswagon. He had a great story. So of course, I had to divulge my volkswagon story, circa 1987, you know, the boy, the beach, the bonfire.

Like, who doesn't have a story about a volkswagon?

Let me know if you have a volkswagon tale...you never know Ted and I might co-author that Volkswagon coffee table book. Stranger things have happened.

Hey, even Mark had a volkswagon story. Well, of course he did.

Lessons Learned in Transit

2008-10-25T10:34:00.003+01:00

UPDATED: just realized Antique Mommy is hosting for all to share traveling tips. What do you know? I have the perfect post. See, these things happen for a reason!

Just thought I'd share for those unfortunate few in transit, who should suddenly find themselves stranded overnight. Some tips to live by, let's just say.

Spend your money on a good haircut, ladies. A good do will hold up through hours of airliner headrests, sans styling products held in more than 50ml containers, harsh, yet gratis, mini-bottle shampoo, wimpy hotel dryers, and lots of hair-pulling events.

Just the other evening I was justifying the 100Euro cut by my fav coiffeur. He is second only to Babydoll's godmother Andi, who cut my hair for donkeys' years paid for in lattes and margaritas. Which, coincidently is what I argued..100 Euro makes up for all my fantastic freebie cuts received over the years.

A brightly colored scarf is a must on your traveling self. What makes as a great top accompaniment one day, can be a smashing belt the next day. And the same-shift, different-day counter agent hasn't even a clue as to same clothes worn AGAIN!

Don't understimate the value of black clothes. Black worn twice is less noticeable than that fushia paisley and blue blouse over white jeans. On a timely note, enroute to Quilt Show, I do believe I am one of few quilters who continually chooses black attire over colors...can't take the San Francisco out of the girl, people!

Know and Use The Technology That IS Availble to you In these days where security rules mobility, you can no longer just hop on an earlier plane if there's room. Anyone else remember scanning for flights to get out of dodge earlier? Right now, my laptop is worth every ounce of its 14.9 pounds of schlepping. The misery of time lost is forgotten when you can get work done online, or better still, catch up on blogging.

Be Kind to Your Husband Honestly, this doesn't pertain to me on this trip, but I did just overhear an older lady, tersely and loudly, say to her husband, "Now, DON'T be all obnoxious, like you ordinarily are!"
1. in his golden age, really?
2. in a Brittish accent, no less causing this yankee to chuckle, and
3. from a lady I just assisted with luggage, cause according to her, her husband has artificial limbs.

Tell me you're not laughing.

Not So Fast, Little Lady

2008-10-25T08:13:00.003+01:00

This time yesterday I was aboard a Dublin plane enroute to Houston, where the largest quilt show for the biz is happening. Also, where our magazine's distributor is selling us! Check it out!

All U.S. or Canada people order here now and if you're anywhere else in the world, call now 353 1 201 9938 or order via info@irishquilting.ie for your copy of Irish Quilting!

Ok, where was I before the commercial break?

Oh, on a plane feeling all smug. There I am, mag's gone to printers and I'm jet-setting to my first trade show.
THEN, at my connecting Heathrown, my mobile phone is a buzz with the calls from the head print office. Money issues? no. Deadline issues? no. Printing issues. Yes. No, please say it isn't so. So I'm now frantic and desperate to find my designer and fix the pages for printing can carry on. Thankfully, I have a designer who alive and well and can do the job.

I had to do everything to get this magazine to perfect shape, my life depends on it. So does the advertising, the subscribers, my mind and soul, my marriage, my childeren's childhood, the aupair's return (ah! she'll never find her passport!), everything!

Onto Houston. Wrong. During all the fiasco, I miss my flight. Well I miss my boarding, I'm sure my plane was still on English soil, but you know, post911, nothing goes.

I'm beyond furious, I'm a responsible adult and this happens. The last flight I missed was in 1994 and I missed my NY connection to Martinque and that resulted in 5 further connections and 7 hours in San Juan...but that was after an all night drinking fest in NYC with Lenny from the Bronx. Or was it Benny? Jenny?

Anyway, I'm back out the door to get my shuttle and hit Houston much this morning. DH questions the logic of 36 hour journey for 4 hours of convention?

Yeah, but the Mexican food in Houston? Gotta have it!

Adios!

Deep Breaths

2008-10-24T17:17:00.003+01:00

The glow on my laptop illuminated the time: 4:46 a.m.

