My Simple Craft Room...and finally, Pegboard!



Yes, this is the entire room.  It might be small, but it's all mine.



My tiny craft room is finally ready.  I'm not.  But hopefully soon I'll feel like crafting again. 

It's nice to be on the main level of the house.  I can keep an eye on the kids without constantly running up and down the stairs (which is a danger zone for me), and the view is better from here.

To save money, I tried to repurpose furniture and items from around the house as much as possible.  It isn't the fanciest room ever, but it fit into my current budget (which is just slightly above zero dollars), so it's all good.



I used inexpensive cafe rods to hang my punches.  Adding an extra center support made this work.



Some of the punches wanted to fall on my head, so I banished them to a basket on the table.





An old wall shelf holds my ink pads. 
I attached cup hooks on the underside to keep my blending tools handy.





Magnetic canisters hold buttons, brads and flowers. 
A few pieces of the children's artwork purchased from their school hang beside them to put a smile on my face (as long as I don't think about the dent they put in my wallet).




Bookshelves that were already in the room now hold most of my supplies.
My husband installed additional adjustable shelving between the two main units.




Baskets from my neglected closet now hold Sizzix dies. 
(Who has time for clothes anyway?)




More Sizzix dies. 
Now that I can find them, I'm more likely to use them.




Cuttlekids machine and dies; Sizzix boxed sets.
Again, I can reach them, therefore I'll use them.  Probably.



Photo boxes hold Cricut cartridge handbooks and overlays in alphabetic order.





Embossing folders and texture plates.  I threw away the outer packaging on most,
but kept the cardboard inserts for easy identification.



Large binders hold clear stamps grouped by theme




Stamp sets were slipped into page protectors. 
For the larger sets, I used staples to divide protectors into sections,
then cut with scissors to make pockets. 
I found this idea somewhere in cyberspace. Wish I could give credit,
but it has been longer than 5 minutes so the info has been deleted from my memory.





Small stamp sets (those you find for $1) are in baseball card protector pages. 
Post-It flags were used to separate and identify themed sections.





Wire towers hold paper stacks.  Each pad is labeled for quick identification. 
I used S-hooks to hang Cricut mats along one side,
and I have over-the-cabinet-door wire baskets hanging on the other side to hold tools.



More paper storage and my teeny, tiny tv (at least I can hear the shows). 
Cricut cartridges and inks are in pull-out drawers.



Cricut cartridges are labeled with Post-It flags and kept in alphabetical order. 
I found these little green baskets at Big Lots a while back, 3-for-a-dollar.




Even though I didn't have a good spot for my spinner storage, I couldn't bear to part with it. 
It's perfect for Stickles, embossing powder and glitter.



Expandable bamboo storage trays made to organize utensil drawers were
hung from the wall to hold my mounted rubber stamps. 
 I attached picture hanging hardware to the back along one side of each
so that gravity would cause them to fully extend.





This long folding table was the work surface in my old space.  It now holds cardstock and other loose paper.  Underneath are plastic storage drawers, which hold various tools and supplies.




I decided to finally use some of my hoard of vinyl to dress up the walls. 
(Serenity is another dream of mine, right behind the desire for pegboard. 
Hey, that happened, so maybe I'll find serenity some day, too.)



Vinyl Butterflies. 
(My mind is thinking, "I'll fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away..."...Yep, some day.)




Birds adorn my favorite wall...my pegboard wall, that is.  More thoughts of taking flight.




Love these little pegboard baskets I found at Home Depot!




I used an old lipstick holder to keep my mini misters upright.  This is why I can't throw anything away.



I cut strips of foam and glued them inside the squares to hold the mini misters securely.




An old door shelf unit mounted to the wall holds rolls of ribbon.  My husband advised me that since it's full, there would be no reason to buy more ribbon.  He has his dreams, too.




This storage case is perfect for my Sizzix paddle punches. 
And now that it's within easy reach on my shelves, I might actually use them.





A separate zippered compartment in the storage case holds the hammer and mat for the paddle punches.



And the dream that started it all...A wall of pegboard.



It might not be the most beautiful craft room, but it's functional.  At least, I think it will be.  I haven't actually made anything in there yet.  Mostly I sit and stare at the awesomeness of my pegboard.





Lost in a Digital World

I spent countless hours over the past several days uploading hundreds of photos to a photo printing service, all with a less-than-reliable internet connection.  Talk about frustration.  My plan had been to take a closer look at the pictures before I ordered the prints, and weed out the duplicates (and all the ones of me).  But I kept losing my connection (to the internet, not to reality.  Yet.)  So I threw my hands up (figuratively) and said "screw it" (...to myself...out loud.  Maybe my connection to reality is as weak as my internet connection after all.)  I decided to just order a copy of everything and sort through it later.  After all, the first 500 prints were only a penny each.  I could afford that.  Well, almost.

At checkout, I saw the astronomical shipping cost.  Maybe I should take a second look at all those photos.  So I painstaking sorted through my shopping cart, choosing only the pictures I really wanted.  My shoulders ached.  My eyes were tired.  I hadn't even had my morning coffee.  And then I lost my connection.  Again, only to the internet.  Reality was still all too real.  All my efforts were in vain.  None of my changes were saved.

