women

I started in a new Bible Study tonight. It's a Bible Study for women, held in a home, that had you asked me a year ago, I would have sworn I'd never enter again. I was harbouring hostility and bitterness and heart-muck. Praise God that's been put aside, and I have been given enough grace to cover the wounds and cross the threshold with a smile as a hot cup of tea is made in hospitality. But that's a story for another day.


We're studying Jennifer Rothschild's Walking by Faith.  It looks to be a good study, and judging by the ladies who showed up this evening, I think it'll be a good group of people, too.  I'm looking forward to spending time with these women - getting to know them beyond their positions in the church, or their roles as mothers. The group will be comprised of women past and present from the church I attend, women from the community, and women from other nearby churches. A beautiful mix of ideas, opinions, situations, passions, fears and triumphs. I am excited to see what the next seven weeks will bring.

Getting ready this evening, though, I found myself working through a deluge of self-doubt. I knew that there might be women present with whom wounds had not healed without scars, and was worried about what they would think of me. I took extra time to make sure that my clothes reflected what I wanted them to - comfortable, casual, but still pretty. I took time to reveal the legs beneath all that hair, for fear that one stray unsightly leg hair would proclaim its presence loudly to all who came near, revealing a particular laziness in my life. (I definately shave my legs for other women and what they might think.) I re-re-redid my hair. I chose not to wear makeup in an effort to look like I hadn't tried too hard.

And all the while I thought about why I was doing these things. Is it really so important what these women might think if they knew I don't regularly shave my legs or that I'm not really very good at putting together an outfit? Why do we care so much, we women?

I still have a lot of thinking to do on this one.

conundrum

photo credit

Why is it when you start to think about what you eat, all you ever think about is food!?!

polyvore

Recently, although I don't remember where, I read about [polyvore.com] as a place to create "mood boards" and decor ideas for your home.

Since we are moving in with my in-laws in a couple of months, and every wall needs to be painted, the kitchen/living space needs to be designed and installed, and the bedrooms will need to maximize storage and floor space, I've been really enjoying this site.

It's also a nice outlet for my creativity when I know the house is being shown to potential buyers and I'd rather not pull out (and put away) all of my real crafting supplies.

Here are a few of my recent creations:

You can also put together outfits or wardrobes, or "teeny-bopper" collages with artists and movie stars.

It's certainly more fun to play with over coffee than solitaire or Minesweeper :)

Sundays are Hard

It's Sunday morning.  I've fed William, bathed and dressed him.  I've had my breakfast, and coffee is brewing, hot and fragrant in the kitchen.  I've showered and brushed my teeth.  My makeup bag lays open, contents sprawled across the bathroom counter.  My hair hangs in tangled rings past my shoulders, waiting for a comb and at least two hair elastics - I am not brave when it comes to my hair, and it is perpetually up in a messy bun.  I grumble, plucking a few greys from my freshly scrubbed scalp, I'm too young for grey hair.  This is ridiculous.  I groan when my hair, now combed, doesn't want to stay in the confines of the elastics, doesn't want to hang straight, doesn't want to cooperate with me in any way, and I start to wish I knew a good hairdresser.  I think about when my hair was less than 2 inches long, and how simple it was.  And how manly I looked. Ok, we won't go that far. I need to still be able to pull my hair out of my face.  I start comparing myself to the other moms at church - that one always arrives with perfectly coiffed hair.  That one is so thin, and yes, she does have a child.  Stop, I think, you are your own person.  It doesn't matter what they look like.  And I convince myself that a little foundation and some mascara will hide my insicurities. 

At least until it's time to get dressed.  I open my drawers, clothes folded neatly inside - my jeans that are too tight, and whose metal rivets bite into my hips leaving raw flesh beneath, and my black "going out" pants - an early maternity purchase, still "regular" pants, just a few sizes up from the old me.  I'll have to make due with the same black pants I've worn to church almost every week for the past four months.  Ok, I think to myself, I can handle that.  They're black, they're mostly comfortable, and they're basic. No one will notice that they're the same. Again.   Then I check my drawer of shirts, and decide to clean out the stash as I go - one, two, three, four maternity shirts that I should really pass on to my sister-in-law (who's expecting in September!) that leaves, one, two, three shirts that don't  actually fit this more-generously-proportioned post-pregnancy me.  Apparently there are a few shirts in the laundry hamper, and we're down to three shirts.  Two Value-Villiage finds that are beginning to fall apart, and should only be worn if there is 0% chance of visitors, and I need to scrub the bathroom floor.  And a tank top.  Perfect.  It's February.  I head across the bedroom to the closet - maybe my husband's shirts have had female children in just-my-size overnight.  Wishful Thinking.  So I head back to the dresser.  And then back to the closet.  And I try not to scream in frustration.  And then I remember the one well-fitting, nice-looking, maybe-it's-even-clean, wore-it-last-week-and-the-eight-weeks-prior shirt, and I run to the basement to check the dryer.  It's there.  Great.  I get to go to church looking exactly the same as last week. Again. 