One thousand grey hairs
A dozen stress warn wrinkles
Five abandoned best friends
Two kids in therapy
One overworked au pair
and
a very lonely husband later,
there is a magazine.

I pressed Send for the approval of the premier issue of Irish Quilting.

Print on!

Don't Be Silly, I Told Him

2008-10-20T23:22:00.004+01:00

In the hall closet, where my fabric stash lives, so lives all the linens, towels and toiletries. In search of something, DH grew frustrated. "Honey, where is the..." his cry could be heard.

I attended to and fulfilled his request, and said, with a sad murmur,
"You see when I had the time to sew, this closet would get a good cleaning once a week. I miss my sewing."

To which my DH said,
"Yeah, well, since you don't sew anymore, can we just get rid of it all?"

I think not. grrrr!

Sacrifices

2008-10-15T22:59:00.003+01:00

The things I miss.

I miss my bed.
I miss my daughters.
I miss my blog friends.
I miss my sewing time.

Soon, soon, I will have some of my life back.

Oh, but the excitement. This is crazy. More important than all, this is a dream come true.

There are three people in my world who have a inkling of what I’m going through and that’s cause they’re here holding my hand and when they aren’t holding my hand, they are busy producing this dream come true. Some people are priceless.

I'm talking about Ben and Laura (aka Twirly) who work magic on their Macs; none of this would be real without them!
And to my DH, who has turned husband extraordinaire through it all.

Oh, Cutiepie and Babydoll, well, let’s just say they get it. In our house, in the cutiest of voices, everything can be heard to have a ‘pattern’, ‘a draft’ and ‘a good photo?’
Oh, and the girls? They are forever having “a plan.”

We are at that wonderful stage where everything mommy and daddy say is repeated.

Guess I should be thankful we are at a productive stage of our lives and what we hear isn’t all that bad for child rearing...I hope.

Yesterday Cutiepie held up our 8 page media packet and exclaimed, “Mommy, making a magazine is SO HARD.” I know honey. Try adding 92 pages to that!

Did I say three kind saints in my life? I meant four... and I’ll let you guess at who.

Yep, Natalie, she minds, feeds, dresses, entertains and teaches my sweethearts...knitting. Tugs at the heart, don’t it?

And just for hanging in there and coming back when you never know when I might surface, here's a sneekpeak:

Curious? Don't know about you, but my 2009 is gonna be rockin'!

Payback with Pink Patchwork

2008-10-06T19:46:00.004+01:00

Ok, I can't believe this, but I am blogging this evening on a day -weekday, no less- where I haven't even checked my email. Yes, I have the shakes. Seriously, is my gmail in fear of malfunction because the inbox remains unchecked? Yes. Yes. I think so. Or maybe it's me who will shrivel up.

Either way, I'll post this before one of us self destructs.

This is a little diddy we did in one afternoon. 'Cause we have no more time than that, even that time was borrowed.

Babydoll and Cutiepie both attended a local playschool over the last three years. When the school was introduced to me, it was said of the owner, "she is a godsend and will help in whatever way with schedules." I'll never forget our first phone conversation, when she said, "You tell me what you need, and I'll see how I can accommodate you and your daughters." To an overworked mom struggling to make deadlines and schedules meet, Michelle, the owner, was a dream come true.
This month Michelle had a baby girl and ironically, named her Babydoll's name (no, not 'Babydoll').

I could not pass up the opportunity to payback her kindness and since she already had two boys, surely she could use more pink.

So here we have it. It is a basic patchwork, quick and easy. I've found the simplicity of patchwork allows me to play with my machine quilting. When machine quilting images, I find a canvas of all squares helps make measurements even. If you turn the quilt over you can see the rows of flowers.

Ok time's up. Off to soothe my gmail shakes.

When Dreams Become Reality and Humble Pie's for Dinner

2008-10-04T18:24:00.002+01:00

Back when, I was dreaming. One day in June I posted some examples of what made up my dream. Some lovely quilts in Irish settings. I was rambling and in my excitement I took no care to credit the books, the photographer, and was even so bad as to give a less than worthy description of the quilts—my obsessive attention on my dream.

Well, now that dream is realized and as all roads do, they lead back to the beginning, for reflection or otherwise. We examine where we come from—as we should. As such, I have adjusted that post for every good photo deserves a credit and every quilt its own appreciation.

That particular post illustrated photos from Pat Sloan’s book Tour of Ireland with lovely quilts made exclusively for that venture. We are lucky if we can repeat the genuine and fantastic love of Ireland in our Irish Quilting magazine. The copies of pictures posted on my blog were from photographer Cheryl Johnson found in the book published by Leisure Arts.