I've decided to do what the young people do.  Forget paying for photo prints. That's for chumps anyway.    I'll just keep a digital copy of all my photos on my computer the way God intended.  Until my hard drive crashes and I lose everything.  Including my sanity.

I hate technology.

Pegboard Envy

I'm not sure what to think.  My husband has been way too involved in my scraproom transformation.  All coinciding with his renewed interest in my life insurance policy.  I haven't made the connection yet, but there's something goin' on...

I've been complaining about my craft room since the day it was created.  Although the room was fairly large, it had slanted walls.  You'd be surprised how much space you lose that way.  And I shared the room with a very large desk, a large television, and two giant pieces of exercise equipment.   Once I started getting serious about buying (and storing) supplies, there really ceased to be any space left in which to actually craft.  I've totally redesigned the space several times, which says a lot about the lack of functionality since I've only been there a couple of years.

From the moment we moved into our house twenty years ago, we've had this small room on the main level which serves no real purpose.  It was intended to be a guest bedroom, but our builder screwed up the floor plan and the room ended up too small and with no closet.  A wasted space.  I wanted to turn it into a giant closet so I could continue to collect clothes, but closets tend to add little to a home's resale value unless attached to a large bedroom.  So I've mostly used it as an office.  Or more precisely (since I'm no longer earning a living), a room with a computer.  Then a few years ago when I realized our granddaughters were going to be living here permanently, I turned it into a nice space for them to do homework, art projects, or spend time on the computer.  Because it was near the main living space, I tried to decorate it as nicely as possible without spending much money.

Kids don't appreciate anything.  We had already spent a small fortune finishing our basement into a nice hangout for the girls, complete with a large-screen tv, home theater, game system, and tons of cabinets for storing all the other things kids think they need.  They rarely go down there.  Then I noticed they weren't spending much time in the computer room, either.  When they did go in there, they were trashing the place.  But more and more, they were spending every available moment in their bedrooms.  Enough's enough.  I decided to reclaim my life.  And my home.  I could have kicked their ungrateful backsides out of the large basement.  It has all the storage I could ever dream of.  And a big tv.  But being the loving grandmother I am (contrary to what you might have heard), I decided to move my craft room into the tiny computer room.  (Which, by the way, was my computer room before the grandkids were even born.  So there.)

Anyway, to make a long story even longer, I have wanted pegboard since forever.  I see craft rooms with pegboard and my evil, sinful nature rears its ugly head.  I want your pegboard.  What makes you so special?

I have a short attention span and an even shorter memory, so the only way I can remember what I have is if I can see it.  Pegboard puts everything front and center.  And don't get me started on how unlikely I am to use something if I have to fight my way to get to it.  I need to reach and grab without much effort.  Yep, I'm a lazy crafter.

So my (sometimes) sweet husband convinced me to boot the kids out (of the room, not the entire house) and move my craft space to the main level.  Almost as soon as the decision was made, he was installing a wall of pegboard.  He seemed so very eager to do this for me.  A little too eager.  Now that I think about it, maybe I should see just how securely that heavy pegboard is mounted...

Giraffe Card

My big sister and I were always close.  She didn't have a choice.  We were only 13 months apart, and I followed her everywhere.  Eleven years ago this month she suffered a post-surgical infection, which left her in a persistent vegetative state.  I don't get to visit her very often since we're hundreds of miles apart, so I try to send cards from time to time.  I don't know if she is aware of her surroundings, but just in case, I want her to know I love her and that she is always on my mind.  She collected giraffe figurines for many years, so I usually include a giraffe on each of her cards.

This card was my first attempt at coloring a stamped image.  It was so relaxing to channel my inner child!  I can see myself spending a lot of time practicing this technique in the future.

And I can't conclude this post without saying how very much I appreciate my younger sisters for always being there for Teresa.  Even though they have families and lead busy lives, they visit her in the nursing home regularly and make sure she is well cared for.  They are my heros.  And hers.

Anniversary Card

Sometimes I can't help myself.  I'll feel a compulsion to make something besides trouble. 

This card was for my daughter and son-in-law on their second anniversary.  I really wanted to make a card with a moveable wheel--you know, the kind you buy for a child that allows you to change the wheel to reflect the correct age.  I figured if I stamped "Happy Anniversary" and added a wheel with "2nd, 3rd, 4th", etc., I wouldn't need to make another card for several years.  (And that's how long it seems to take me to think up an idea when I need to design a card.)

But I have a short attention span, so this is what I ended up with.  I used a Tim Holtz/Sizzix die (Ornamentals, I think) for the shape, and added the lock and key from the Tim Holtz/Sizzix Movers and Shapers line, which I heat-embossed to give the appearance of metal.  I used a lot of kraft paper to keep it from looking too girly (after all, it really was for both of them).

Thanks for looking!

Cause for Celebration

According to the calendar, it was my granddaughter's 13th birthday.  I'm beginning to believe it was actually my special day.

We sang a pretty regrettable rendition of "Happy Birthday", ate cake and opened presents (mainly consisting of what every teen wants--hard, cold cash). The child realized she now had enough money to buy what she had always dreamed of (or if not always, at least for the past few months): an IPod Touch.  Grandpa said he'd take everyone with him to make the purchase, and I could stay home and have time to myself.