Shoes? Yep, the only pair I have - two chunky grey mesh running shoes.  Perfect for church. :(

It's ok.  No one will notice.  I hope. And I think,  Who am I kidding?  

I'm so tired of feeling ugly.  Boring.  I just want a little life in the way I look.  


I enter the sanctuary where the worship team is doing a final run through of their morning lineup.  I pass off my son to his grandfather, and sit quietly in the back, sipping my coffee and trying desperately to fade into the pew, hoping no one notices how grumpy I am and stops to ask why.  I don't want to have to explain how fantastic a pity party I'm throwing for myself.  I don't want pat answers.  Can't bear the idea of someone breaking in on this shell I've put on and joining the pity party.

I settle in to listen to worship, unable to carry the tunes myself, thanks to these issues with my voice.  I wait for the sermon, try to pay attention, and drift off, back to my pity party part way through the Pastor's teaching.

Sundays are hard for me.  

Just throwing it out there.

Project Log: Episode Three

Quick and Easy Appliquéed Onesie

I've seen on various craft blogs here and there the idea of doing simple appliquées on shirts and dresses.

Lots of flowers and cutesy girlie things.  I don't have any girls.  Just my Little Man. 

So I went with a tie.

So quick and simple - it took me about 45 minutes from creating the tie-template on cardstock to the last [hand-stitched] top stitching for a little bit more dramatic feel.

Pretty cute, eh? 

My Little Man in a little Business Casual:

♥♥♥

Project Log: Episodes One and Two

Easy Faux-Flower Headbands

I found this really cute craft idea on a blog somewhere...can't remember where, but I thought I'd share my version. 

This is a really simple, inexpensive, cute, girlie project.

I bought all of my supplies for this project at the dollar store this morning. 

You'll need: 

* silk flowers

* elastic headbands

* needle

*thread

Step 1: Pull apart your silk flowers.  Arrange them by size, since you'll be working largest to smallest.

This is everything I used for a single headband:

Step 2:  Sew the leaf onto the headband.  I sewed an 'X' through it to give it a little more stability through the next steps.

Step 3: Sew the petals on, working from largest to smallest.  When you get to the last one, bunch it up or fold it over a few times before sewing it in, to give it a little "bud" look in the centre of your flower.

Step 4: Tie off your extra thread in the back and trim so that there are no "danglies".

My finished project looked like this:

One each for Eliana and Lizzie.

To wrap them, I followed this tutorial by Sarah at Create Studio.

I think they turned out pretty cute!

Inner Personalities

A few of my "inner personalities" have come out of dormancy in the recent past...

The Inner Fashionista:
Two weeks ago, I purchased my first ever bottle of nail polish and attempted to paint my own fingernails.
I am passing the polish along to Amy as soon as I can.  The colour looks much prettier in the bottle than on my fingers.  This has something to do with the colour of the polish itself in contrast to my skin, but it is also related to the uneven texture that results from a rookie fingernail painter.  My left hand looks like it got run over by a truck (I'm a leftie).

The Inner Chef:
Last week I, of my own accord, found 2 recipes, made a grocery list, and actually baked mocha muffins (these are tasty, but SO heavy...almost pound-cake consistency) and whole-wheat zucchini bread (a fantastic recipe - just enough sweet topping and so moist!).  From Scratch!  I have never ever enjoyed baking or cooking, but I think now that there are fewer cooks in the kitchen, I can attempt new recipes and ideas with the confidence of someone who has nobody looking over her shoulder and whose husband will eat just about anything and call it delicious.

The Inner "super"Mom:
Last Saturday I was in Waterdown, staying at my parents' house for a few days, and Mom and I made home-made applesauce and home-made baby food.  I baked, scooped, smashed, watered-down, and froze about 5 cups of sweet potatoes, since they were on sale at Fortinos this week.



Growing up, I always felt like I probably should like these activities - playing with my hair and doing fancy makeup designs; baking cookies and cakes and planning fancy dinners for dates I'd never go on; playing with those dolls that eat and pee.  I never did - someone else was always better than I was at being "maternal" or "culinary" or "fashionable".  And now I feel like I'm getting my chance to enjoy those things I was afraid to try - afraid to fail at.
I still don't have the "fashionable" down, but I'm making progress with maternal and culinary skills.  For now, I will blame the dormancy of my inner fashionista on the equally dormant inner wealthy person.