Under the Needle

Finally, nearing the end of this project.

What's under your needle right now?

Confirmed Beauties

Tuesday was my stepdaughter GirlE's confirmation.

As an American with limited knowledge of the Catholic way, I now realize as a mom raising children in Ireland, I need to brush up rather quickly.

For now, I gather what happened on that day is GirlE vowed to accept the Holy Spirit, promised to behave and not drink alcohol.

In turn, we and all her family vowed to enjoy a gorgeous lunch and share some quality time together.

That is, after an exhausting morning of reigning in and minding noisy Babydoll and Cutiepie in church. DH and I now agree it wouldn't hurt us to start attending Mass.
At the very least, our girls might learn to be quiet as church mice.

The pictures below capture the beauty of DH's hometown, Blessington, in Co. Wicklow.

The Blessington Lakes in the background are the largest manmade lakes in Europe. The waters were created when they flooded the original Blessington for a reservoir system around the 1940s. If one were to scuba dive, town remanents such as chimney steeples can be seen underwater.

Cool, uh?

Being a Friend

....Announcing the Birth of BabyD

Oh, how lovely. A friend had just delivered a bouncing baby boy. Something to celebrate.

And, yet, I felt sad.

You see, though my friend and I are close friends, I had had no idea that she had even been pregnant. For more than nine months, there was no email, no call, not a peep from her. In fact, just earlier in the month I sent an inquiring card to see why there’s been no response to my emails in past months. Maybe we’re no longer close friends?

You know, with the increasing time pressures of work and family, our social circles thin out a bit. So I grasp onto what friends I have--even if it is via email, over distance, over time.

First, comes self-examination. Am I being needy? Could it be the whole "living in Ireland without my girlfiends" issue? (Has the makings of a song title, eh?) I speak and email with most of my distant friends more often than when I lived in America. It's sad that it takes distance to make us appreciate the obvious, but I’m darn glad it does.

Last night in my quilt group, while working over a little somethin' for the new arrival, the ladies and I contemplated relationships.

Wondering if some friendships waver into the blue yonder, and if so, when do you let go? And surely if there's been a few bumps in the relationship (who hasn't had a few bumps?), you're wondering all the more if the friendship has set sail in different directions not to cross paths again? Do you steer onward? Do you seek out repair for that friendship?

In our group, everyone shares projects; each doing a quilt for a friend, a sibling, new baby, or for a special purpose. We don't know one another outside of the community hall, but once inside we come together like a huddle of ol' grannies. It’s an equal split of 30-40s gals and 60s gals; usually the elder mentoring the younger. But once in awhile, it's reverse, and we teach an old dog a new trick!

During last night's show and tell, I sought advice for my problem embroidering the name on this quilt. As with all quilts, there is a story and I shared mine. In the interesting feedback was a mixture of reactions. Is the friendship finished? Is your friend telling you something by not telling? Is the quilt a bit too much? Do some friendships exist even though unattended?

Despite even the nurturing cynics (for lack of a better description), I began stitching D on the quilt. The day I received word of BabyD, the quilt was born in my mind and heart. So amid all the philosophy to and fro, I knew the quilt belonged to him long ago. I happily finished stitching his name. The girls in the circle knew I was following my gut despite a seemingly ghostly friendship.

Years earlier I had made quilts for both of Baby D’s brothers and so it was only fair this quilt was for him. I pleaded. To which the mother hen of the group crowed, "you better hope she doesn't have lots more babies!"

Bring 'em on, I say.

****

With this morning came answers. My friend emailed me an apologetic update.

Beyond my own selfish examination, I had also worried there might be troublesome details on her side that prevented her time for me. But worry not. Baby D allowed her a wonderful pregnancy and all is well in her home.

So it was just the sands of time playing on us as they do. Life is just one big distraction.
Oh, yes it is.

Do me a favour? Remember that friend you’ve not written or called in a long while?

Do. Email her. Call her.

You’ll be glad you did.

Potatoes in a Box

What's better than a great gift?

A great gift boxed and tied lovingly with a colorful bow or ribbon.
Boxed. In. A. Box.

Remember when you bought your dad his Christmas shirt at the department store and the cashier included a foldable box?


Nowadays, it's off to the gift wrap isle where a plethora of colorful sacks await you for your gift in a bag.
Bagged? In. A. Bag.

In case you haven't noticed the Gift Bag vs. Gift Box is a battle I fight on most special occasions.

New baby neice? Who wants to gift an adorable pink dress only to have it wrinkled and unveiled upside down with matching booties tumbling to the ground. Oh, to have a box for haven and display!

And what about the surprise element? They may look surprised, but, Internets, there is no lid on that bag...no doubt, peeking was involved!