I had spent the afternoon doing last-minute birthday shopping, baking cakes, whipping up frosting, and decorating for the celebration.  I was also smack in the middle of a mountain of laundry, a sink full of dirty dishes, and making hundreds of trips up and down stairs in the ill-timed process of moving the entire contents of one room to another.  I wasn't exactly relaxing, but with the house to myself  I could now complete my chores without constantly being interrupted and pulled in fifty different directions.

I'll take what I can get.  Happy birthday to me!

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hallelujah!  The kids are back in school.  Just the way God intended.

Try not to judge me too harshly for my uncontained excitement.  These are my grandkids.   My youngest child is 27.  I should be resting on a beach somewhere, not raising children for the 33rd consecutive year.  I'm tired.  I'm cranky.  I'm menopausal.

The past few months have claimed the last scraps of my sanity.  Yes, some stay-at-home moms/grandmoms look forward to summer.  I'm not one of them.  I do enjoy not having to struggle to get the kids out of bed at a reasonable hour.  And not fighting about homework is nice.  But having absolutely no time to myself makes me long for the first day of school.  Sure, I love these children.  Can't I love them from afar?  At least for a few hours a day?

This year has been especially difficult.  For various reasons we weren't able to take a vacation.  I really needed a vacation.  It's been the summer from hell.  I just wanted a chance to breath.

Chatty Cathy, age nine, has been following me around since June, unable to stop talking. Somewhere in a medical journal there must be a name for this disorder.  All I know is:  I can't take it any longer.  I love her dearly.  But if I were to go deaf tomorrow, it wouldn't be soon enough.

Lovesick Lucy, age 13, cycles from not speaking to me at all, yelling at me about some perceived injustice, or talking my ears off about the latest object of her affection.  I love her with all my heart.  But there's only room for one hormonal crazy woman in this house.  And I was here first.

I can't find it in the book of Genesis in my Bible, but I'm pretty sure somewhere in those first six days, God created school.

Game Time

I desperately needed to get out of the house.  A little peace and quiet was all I really wanted.

I told my husband I was going to Big Lots.  He just happened to need something from a nearby store.  I hated making another stop, but I figured it was only fair since I was spending his money.  And leaving the kids with him.  And what he needed was a part from the hardware store to fix a faucet.  Even I'm not selfish enough to say no under those circumstances.

When I went to say goodbye (after all, I wasn't sure I was even coming back), the 13-year-old was in his home office badgering him about taking her school shopping.  The kids don't even bother asking me anymore.  I would rather walk across fire with a knife in my back than take the kids to a store with me, and they know it.

Still feeling a little guilty that I was leaving him alone with the kids and a plumbing problem, I thought maybe I would take her off his hands and possibly even stop at Staples to buy the binder she had to have right now.

I knew before I walked into the first store that I had made a colossal mistake, considering the weak grip I had on the remaining scraps of my sanity.  She was bouncing around like a kid in a candy store.  It was Tractor Supply, for crying out loud.  This was going to be a rough night.

Big Lots wasn't any better.  I bought the couple of things I needed and decided there couldn't be anything in the store exciting enough to risk having a breakdown then and there.  There are enough stores I'm too ashamed to step foot in again.  I really like Big Lots.

Staples was where it all fell apart.  While she was trying to choose the binder she wanted (inevitably the most expensive one), I went to find a few things I wanted that were on sale.  She kept tracking me down.  "Nana, you keep getting away from me!"  Yes, dear, I keep trying.  As I tried to steer her back to the binders, she kept finding things she wanted.  Things we probably already have at home.  Things we don't need. But she kept at it.  Finally, tired of being the only grandma in the store yelling at her grandchild, I relented and agreed to one of the items she so desperately needed.  Rookie mistake.  And I'm no rookie.  The game was on.

"Nana!  Please get me this pack of erasers!  The colors are so pretty!  I promise I'll share with my sister!"  (She won't.)

"Oh, Nana, look! I really need this!"  (She didn't.)

"Can I get this, please?  It will really come in handy!"  (It wouldn't.)

I came home physically and emotionally exhausted... and financially broke.  And swearing I'll never take the kids shopping again.

From Cricut Tool Kit Case to Kindle Cover

(Try saying that fast three times.)

My granddaughter informed me just minutes before her 9th birthday that she wanted a case for her Kindle.  I was actually pretty excited because I was way ahead of her.  Well, ahead in the sense that I knew she needed something to protect the Kindle that I kept finding in the most unsafe places around the house.  I had been looking online, first to see how much the cases cost, and later, to see how in the heck I could make one to avoid paying the exorbitant amount they were charging for these things.

On Youtube, I found some covers people had made from old books, with the book reader nestled into hollowed-out pages.  Nah, not really what I wanted.  I started closely examining the ready-made covers.  I think I could make that.  But wouldn't it be so much easier if I could skip a step!  A few of those cases reminded me of something I'd seen before...

Yes, that was it!  I had been holding on to this case from my Cricut tool kit, "collector" that I am.  How could I throw away a perfectly useful thing like this, even if I had no use for it at the time?  Who's laughing now?  I located the Kindle and crossed my fingers that it would fit inside.  Just like Cinderella and the glass slipper, it was the perfect fit!  For once, my refusal to throw anything away paid off.