This same group of people has contributed to our first issue generously. Not only has Pat provided a quilt and pattern to feature, she wrote an article for the issue! But it doesn’t stop there, she has been promoting the magazine and we’ve loads of inquires from every corner of America. Pat is a very real and humble person as I’ve come to know her well in cyber space and she has been very gracious in this most embarrassing gaffe of mine. Another instance of the exceptional character of quilters. Truly loving and kind. Thanks Pat!

So remember, it’s not... Watch what you wish for, it could come true,

But yet... it is, Believe in your wish, and give all of it the uptmost respect it deserves.

Oh, and don’t think I didn’t try to pin this blunder on DH. Of course. Who wouldn’t try? I asked if I could retell it as if he posted that no-credit-no-respect-post. He said ahem, no.

The Word Is Out

2008-10-02T12:05:00.003+01:00

Last night and this morning my email is bursting full of subscription inquires for our baby Irish Quilting. Because..the media kits have been hitting the cyber streets. (and a big thanks to Pat Sloan for spreading the word.)

Our designer, photographers and I have been buried under layouts and content proofing, nary a moment to flout the obvious.
And even at that, the image below is not best; I've done something to the PDF while making a jpg and it's not cooperating obviously! I don't want you to feel neglected so I'm going to post it still.

Hold on to your batting, here is the preview. (drumroll, please!)

Media packets and more information are available by emailing irishquilter@gmail.com. The website, though only a front image for the moment, is http://www.irishquilting.ie/.

Excuse me, I have to return to the dredgework of production.

Miss you!

Mickey Mouse Club's Newest Member

2008-09-29T15:39:00.003+01:00

Yesterday was my Cutiepie's birthday and we celebrated with a whole host of characters. Can't believe four years has flown by. I can't get a grip on an 8 hour span, let alone 1,460 days. But they are love-filled days with her.

Of late, her phrases:

Did you buy kids' yogurt, Mommy? Oh! Thanks God!

I wasn't asleep, I was just resting my eyes.

Mommy, I'm in love with you.

Oh, and I'm in love with you too.

Happy Birthday Cutiepie!

Graphics courtesty of Twirly--ain't she great?

Leave Nothing Behind

2008-09-21T23:08:00.003+01:00

Days and months have gone by and I miss blogville. Yesterday I came a calling on a few of my favorites. I confess, they were mommies of some exciting pint size news (Megan and Erin) and even those expecting pint size news (Anna). And you all know I have my own news due out soon, only it is not so pint sized and lacks that fresh baby smell.

Jetlag hit me hard this last trip home to U.S. It took me nearly three full days to decipher breakfast, lunch, dinner from one another. But, I'm back. And I'm back on a mission.

To write. To connect. To reconnect. (And to comment, I promise.)

I solemnly vow to write a thank you note to each and everyone we saw in U.S. --and even some we missed much to our own sadness. Each trip we experience so much generosity and hospitality and yet, two weeks back in the grind, it's like we never went.

'Cept the suitcases. Always the suitcases. We entered U.S. borders with two suitcases and returned to Emerald Isle with five full suitcases. Oye.

Now at home, I thought I might send thank you gifts from this end. Just how many sheep and shamrock magnets can one relative's fridge hold? Hmm, what would I like? More time with that person. More sharing. More talking.

The result is a letter where I've chosen to reminisce our trip with that person. It's been fun (then again, I enjoy writing) renewing that time.

Cutiepie took a huge liking to the U.S. on this trip. It could be the shopping trip where Auntie bought her 11 pair of shoes from the 97 pair she tried on at Target. This 3-year and 364-week old never knew shopping like the shopping her Auntie dishes out.

Or it might have been the morning jaunts to Starbucks with Auntie. Bonafide mocha frappacino with a side organic chocolate milk for stylish Cutiepie in the backseat. She's hooked.

This weekend, Babydoll resumed her Irish dance lessons. And with shoes to cut a rug, Cutiepie now wants lessons. Done. Imagine that, an added 60 kid-free-zone minutes into my week. Some weeks more, woohoo! Since we carpool, I reckon if I tie the girls to the gatepost in wait, their carpool and classtime could add possibly 90 solo minutes to my overpacked schedule.

Ah, but, they are cuter than buttons doing the jig. This week, I struggled to drop off the other girl dancer at her home. Does anyone else have a problem when your child invites herself to other people's homes? Manners people, how to teach them?