I love boxes. Cute boxes. Simple boxes. Colorful boxes. They bring meaning to my life, my things, my needs, my gifts. When I see a good box I hoard it. I caress it. I wonder. How, oh how, can we procreate?

Well, tonight, my friends, we are in luck. Many thanks to Kelly who introduced me to EstyLabs, who, in turn, did indeed show me how I could reproduce boxes. I'm cured. Boxes to fit all my neurosis.
Well, probably not. But hey, I can have boxes at a whim! Check it out...

These boxes took me all of two minutes. LOOK! No tape. No glue.
And if you make one box an inch bigger than the other, they can be married and love and live together keeping your things held snuggly.

Not only am I recycling paper, but the boxes are so cute!! Made out of 10Kg Irish potato bags, with these logos I might forgo the wrapping paper. Especially for those care packages going to the States from here (Ireland).

I knew I stumbled onto something when I spent the last 10 minutes listing who's gonna get what. Everyone's keen on love parcels!!

So be kind to your mailman, he just might be bringing potatoes in a box to you soon!!

Living in a Glass House

It was a quiet moment and I flipped the channel to Big Brother. America's Big Brother reality show. Thinking, in my recent blog reading I had not noticed any buzz on this season's Big Brother, I quickly realized why. Unlike the other reality shows, American Idol, Inventor, You Think You Can Dance, this assembly of yanks had no talent. Oh. Other than to keep the American stereotype alive. Ignorant. Loud. Brash.

Makes me chuckle when remembering this scene from In Bruge:

Liam Gleeson to the American: Are you American?

American: Yes. Are you going to hold it against me?

Gleeson: No. ..just try not to be loud and crass.

Stereotypes are just that. And lately a little birdie--alright, a big birdie--whose flightpath includes me as an American in America and an American in Ireland, reminded me stereotypes are best left to their respective owners. First I was, like, he does read my blog! DH reads my blog! Then I was like, uh?

Glass houses. He said. And something about vegetables. And something about wine. Vegetables might be harvested in glass houses and wine poured into glasses, but this was far from his point. You're playing with stereotypes fire. I'm just saying, he said.

Pained, but remorseful, I wanted to defend myself. But my posts poke so much fun at myself, I whined. He replied, better to let your readers see themselves in you than for you to put an image onto your readers. Whoa. Sometimes I forget why I married him!

Lesson learned: leave the stereotypes to the movie producers.

Or to the loud-mouthed Americans baring all in reality TV.
I bet they wouldn't recognize an eggplant.

Teamwork

On or about the eve of this year, DH and I vowed to make extra effort in our lives, to one another, to our children, in our home and outside the home. Four months in and I feel like our team is winning.

Seriously, what comes to mind when I try to describe this process, is teamwork. Daily I feel I'm on a team with DH. We get through things together. They might be hard, they might be fun, they might be mundane, but together we make it happen. If you read this blog regularily you'll recognize our efforts, the Makeover, the Great Job Search of '08, the Party, and so on.

This is why when we suffer a setback, I feel so ill equipped. When DH and I have an argument I feel like a part of me is severed. For a day or two, emotionally I wander aimlessly missing limb and leg. My sleeve and pantleg blowing in the wind, I calculate frantically the time and place for my, his, reattachment. It comes in time. And with each mend, we are stronger.

Below is locker talk, verbatim, between DH and me. I've used yada-yada in descretion, because I am so not about rehashing. But I am about owning up.

This excerpt, my friends, is why I am VerrySherry.

The moment had come. The tensions had cooled and emotions in check. I am woman, therefore I start communication:

Honey, you know the other night, when you yada-yada-yada? I ask in apprehension.

Yeeessssss. He replys in long drawn breath.


I think that was really inappropriate and made me very upset. You behaved like a ten year old and I don't understand how you can think that is helpful? I was really disappointed that our date night was ruined. Whew. There. I said it all.


I know. I'm sorry. I was in bad form. I should not have yada-yada-yada. I am sorry.
Oh, well done!

Oh honey. Thank you for your apology.

And for teamwork, or because I just don't know when to stop, I say more:
I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that you yada-yada-yada and that it affected our evening.

And he says,
So basically, you just said you're sorry I'm a dick head?

Fun in the A.M.

This morning I awoke with Jason, Tim, and Bruce. Oh, yeah!

Then, I turned on the girls: Christina, Gwen and Kelly.

Mind out of the gutters, Internets!!

Me. And. My tunes.

Three months and twenty days later, I'm back walking. In the bright morning dew.
Walking is such good medicine and the tunes are my brandy in the spoon.

I'll leave you with this sneak preview.

Giddy-Up!!