Now to figure out the details.  Would it be difficult to remove the foam inserts?

Well, yes and no.  The first piece came out perfectly, leaving a nice foam pad on which to rest the Kindle.  Could it really be this easy?

Of course not.  The second side started ripping as soon as I tried to pry the shaped foam tool holder from the backing.  Oh well, I'm still a step ahead of starting from scratch. 

I then measured the inside to see what size to cut the fabric to make padding for the "naked" side (even though my measurements are shown on the padded side--they're the same size and it photographed better).

Inside Measurements

I cut my fabric the width of the case plus a little extra for seams.

fabric width

I cut my fabric length roughly three times the length of the case to allow for seams and a small pocket.

fabric length

I folded it in half lengthwise, stitched across the width leaving a couple of inches open in the middle for turning right-side-out later. (Sorry, I forgot to photograph this step.)  I then adjusted the fabric so that the seam was about halfway down the fabric length, then stitched both side seams closed (this would allow the seam to be hidden on the backside).  I turned the piece right-side-out through the opening in the seam and pressed smooth.  I didn't bother stitching the opening shut since the case isn't washable and the seam is hidden.

I flipped the piece over so the seam was on the back.  I then folded the bottom up to make a pocket, leaving the finished piece the same length as my earlier measurements.  I pressed the pocket in place.

measuring for final size

I cut a length of ribbon to trim the pocket edge.

I then opened the piece to sew the ribbon in place (shown from the back side).

I then folded the pocket back into place (note the ruler showing the lengthwise measurement of the case).

I turned the ribbon ends under the fabric piece and stitched along both sides to hold the pocket in place.  I used a combination of fabric glue and hot glue to hold the fabric piece to the inside front of the cover.

I then cut two pieces of ribbon to make the lower corners that hold the Kindle in place.  These were cut long enough to double (for added strength) and with enough extra length to hand stitch to the sides and bottom of each lower corner.  Just an FYI:  this step wasn't easy.

I then cut a length of ribbon long enough to go across the top from side to side with a little extra to turn under.  I added a short piece of elastic on each end to allow enough flexibility to slip the Kindle underneath.  (This was originally going to be two corner pieces, but after the trouble I had with the first two, I didn't want to attempt that again.  She's only nine years old; maybe she won't be too critical of my shortcuts.)

Top piece, ready to be sewn in place.  I tried to position it so that it wouldn't interfere with reading.

See how nicely the Kindle fits inside?  How lucky can one woman get???

I used these two items to glue the inside padding/pocket piece.  You could use any fabric glue; this just happened to be what I had available at 1 a.m.

I then ironed some Heat 'n Bond to a piece of the same fabric I used for the inside.  I wanted to cut a flower to cover the Cricut logo on the front with something more appropriate for a young girl.  Don't hate on me all you Cricut lovers!--I still used my Cricut to cut the flower.

I used Design Studio to hide the inner cut lines from a flower shape I found on the Plantin Schoolbook cartridge.  After cutting it on my Cricut (my first attempt at cutting fabric and it worked great!), I used my sewing machine to zigzag the edges.  (Not the neatest job in the world, but acceptable for a rush job at 1:30 a.m.  We'll call it "shabby chic".)

I didn't actually iron the flower to the front cover because I wasn't sure how heat-resistant the case was, but I glued it down with fabric glue.  I attached a jewel to a green button for the flower center (looks like an olive, and at this point I really could have used a martini, or something with a shot of booze).  I cut a piece of ribbon long enough to loop into a leaf-type shape, and glued it down where the pieces met in the middle.  I then cut a length of ribbon for the stem and glued it under the bottom of the flower and over the middle of the leaves down to the bottom of the case (not shown; sorry, but it was nearly 2 a.m. and just hours before the birthday party).

As a final touch, I attached a small piece of ribbon to the zipper pull. 

Here's the finished interior, ready to protect the Kindle from everything except a careless 9 year old.

And here's the finished front cover.  Sure, I could have made it even fancier, but if you know me at all, you know I don't get much fancier than this.  Besides, it's for a young girl who will either lose it or get tired of it soon.  This way, I won't get nearly as annoyed when I find it in the trash.

Thanks for looking!  Hope this inspires you to repurpose something from your hoard!

I've Fallen and Nobody's Here to Help Me Up!

Every day I see the same commercial while I'm trying to relax with a little Judge Judy or Judge Joe Brown, and it bothers me.   The ad I'm talking about is for one of those "I've fallen and can't get up" alert systems for people who live alone.

Now, I don't live alone (only in my dreams), but I can imagine the horror of being injured, or just too damned tired to get up, and needing assistance that isn't coming.  In my life (the real one), I live with my husband and two granddaughters.  I often wonder what would happen if I fell (oh wait, that already happened) and no one came to check on me (again, already happened).  I usually figure if I can just hang on until the next mealtime, somebody will come to see why the hell there isn't any food on the table.

So back to the commercial:  The lady states she lives alone and rarely has visitors.  Recently she fell and couldn't get to a phone to seek help.   She goes on to say that as she lay there for eight hours (eight hours!), she couldn't help thinking of her kids and grandkids having to go on without her. 