Both my girls, kicking and crying; I finally buckle them back into place muttering under my breath, "I know just the thing to do with misbehaving girls like you two...I'm gonna...." (use your imagination, go on, I give you creative license).

Cutiepie, never missing a beat, replied quickly. "Mommy, the thing to do with girls who cry is leave them at other people's houses! Please?"

Oh I wish.

Potty Humor or Potty Lesson?

2008-09-12T18:44:00.005+01:00

As a mom, I try to be intuitative toward my kids' needs and feelings. Sometimes I'm just plain wrong.

Today, Cutiepie summoned me to the toilet for the usual maintenance. Helping her finish her usual-but messy-business, I asked, "How does your tummy feel? All ok?"

"G-dood" she retorted. On a second thought apparently, while washing her hands, she says to me,

"Mommy? Why do you always ask that? It's working. You know, my tummy, it's working."

Right. Ok. Then.

Road Trip

2008-09-10T19:07:00.004+01:00

Have you missed us?

We've been otherwise occupied in sunny California!! Sun, sun and more sun. The girls are learning to swim and I'm tied to this laptop. All good and time well spent.

And shopping. Have I mentioned shopping? I am not a big fan of shopping. I know, I know, *gasp* But it is a delight to see the art of shopping come alive right before my daughters' eyes. Cutiepie is hooked. Every car ride now prompts her to ask, "Are we going to go shopping, Mommy?"

Babydoll and Cutiepie schlepping their newly purchased goods with my sister Karri and Natalie. Thank you everyone for your well wishes for my sister. As you can see she is up and around and doing well. Now, that's a girl who can shop. Verry little will keep her from the stores.

And the groceries below...yummy delish shopping. Aren' they so pretty?

The girls are better travelers on every trip.

We head home in just a few days, so we're going to enjoy every last sun blessed moment.

Guilty as Sin

2008-08-28T15:22:00.005+01:00

Oh! My life!
Who out there has lived a double life? Come on. Out with it. Any secret agents? Any despicable two-timing cheats? We want to hear from you.

Cause I'm guilty. Oh so verry guilty.

What only nine months ago, I was lonely, lost and looking for love. Remember that? The great love affair to be had? The great search was on. Looking for love. So what if I kissed a few frogs?

And now, look at me. I'm a slut. A bonafide slut. I'm sleeping around on my man worse than Ross ever did when he and Rachel were on a break.

You see, Mr. JobRightNow has been good to me. And yet too good. Yeah, can we blame it on him? He pays me, he lets me have my own time and has gotten a lot less demanding. But when I'm with him, it's boring. Safe, but boring.

And then, along comes Mr. FollowYourDreams. Capturing my heart, imagination and all my senses, he's now got the attention of my friends and family. Go for it. He's a keeper.

But what about him, you know that guy that nursed me back to life nine months ago? I'm sneaking around behind his back with my new man. Oye. Cheating takes a lot of work. I think I'm getting an ulcer. Or are those butterflies?

Thankfully, Mr. FollowYourDreams is about to become Mr. BlissfulReality in just two shy months. The nuptials are written, the guests are waiting and this bride is about to walk the isle. Then the news will spread, it will be printed all over the island. Literally. Across 96 pages.

And my Mr. JobRightNow? What will become of him? I don't know. But what I want is to stop the deceiving. Stop the cheating. And start the living.

In Appreciation

2008-08-20T10:16:00.005+01:00

Following suit of my pal, Toni over at The Quilting Pirate, we take a moment to appreciate works by others.

I only wish I had more time to involve myself with swaps. They are so much fun and you always get rewarded with someone else's talent!

You will see from these pictures that I love to put them in play at our house.

My first one had the bright cheery colors that my bathroom needs. We are still in the planning stages of its remodel, but this little doll below is setting the color palette.

My second swap sweetie really set the motion in my sitting room. The colors tied everything in--especially my couch, which is of a color that is not my preference. Across from this terracotta couch is my newly painted accent wall in forest green. So the colors blend so well.

And like I wrote above, I use my gifts. We love this on this table--the table, my favorite--had gotten marred and marked as things do in life with little kiddies, so this piece is a perfect topper. And regardless to how they look, they are durable--love that all that stitching is machine washable. Last week I even cringed when a red wine glass toppled over--but it came out of wash as new as when it arrived! I love this addition to my home!

And another recieved goodie. I think it might still be feeling its way around my chosen room. Love it in my dining room here, but it seem to be on its own on this lone wall; I'd like to see what I can do to make it more comfortable. Again, the colors could not have been better picked for this particular room (see the curtains?)

Finally, I have one interesting swap that included a favorite item, but I'm just at the finishing touches. Stay tuned.

Be back in a flash!

Birmingham, Baby!

2008-08-17T18:19:00.003+01:00

Yep I’m in Birmingham. At the Festival of Quilts. Alone. Well, ok, with 25,000 quilters, but this mom is off duty. That makes for such silence, I mumble aloud and my own voice makes me jump.

I hadn’t intended it that way, but between you and me, it’s nice.

Many months ago I booked a double room and sought out the girl power on our island to join me on this quilting venture. In an email I invited anyone who might be willing. Lots of sauce, but no bites, funny enough. Oh, but, I was close. The email subject line said, “booked a hotel room, anyone interested in coming to Birmingham with me?” (ok, it really said, “come play with me in Birmingham”) I fired it off one morning. Apparently the power of one girl was actually being powered through her husband’s email. His office email. In a male-dominated financial work place. Oh yes. That email made the rounds.

And still I’m solo, much to the dismay of the lads and their overactive imagination in that bank of-you-know-what-country.

Maybe next year boys, cause this year’s trip is biz, and the computer has yet to power down. Though, it did take me donkeys’ years to fall asleep last night. No Goodnight [Mr.]Moon reading, no excessive thirst, no 32 trips to the potty, not even one imaginary spider or bedbug to shoo away. Heck, I didn’t know what to do with all these covers and without DH how do I play tug-o-war?

Alas, the exhibition is wonderful. So much eye candy. Both in quilts and vendor stands. First, the beauty: the quilts. Wow. Such inspiration. I rarely take photographs, but my daughters have become so interested—I blame Mary Poppins VI, she’s finished her first quilt top and asking for more. It’s contagious, people.

So there I am taking photos of the sparkling mermaid, crazy pieced pigs, and the pink cow, my personal favourite. Funny, how when you’re alone, you have more time to capture the details and remember your favs. Apart from early business meetings and interviews, my unaccompanied viewing is so heavenly. There’s no dissecting multiple opinions nor are there meeting times and places to remember. I love the voyeurism, seeing and listening to strangers’ comments, especially when I know the quilter of the quilt being examined. So many lovely compliments, nary a negative word. Every year I recognize more and more names in the program. This morning I’m off to find my friend Jane’s work.

But not before I go skype my daughters. I promised them a peek at my hotel room. The camera has added the best dimension to our away from home calls. Yesterday the three girls put in their request for Fat Quarters: cutiepie wants princess print, babydoll wants fairy print, and MP VII wants green lined print. The orders are in.

But before I shop, can I just say? The bags on trolley wheels? While in theory a great idea, in the vendor stands where we choose to pack like sardines, they are painful what with minimal ankle and foot room becoming a sore point. Just my two cents. I’ve found a new appreciation for the hall’s cloak rooms provided for stash check ins.

Happy shopping wherever you are! And watch your feet!

Have You Seen This Man?

2008-08-16T18:49:00.002+01:00

It's easy to miss him, or not...what with all the gushing quilters clamboring all around him.

Please meet my interviewee, Mr. Ricky Tims; though I realize his charm and talents are well likely to precede his name in blogville just as they did this morning. After an early morning flight, I arrived in Birmingham amid chatter in the hotel lobby, chatter on the shuttle and more chatter in the entrance line about this musician, this quilter, this storyteller. I knew the instant I began eavesdropping, who they were talking of at this colorful Festival of Quilts.

An hour later I found myself straddling the throng of babbling quilters working hard to position themselves into a conversation with The Man himself. Showing uptmost interest and sincerety, he greeted each quilter with all of his attention. I quickly felt sinister for pressing forward knowing my motives were less humbling than that of each mesmerized lady who stood before him. I had nothing to offer but a pitiful apology for missing his show the night before.

His glorious quilts hung all around me. His queue of visitors had allowed me the time to browse and admire each one. Wow. He was pure artist in every sense of the word. And yet, they hung there now, mocking me. I missed his show; something told me the quilts were just the tip of the iceberg. How dare I crowd in with my business agenda?

And yet, he is kind. One look in his eyes and you know he is kind. True to this word, he graciously invited me tomorrow morning for a one-to-one chat. Privately. Before any of his fans arrive at the festival.