If I find myself on the floor alone for eight hours, I'm thinking things like: Where the hell is everybody???,  and Nobody gives a damn what happens to me!!!  I'm definitely not having delusional thoughts about how difficult life will be for my family, who are never around when I need them.

I'm a realist.  I live with the assurance that if I fall, drown or have a heart attack, everybody will go on just fine without me.  At least until dinnertime.

Welcome Little Star

I made this card to welcome my nephew's first child.   The baby on the moon is from the Cricut Baby Steps cartridge.  I punched the stars with a Martha Stewart Punch All Over the Page, Starry Sky  (looks like I need a little practice lining that one up, or maybe the problem was that it was 2 a.m.)  Although you can't really see it in the picture, I used a shimmery cardstock underneath the patterned paper to give the effect of twinkling stars.  (Again,  photographing at 2 a.m. doesn't produce professional quality pictures.) 

Excuses, excuses.

Date Night Never Looked Like This

I thought that when I reached this age I'd be feathering my empty nest.  I fantasized that after decades of raising children and being tied down by their schedules, my husband and I could finally enjoy our freedom.  We'd travel, stroll through antique shops, and have romantic dinners by candlelight.  Didn't happen.

Tonight is date night.  But not for me and my husband.  I'm sitting at home alone, enjoying a "glass" of wine, and watching a recorded episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive (it keeps me motivated).  My almost-thirteen year old granddaughter is at the movies with her latest boyfriend, and my husband is in an adjoining theater watching a movie with the nine year old girl.

While I appreciate the peace and quiet, this isn't what I envisioned when I was making plans for our future.  But for now, I'll take what I can get.  Cheers.

Bad Things Happen After Dark

At 3:30 a.m. I was jarred out of my very-brief slumber by a loud thump.  My first thought was that my 12-year-old granddaughter was up doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing at that hour (now why would I think this???)  Of course it could possibly be the eight-year-old trying to squeeze in a few extra hours of playtime (she's been studying at the foot of the master).  I stumbled down the hallway, tripping over one piece of crap after another, and started the bed check.  Eight-year-old appeared to be asleep; of course that was questionable.  But no dressers were overturned, so I backed out slowly.  Twelve-year-old's light was out, but I heard the TV...stepped inside to find her lying on her bed, eyes closed, but quite possibly faking.  I called out her name.  No answer.  But everything appeared to be in place so I left.  Of course my husband slept through it all. 

My next step was to see if we had burglars.  A rational woman might get her husband to go along for protection, but that doesn't fly in my house.  A few nights earlier I had experienced a similar situation; as I was walking down the dark hallway to investigate the noise, I tripped over an open suitcase from my granddaughter's trip to camp the previous week.  I tumbled across it, certain I was going down face-first and would probably break a few bones in the process (the last three I broke still haven't quite healed).  Yes, I used a few profane words.  In a loud voice.  Intended to wake the dead.  Did my "loving" spouse come to check on me?  Don't make me laugh.  So being the caring spouse I am, and thinking maybe he really was dead and I hadn't been loud enough to wake him, I went to check on him.  Like this:  HEY!!!  Didn't you hear me?  I nearly broke my neck on that damn suitcase!  He barely moved.  As he rolled over to go back to sleep, I took one departing shot.  Thanks for all your concern, Jacka$$!!!!!!!!   With that, I slammed the bedroom door just for the fun of it.

So I went to check for prowlers on my own.  I crept around the corner of the basement stairs, hoping desperately not to see the flicker of a flashlight.  Nothing.  Either no one was there or they were way better at stumbling around in the dark than I am.

 

 

In the morning my husband informed me that he couldn't "rouse" the 12-year-old for church.  This is getting tiresome.  Somewhere along the way she has developed this notion that she can refuse to open her eyes, pretend to be dead to the world, and the big bad boogey man will go away.  I assure you, she didn't get this idea from me.  When it's time to get out of bed (especially if it's something that gets the kids out of the house), I don't tiptoe in the dark and I don't whisper gently in their ears.  Anyway, around lunchtime, sick of watching her spend her days in bed sleeping and her nights up doing God-knows-what while my husband sleeps soundly, I went to her room to "convince" her to get her butt out of bed. 

There was no bed.

Now I know without a doubt there was a bed at 3:30 this morning.  I saw it.  I'm not crazy.  Working on it, but not there yet.

"Get up!"  I said (rather calmly I thought, under the circumstances).  "What happened to your bed???"

I think I had to repeat myself a few times, but I don't quite remember, being in shock and all.  Finally, she mumbled something about "It's a long story.  Ask Grandpa."  Silly me, thinking he had grown a pair, I had the fleeting idea that he had taken the bed away in an effort to teach her that sleeping all day won't be tolerated.  No such luck.  According to him, when he went to wake her up that morning the bed had already been dismantled.  Seems it wasn't comfortable enough for the princess.

Princess needs a new bed.

Well, at least I now have a good idea what woke me up.  The good news is that burglars don't seem to be my problem.  The bad news?  A 12-year-old up at 3:30 in the a.m. with nothing better to do than dismantle furniture.  It's going to be six long sleepless years until I'm no longer legally responsible for her actions.