But not this one. I should be so lucky.

A Winning Family, well sort of

2008-08-13T22:25:00.005+01:00

Remember all those friends waiting for their babies? Well, they’re all arriving now. So far I’ve counted four baby lasses and one lad. And they’re so darn cute!

I’ve only finished quilts for two wee ones and am in the middle of a third pink piecing. The fourth girl is daughter to a quilter, so, um, no, I won’t be quilting for her little one. I’m sure her mom can quilt circles around me. Did I ever say I was a good quilter? No. And know that I’m not. I admit it.

Every August is the Tinahealy Show; it’s very comparable to the County or State fairs in the States. Every year we browse tents looking at all the home produce, home crafts and colourful quilts submitted by folks all over the island. This year we decided to get in on the action.

The girls did a good few crafts and would have even one first prize for Mr. Melon below, but we forgot the ‘on a plate’ as per the entry instructions. Our Mr. Melon head was quite capable upright without the plate.

Truth be told it was Mary Poppins IV and me that created him, the girls’ interest waned after the decorated egg and recycled art.

I had hoped to get my favourite quilt entered. But as it goes, it was not done in time. I even stayed up late the night prior. But you know what? It is to be my favourite and darn it I’m gonna take my time and do it right. So I called a friend. We had been at their house recently and a quilt I made {in a rush, I note here] hung neatly and picturesque in a foyer leading to the kids’ room.

So I asked if I could borrow it for the fair.

The girls ooooed and aaaaed in each tent as we spotted our very own work. Verry proud of their drawings as Babydoll points them out to DH. A family of successful artists. Yeah, right. And, we’re also millionaires, did I ever tell you?

When I collected my quilt, the organizer tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Here are the judges’ comments for your quilt.” Judges? Comments? Um, this was just for fun, people. Really.
But no, I got it, at least I thought I got it. ..there were ribbons awarded...I just thought one look and the judges would know I was only entering for fun. Let’s just say I knew what was in that envelope. I’m not fooling anyone, people.
The comments read:

1. Great notion for kids. Children will love it. [play pockets with finger puppets]
2. Not well made. Not. Well. Made. NOT. WELL. MADE. [in case you missed that one, it’s not made well.]
3. Could benefit from technique lessons. [like, daaaaaah, don’t I know]
4. We hope you’ll try again next year. [you bet I will, if only to see my girls’ eyes light up again]

And so finally, my mind and the world were in agreement. There were marvellous quilts in there, of which I have great respect, but my work is not yet competition level. I do need classes and practice. (Maybe I shouldn't have entered, do you think?)

DH had been reading over my shoulder and I think it had a bigger effect on him than me.

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” He mumbled, head down. Poor guy, you’d think we’d have to go home and get our report card signed by mammy. He was so deflated.

“Oh, honey” I consoled him. “I’m a writer, not an accomplished quilter like some. Just means I have room to learn. Come on, let’s go home, we’ve got a magazine to publish.”

Speaking of which, you will not believe the pros we’ve got contributing in the first issue of Irish Quilting.

Mind if I namedrop a little? Ricky Tims, Elizabeth Scott, Pat Sloane, Luana Rubicon, Anna Maria Horner, Tammy Tadd...just to name a few.

Patterns, patterns, and more patterns. Stunning photography. Tips and techniques. And a whole lot more.

Trust me, I’ll learn yet how to quilt like a pro!

Sometimes It's Mom Who's Oblivious

2008-08-09T01:53:00.005+01:00

Lately my life is running a million miles an hour. Just go go go. But I do make an effort to extract 10, 20 30 minutes here and there for by two babies. And still, at 3 and 5 yo it can take so very little to make them smile. Donning high heels with freshly painted toe nails or peeling carrots for dinner or the extracting measure tape in my sewing box brings seconds, if not, minutes of awe and attraction. They are little adventurers, they are.

Tonight, as I popped them into the bath, the luxorious bubble bath I beckoned for myself, I said a little word of thanks. Having just coaxed them using piggy back rides and fair lady dances, I murmered, 'thank you. They are old enough to manage alone together in the bathroom. Maybe, I can go sew for a few minutes.' This desperate act of abandonment always makes me think of two possibilities.

1. Too much noise means the place is soon waterlogged and soggy everything.

2. Too little noise might very well lead you to this:

Tonight it was the wet variety. Oh, well. They can't always be angels.

Like, when Babydoll was barely 13 months old. She had been walking for four months already. Really. She resembled the AllyM*Beal dancing baby--for her frame and face was so infantile, yet her limbs moved her swiftly along upright.

On this night, she was spashing away in the tub while I sat across from her on the floor reading a book. Clearly this is a scene from a few years back since a) I had time to keep the floors clean enough to settle in and b) I had time enough to read a book for no reason other than it was a good read and and it featured neither Dora nor My Little Pony.

Sometime into the bath play, she rose to her feet. My head buried in the book, I sensed this movement and commanded her, "Babydoll, sit down. You don't stand in the bathtub, you'll fall." This happened several times until, it seemed Babydoll fully understood her mommy to be the smart and safe one. Right? Wrong.

As I was patting my proverbial back for my ability to teach my child to follow my commands, a strange silence filled the room. No water splashing. No toys swishing. This time I fully looked up head to head, face to face with Babydoll and the bathtub side blocking all other view. She had a simple face, no grin, no frown, just a simple stare for me.

As I leaned up and forward, my questioning fell short, when I immediately realized Babydoll and her toy pals were sitting in an empty bathtub! The water had emptied out much to my inattention. She was such a gem, that baby. A cold, but delightful and obiedient baby.

Tonight, browsing her 13month picture folder, I found more evidence of a life under less pressure. These pictures are from Hawaii, when I clearly had too much time on my hands and apparently spent it shopping for her bathing suits.

The next was my least favorite. Nothin' special, you know? Paris Hilton would be disappointed.

Now, we're talking. Hawt. Pretty in pink.

And, my favorite, the polka dot bikini. Makes you want to sing along.

Fortunately for Babydoll, there was an endless supply of water in both the ocean and our hotel pool.

Where I've Been

2008-08-06T20:43:00.003+01:00

Not...

Soaking in a bubble bath
Reading a good long book
Hosting a dinner party
Window shopping
Enjoying a matinee
Walking in the mornings
Watching LivingTVmarathons
Sipping a pińacolada
Sewing
Blogging

But I'm still thinking of you all!

Sun + Long Grass = Hay

2008-07-24T23:34:00.003+01:00

Last summer the rain chased away all prospects of haymaking.

This year, July nearly gone, the sun shone and the haymaking ensues in our neighboring fields.

Farmer Pat is happy.

Why, of course! Have you not seen his helpers? They are the cutest tractor watchdogs you'll ever lay your eyes on.

Make hay, make hay, hey, make that hay!

Roll on, your silly self!

Hope your internal sun is shining, and remember to make hay!

Since You All Seem So Interested

2008-07-22T08:29:00.002+01:00

Thank you! I was pleasantly pleased with the numerous comments regarding the impending birth of our Irish Quilting magazine. So much so, please indulge me as I solicit even more information from all you quilters (and nonquilters--join in!).

We are working around the clock to ensure our premier issue, launching in October, is a what YOU want out of your new quilting magazine, Irish Quilting.

We are in the imagery phase, so if you spot the cameras and quilts over yonder, you can bet it's us. Irish Quilting magazine highlights the gorgeous scenery, indoors and outdoors, of Ireland. If you're local and you've got a colorful quilt prime for modeling, give me a jingle.

What are your quilting questions?..Tips, techniques, history, what's what and who's who of quilting... Now's your time to ask and we'll track down the answers.

Also, feel free to scan the topic titles below and rattle up some questions. Comment here and we'll do our best to print some answers! Alternately, if you have favorite designers or fabric lines (especially Irish), quilting notions, puh-lease plug away, you just might see them between the pages of IQ.

Upcoming Features in Irish Quilting
Top Designers Dazzle Countryside with Colour
Off the Hook Shopping Online
Quilts Get Sexy, Not Your Grandmother's Craft
Irish Eyes Decade of Designs
Winter Romance Pattern
Legacy Pattern Feature
When Charity Drives Creativity
Home on the Emerald Praire, Scrap Sensation by Irish Designer Terri McNeill
Birdcage Set Free, Pattern by Anna Maria Horner
Designers on Show: Anna Marie Horner, Tammy Tadds, Luana Rubicon, TerriMcNell, Elizabeth Scott...
Regular appearances inlude: 5-6 featured patterns; tips and techniques; craft cousin; scrapping; quilting roadmaps; quilted accessory; traveling quilter; kids at quilting; events; web directory; inside the life of (designer); shop directory and much, much more...