Little Blessings Disguised as Big Trouble



If you've ever stumbled upon my blog before, you know I like to complain.  And there seems to be an endless variety of topics that inspire me.  Aging.  Raising my granddaughters.  Aging caused by raising my granddaughters.  But hopefully you've visited here often enough to know I love my granddaughters with all my heart... and then some.

Tonight I was looking through a few scrapbook pages I've been working on.  (Yes, I do occasionally craft.  I just try not to make a habit of it.)  My current project is from a family vacation to the Caribbean in 2009.  Maybe it was those soothing pictures of the clear turquoise water.  Or the memories of the warm sand beneath my feet.  Could it be the bottle of wine I just consumed?  (Just kidding--I'm stone-cold sober.  I only sound like I've been drinking.)  All I know is: I had an epiphany.

Yes, I complain about giving up the dreams I had for my golden years.  And I certainly don't have the energy required to clean up or chase after two kids for ten more years.  Just the thought of arranging another playdate or birthday party, attending another school open house or PTA meeting, or God forbid hosting another sleepover, sends my blood pressure to a level never-before recorded in the history of mankind.  But these girls bring true joy into my life.  Not the joy I was looking for at this age.  Joy I wasn't expecting.  And it feels good.

For now.  I might have a different story to tell after they wake up in the morning.

Never too Young for the School of Martha

The pressure starts early.

My youngest granddaughter thought she should make a bouquet for her teacher.  She wanted to pick some flowers from around our yard, which wasn't easy since the pickin's are rather slim right now.  (I think you are supposed to "tend" to your plants from time to time.  We don't.)

After we tiptoed through the tulips dog droppings and snake holes, we found a few decent blooms.  I dug out a small vase (from a cabinet, not from the snake-infested "flower beds") and told her to arrange the flowers in whatever way she thought looked best.  "I can't make this look good, Nana.  We could sure use Martha Stewart's help right now."   Where does she hear these things?

"I think adding some greenery might help", I said, looking at the sad, sparse little flowers bobbing around in the water.  I went outside to look for something, anything, that might work.  My granddaughter followed me.  She was fascinated that I had thought of adding simple leaves to our floral arrangement.  "Boy, you sure can learn a lot from Martha Stewart!" 

I see lots of floral arranging, pie baking and bed sheet ironing in her future.  How did I let this happen?

Even this sad little bouquet looks nice when presented with such a happy face!

Serendipity

I haven't smiled much lately.  It's not that my life is so bad, it just hasn't turned out to be what I had worked toward.  Sometimes I forget that God has a much better plan than mine.


My youngest daughter called her dad early last week to let him know that she and her husband would be coming to visit.   They live several hundred miles away and we don't see them nearly often enough.  I hadn't even spoken to my daughter in a few weeks, which is unusual. I was starting to take it personally, but I also knew she was going through a lot.  She works long hours as a nurse in a hospital, and lately she has taken on extra shifts.  They were trying to prepare their home for sale, not knowing where they would move but knowing it was time for a change.  Then recently she was devastated to learn that she and her husband would have a very difficult time conceiving a child.  Being a mother has been her dream for several years now.  My heart ached for her.  She was learning to cope as best she could.  But then she decided to make the most of this road block and completely change the course of her life.  Rather than starting a family, she was now focused on turning her life into an adventure.  While I was sad for her and her husband that babies most likely weren't in their near-future, I was relieved that she was ready to move forward with other possibilities.


The day they were to arrive, I was out running errands when my daughter called me from my house.  I cut short my "errands" (code word for time- and money-wasting shopping excursions) and rushed home. 


When I walked through the door we exchanged hugs and talked about ordering pizza for lunch.  As I was putting away groceries (sometimes "errands" really do include errands), she stated that she had some news.  Trying to put on a supportive face, I braced myself to hear that she had been accepted into the Army.  Being the wife of a National Guardsman, she had decided that if she couldn't become a mother, she would challenge herself much the same as my son-in-law had a few years earlier.  She was actually looking forward to bootcamp.  We're alike in many ways, just not this one.


As she made her announcement, it became clear why she hadn't called lately.  This was news she wanted to give in person, and she was afraid if she spoke to me on the phone she wouldn't be able to contain her excitement.

That's right--they were having a baby!  I'm not sure what happened next.  I think I asked if this was happy news in light of the new plans they had made.  I think they responded that yes, this was good news.  All I know for sure is that I smiled a big goofy grin that probably lasted longer than was comfortable for anyone watching.  But I was happy.  Extremely happy.


When I first learned of the fertility problems my daughter and son-in-law were having, I prayed for a miracle.  I prayed more faithfully than I have in a long time in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure God was sick of hearing me whine about one thing after another.  This was different.  I had to be tenacious for my daughter and her husband.  And just a few short months later, I find my prayers were answered.   Oops, I forgot to withdraw the request when plans changed.  I hope my daughter will forgive me.  Judging from the smile on her face, I'm pretty sure she will.


Sometime in January, I plan to welcome my third grandchild into this crazy experience we call "life".  It isn't always what we want, but if we can find a way to gratefully accept everything God places in front of us, somewhere between all the heartbreak and disappointment we will find an abundance of His blessings.

Wasted My Life Again in Martharitaville

(Apologies to Jimmy Buffett for butchering his song title.)