Upcoming Special Episodes
Time for LongArm Quilting
How and Why to 'Show' Your Quilt
Spin the Colour Wheel
Hand Quilting vs. Machine Quilting
Use Your Laptop to Make Your Lap Quilt, Quilting Software
ABCs of Applique
Work that Workshop!
EBay for Quilters
To Blog or Not to Blog
Rounding out a Round Robin
Where's the Batting? Guide to Sandwiching Your Quilts
Find Your Muse to Create Your Own Patterns
Say Cheese! How to Photograph Your Quilt
Reach for the Sky! How to Hang Your Quilt
Stand Proud! Why You Should Show Your Quilt
Free for the Asking, Quilt Goodies
The Ultimate Sew-In
Quilting Retreats
Redwork Quilting
Amish Quilting
History of Quilts: Quilts Get Sexy; Irish Roots; The TransAlantic Piecing

Finally, a note from our human resource department, blogger to blogger, if you're a writer who's interested in contributing magazine content, get in touch with me. You never know!

Thanks a bunch!

Another Look

2008-07-20T13:35:00.002+01:00

Your thoughts? (Specifically, on the masthead/name,...the pic and the tag lines are just filler text.)

Congrats to Jane at Sew Create It as our random winner to this query. Jane, drop me your address in an email and I'll send the chocolate your way!!

Cashin' on the Favorites

2008-07-17T10:11:00.002+01:00

Did anyone else notice the anonymous comment that Johnny Cash was a quilter? You know, I sorta buy that idea. But then again, anyone who shares gossip and signs themselves Anonymous, well, you gotta wonder. But still, maybe so.

Too bad for Anonymous, we wanted to award him/her just cause Cash is a favorite in our house. There's still time for more hearsay, go comment and I’ll be pulling the random winner tomorrow.

Speaking of favorites, we at VerrySherry cashed in! Firstly, thanks to Kelly who organized this quirkly little, big Favorites swap. She thoughtfully connected me with another Sherryverry nice. Like how I sher my name?

Oh, alright, I’ll stop with the name plays.

According to me, Kelly did a knockout job and it couldn’t have been an easy job; I think there were over 300 bloggers playing along! Sherrie, my partner, is a quilter and a very thoughtful one at that.

She sent me her favorites, which are now my favorites. They were adorable in quilty wrapping paper. Too sweet!

A lovely quilt top done in her favorite colors. What a gift! DH was floored. I get to finish it off and keep it! Thinking I might add one more border so it is that large enough for me to lounge with it in my favorite chair. I thought this was an incredible gesture and handiwork and I love it!!!

A patriotic pin cushion. Ok, hold on to your seats, when I say..I do not own a pin cushion. I know, I know, what kind of seamstress am I? A dangerous one. So says DH as he gingerly picks a straight pin from his sock.
I now own a lovely pin cushion and solemnly swear to use it gladly.

The Quiltmaker’s Gift book by Jeff Brumbeau and Gail de Marcken. The most touching gift for the whole family. We’ve read the story over and over and it is now by far a favorite in our home. What a gift!

and last, but not least, M&Ms…uh, um, candy? I think it was something like premium, decadent flavors and almonds in your traditional M&Ms. I think? It all happened so fast. We wolfed that bad baby down before the postman made it out our gate. Yummy.

Thank you Sherrie. You are one of my favorites!

Here's to the Memories

2008-07-13T13:31:00.004+01:00

Eighteen years ago we were twenty something city slickers in San Francisco. We lived life high on Taco Tuesday happy hours at the Golden Gate Bar & Grill and Bloody Mary-drenched breakfasts on the deck at Sam's in Tiburon.
We reveled at rowdy 49er tailgate parties and hosted rooftop barbeques below the soaring Blue Angels. We clubbed and danced all night at neighborhood haunts like Cal's and Covered Wagon, and many other hot spots. Oh how the memories live on.

Eighteen years ago I met Colleen, Cutiepie's 'godmutter'. She was fun. She was smart. She was the life.
We had the life. She is fun. She is smart. She's still the life. And we're honored to have her in our life always.

Happy Birthday Colleen! We love you.

64,000 Question

2008-07-10T12:10:00.002+01:00

Which celebrity quilts?

Though they are greatly admired, I'm not talking about celebrity quilters, but rather starlets or otherwise famous people who quilt.

Rack your brains, nudge and ask your fellow quilter, and pass the gossip onto me. Please!

Plus, there is another Irish Chocolate Beans Bar up for grabs. Leave a comment and be that random winner!!