I'm not reMarthable.  If you don't get the reference, you aren't watching enough Martha Stewart.  Unfortunately, I watch her shows way too much.  It isn't healthy.  Not for me, anyway.  As I previously posted, it's just too much pressure.

For those who can live up to that standard, I say more power to you.  I think the difference is in how we tackle life.  People who are reMarthable most likely embrace life.  Me?   It's more like I'm clinging to the last scrap of hope.  And that's one scrap that's hard to turn into something beautiful.

I enjoy cooking.  Sort-of.  The wonderful, delicious-sounding meals I see prepared on Martha's shows would never fly in my home.  I had expected that by this point in my life I would be cooking for just me and my husband, and I was sure I could turn him around to a more gourmet lifestyle if only because he would starve to death otherwise.  But I'm still cooking for three picky people.  Some evenings I'm tempted to set out a variety of jarred baby food and let them go at it.

What can I say about crafting?  Martha makes it look so easy.  But when I go into my cramped, unorganized crafting space (the one I share with our exercise equipment, a large tv, giant desk and various kitchen appliances), for some reason nobody has bothered to lay out all my needed supplies in an orderly fashion.  The same thing with home improvement/repairs.  Recently I watched Martha learning to re-grout bathroom tile.  Not only don't I have an expert there to guide me through the process, but I can be assured that when I personally go to assemble all the necessary tools (because I'm self-reliant that way), something will either be missing or the battery will be dead. 

And don't get me started on how great Martha looks.  I'm pretty sure she's at least 15 years older than me.  I doubt anyone would guess that.   Shouldn't she have wrinkles?  At least on her face if not in her clothes. And speaking of clothes, how can she cook and not splatter grease on hers???  I wear a giant apron and I still come away from my stove covered with stains.  But if things don't change around here soon, in the very near future those stains will come from opening jars of pureed carrots.

Judgment Day

Someone has once again declared that judgment day is upon us.  For me, every day is judgment day. 

Recently my 12-year-old granddaughter told me I needed to get a job.  To her credit (most likely  because she didn't want to set me off), she wisely added that she understands I already have a job--caring for her and her younger sister and all the work that goes into that.  But she thinks I need to work outside the home.  Why?  Has the economic downturn taken such a toll on our family that she fears our downfall?  Does she just wish we had more disposable income so we'll finally buy her that much-coveted Ipod Touch?  No.  She simply wants a more sophisticated answer when her friends ask what her parents do.  I suggested she tell them I'm retired from the health insurance industry.  Nope, that wasn't good enough.  "Well," I said, "at my age and because I haven't worked in thirteen years, the best job I could get would most likely be at a fast-food restaurant.  Is that what you want to tell your friends?"  (Not that there's anything wrong with an honest day's work at any job; I just figured she was looking for something impressive to report to her peeps.)  She had a blank look on her face in response to this, suggesting maybe this would be better than admitting your grandmother "doesn't do anything".  Okay, this would require some finesse.  I have no desire to re-enter the workforce except under the most dire circumstances, but I refuse to give my grandchild another reason to resent me.  So I stated my case: "Honey, do you really want me to be more stressed that I already am?  Can you imagine how much yelling I'll do if I work all day then have to come home to cook, clean and do laundry?"   It took only one brief second for her to reply, "You're right, you don't need a job."

Case closed.  All charges were dropped.

Embarrassed by her Grandmother, again...

Unplanned, But Never a Mistake

Big Attitude in a Small Package

Today I celebrate the 33rd birthday of my firstborn child.  There is really no way to describe a mother's love.  I certainly couldn't understand it until I experienced myself.

I was only 18 when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant.  I was single, barely out of high school, naive and scared to death.  But I already loved the child growing inside me.  Back in the '70s, being unmarried and pregnant was a much bigger scandal than it is now.  But no amount of personal shame would have prevented me from giving birth to this precious gift.

For many years it was just the two of us.  Then I met the man who would become her father.  He loved her immediately, which was fortunate for him because we were a package deal.  Shortly after we were married, he adopted her.  And from that day forward he has never thought of her as anything but his own daughter. 

Over the years we've been through just about anything you can imagine.  We've experienced happiness, sorrow and unbearable pain.  But through it all I've loved my daughter with all my heart.  And I'm proud of the strong young woman she has become.

Some of the best things in life aren't planned.  They come along unexpectedly and give you joy you never thought possible. 

He Did It For Me...and For You

Romans 5:8 - But God demonstrates His own love for us in this:  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

I love Christmas.  Family gatherings, good food, watching children's faces light up as they open gifts, it's truly a special time.  And in the midst of it all, I enjoy attending the Christmas Eve service at church.  After all the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, it's wonderful to relax and remember the reason for our celebration:  the birth of Jesus Christ.

But the holiday that touches my heart more than any other is Easter.  To know that Jesus offered Himself as a sacrifice to atone for my sins is more humbling than I can express.  I've struggled with this my entire life.  What makes me so special?  And how do I live with the guilt?  But God doesn't command us to comprehend this; He only requires us to believe and accept this precious gift. 

I find it hard to speak to others about my relationship with my Savior.  It has nothing to do with being ashamed of Him.  It has everything to do with being ashamed of me.  After all, I'm not the best representative for someone so holy.  I have failed Him in so many ways.  But He gave me the gift of everlasting life.  And all I had to do was reach out and take it.  The least I can do is let others know that the gift can be theirs, too. 

May God bless you this Easter Sunday and every day.

Gold and Diamonds and Memories, Oh My!

Someone recently asked the following question:  If you had the opportunity to trade your original wedding ring(s) for something with a larger stone, more modern, or just more to your liking, would you do so? (This was assuming you still had the spouse that came with it.)  I was faced with this dilemma a few years ago.  So here's my story...

I had been married at least twenty years.  I can't remember where I was or why I noticed, but much to my horror I discovered the diamond was missing from my engagement ring.  I immediately tried to retrace my steps (just for the day, not the entire twenty years), but the stone was nowhere to be found.  For days I searched my house, my car, my pants pockets; everywhere I went, I searched.  Eventually, my obsession with finding the diamond died down and I gave up.

Fast forward (months? years?  I don't remember how long):  I was cleaning my laundry room and pulled out the washer and dryer to clean the floors.  (Trust me, this isn't a regular habit of mine...I'm pretty sure it was the only time I've ever done that.)  For some reason...instinct or divine intervention...I decided that rather than simply sweeping up the piles of debris, I would actually search through the dust bunnies (and quite possibly actual bunny carcasses) to search for lost treasures.  And there amidst the filth was a shiny object smaller than a pencil eraser.  A really tiny pencil eraser.  Could it be?  I was giddy with excitement!  I showed my husband, but he wasn't convinced it was my diamond.  Maybe he was under the misconception that he had bought me a bigger stone.  But I pulled out my engagement ring setting, placed the mini jewel on top of the broken prongs, and bingo!  It was a match.  I set the pieces aside, unsure if I really wanted to spend the cash to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.  After all, if my husband thought my original diamond was bigger than the stone I had found, didn't I owe it to him to repair my ring with a better representation of his love for me?

Time went by (again...months? years?  I have no idea), and it was Christmas.  My granddaughter had been hinting at a surprise that her grandfather had for me.  And yes, you guessed it.  Presented to me all shiny and pretty again was my engagement ring!  But the diamond in it now, if you believe it could even be possible, was smaller than before.   When my husband had taken it to the jeweler to have the stone reset, he learned that what he had in his possession wasn't a real diamond.  The jeweler  claimed it couldn't  be the original stone because it was too large for my setting, but I think that was only because the prongs had broken off.  No matter, I had my ring back. 

Now the question remains:  Was the stone I found beneath my dryer the one that had been in my ring?  If so, my husband was ripped off by the jewelry store where it was purchased.  If not, what was it and where was it from?  Life is full of mystery.  Or something.

Now that we've taken the scenic route, let's get back to the point of the story.  Why didn't I replace my engagement diamond with a larger one?  I'm sentimental.  I also have a difficult time parting with clothing and toys my children have outgrown.  I can't part with clothes I've outgrown, either.  Something to do with remembering a time when I was younger and thinner (I also heard someone say this on a show about hoarding--we'll save that topic for another day).  And there has never been a photo so bad that I could bear to throw it away.  I like to have something tangible to go along with my memories.

My engagement and wedding rings are a reminder of all the years my husband and I have spent together.  Good times and bad.  They are reminders of where we started and the journey we've taken since.  They were chosen 28 years ago by my then-boyfriend, who totally surprised me when he got down on one knee and proposed.  I remember the moment when marriage was no longer just an abstract idea, and I had to decide if I was ready to commit to spending the rest of my life with this one man.  Those rings have been with me during childbirth, tragedies, heartbreak, joy, sadness, loneliness, and everything else life has given us.  My rings have experienced more air travel than I have due to the countless times I've thrown them across one room or another in a fit of anger.  They remind me most of all that God sent me one special man... not a perfect one, but one handpicked just for me.  Sometimes I need a visual reminder of that.  And sometimes I just need something to throw.

Blindsided

My intention wasn't really to make "pun" of anything, but the title just happened to be the first word I thought of when I decided to write about this.

I received some upsetting news at my routine eye exam Tuesday.  I've long known my vision was deteriorating, but I assumed it was another toll my advancing age was taking on me.  For almost their entire lives, any time my grandkids thrust some tiny object in front of my face I've reminded them that I'm "blind" and can't begin to see it without my glasses.  But when I learned there is a problem with one of my retinas, the fear of losing my sight, even if only in one eye, became very real to me.

There are so many things I want to do in life.  With the exception of sleeping, all the others are best done with good (or at least adequate) vision.  How can I beat my husband at tennis if I can't see the ball?  I missed the entire ski season this year because of my recovering ankle; will my family ski without me from now on?  And I already have trouble crafting due to my weak vision.  (Well, that and a lack of talent and creativity--even perfect eyesight can't solve that problem.) 

I haven't yet been told the potential outcome of my condition, and frankly I was too afraid to ask.  What little I can find about it online doesn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy.  At the moment all I've been told is that it could resolve on its own, or I might need to see a retinal specialist.  For what I'm not sure, but in my anxiety-driven mind I can imagine all kinds of unpleasant scenarios.  I'm trying not to worry, but that really isn't in my genetic makeup. So I'll sit back and relax until my follow-up visit in two months.  Yeah...sure.