…is to annoy the snot out of his sister.
…is to annoy the snot out of his sister.
A few years ago my Great Grandma Mary Jo said she was cleaning out her garage and I told her I’ll take whatever craft supplies she had. Little did I know she would soon be supplying my every crafting need, past, present and future.
She’s actually the one that coined the phrase “craft crap”, which I think is hilarious. It’s not all bad though! A few years ago I posted on Instagram about some boxes of brooches she dropped off. I was expecting a few in a ziploc baggy and she brought like 3 boxes of fun stuff…
Sometimes she brings over McDonald’s Happy Meal toys from the 80’s and 90’s and gives them to my kids. So cool. I’m not gonna lie though, as soon as she leaves, Justin and I are like SWOOP – our turn! Sorry kids, our childhood is calling and I gotta get my hands on that Muppet Babies Miss Piggy car, man.
I know she said a few years ago that she was going to be cleaning out her garage, but woman. How big is your garage that you’re still finding this much stuff in it? And where does it all fit?? It must go underground because the craft crap still be flowin’. I love it though and seriously have the best time going through this stuff.
The most recent drop off included a giant tackle box and Goody hair pins from 1975, among some other things. Anyone recognize this little doll?
Thanks for the crap, Grandma!
I’m not gonna lie, 2015 is not my fave right now. It’s not at all what I was expecting going into the new year. At the end of last year, certain things started bubbling to the surface that I was finding joy in doing — some new forms of creativity that I had set on the shelf since childhood that were beginning to reawaken. Dreams I didn’t even know were inside me began to emerge. And that was so exciting! From the outside, I may have seemed like I had things under control (maybe not? I don’t even know anymore), but I’ve never really felt like I knew what my purpose was in this life. So yeah, 2014 brought some little nuggets with it that gave me a liiiiittle more direction in that way, but this year? It’s just bringing out all sorts of ugh.
If He’s the potter and I’m the clay, I feel like the driest, crumbliest piece of dog poop mixed with clay that He found in the back under a sloppy pile of cockroach barf. It’s a refining season right now, as I’ve been encouraged to see it, but man, it just feels like there’s nothing really solid or sure in my life right now. I know this is kind of vague, but like seriously everything about who I thought I was as a person, wife, mom, sister, daughter, friend is turning out to be… just I don’t even know. These feelings! WHERE ARE THEY COMING FROM!? Deep down hurts and anger and rawr all coming to the surface at the most random times! It’s throwing me off, for real.
I’ll give you guys a tame example. Back around Christmas we didn’t have a ton of funds so I wanted to try to make gifts. I thought, since I had just discovered a new love for watercolor, I’d try making my Mom a little something. I painted some flower collage thing and was all “I’m going to be vulnerable in giving something imperfect as a gift”, because where I’m coming from, that would have been a never-in-a-million-years thing because in my mind, it would have made me look weak and imperfect. So when the time came for me to wrap it, I started out all pumped because I was stretching myself to even give something like that away, but before I even cut the wrapping paper, I turned into Hulk. Like, if you saw how many emotions came up when I was about to actually hand over a piece of “art” — which, in all honesty SUCKED — to my mother as a Christmas gift, you would suggest a mental hospital. Justin was across the table from me when I was crying, listening lovingly as I was going on and on about how stupid she’s going to think it is and how much I suck at this and I can’t bring myself to give it to her… and he sweetly encouraged me and reminded me of the truth. I went ahead and gave her the stupid thing.
My Mom said she loved it and was so gracious when she opened it which helped a little, but I still wasn’t convinced it was anything of value at all. The next time I walked into their house, I looked on the entry table and lo and behold, there sat my little stupid painting! Now how would you feel in that situation? “Awww, Mom loves me, lame painting skills and all! Happy happy rainbow chip frosting delight!” Ohhh no. My gosh you guys, I snapped. My ugly painting was not only on display, but on display for everyone who walks into their home to see FIRST THING. I went home and raged quietly in the comfort of my own bedroom, but I mean. Issues, much?
I won’t even go into all the body image wonderfulness that’s surfacing at the moment because it’s much too raw and I don’t want to subject anyone’s eyeballs to that kind of word assault right now. Just, wow. I never realized I had so much suppressed junk in there that I was carrying around with me all this time. I know it’s good that it’s coming up to the surface because that means healing is happening. It just doesn’t feel like what I thought healing would feel like. I’m determined to press on through this season though, which is a big thing for me as a former quitter. This crap is tough, but I’m not going through it just to give up partway.
I don’t know if this will turn into a new series of posts or if I’ll get too embarrassed after this one and never show my face on the internet again, but I have a secret to share. I’m just going to dive on into this pool of humility and tell you about one of the most dumb mistakes I’ve ever made as an adult. So when Justin and I were married, I was 20 and had never lived on my own. To be completely honest, I didn’t know how to cook except to brown some hamburger meat and even then, I burned it because I was terrified to have any pink undone bits and yeah. Don’t feel sorry for me. I eventually sort of learned.
So when I would do our laundry, I number one, hated it because we lived in a little house at the time where the laundry room was actually the garage. Not so bad except number two, there were billions of black widows. Billions. Each with billions of tiny little devil eyeballs I would feel staring me down every time I would step foot in their territory. What I would do was basically run in, throw a mix of clothes in the washing machine, dump in a capful of pretty smelling stuff from a cute jug with pictures of flowers on it and run out, sometimes even leaping out the door because what if a spider wanted to jump on me at the last second before I left? I mean I had to get outta dodge and fast.
Laundry would be finished and I’d go get it, run back in the house and dump it on the floor and go back in maaaaaybe a week later to repeat the washing/leaping process. I never would fold the clothes on the floor. As a matter of fact, I still don’t unless somebody’s coming over to the house. And that someone has to be a “Someone” like a princess or a president who doesn’t know me very well and I want to give them a good impression. Even then, I usually don’t because it’s just like, no. I still hate it and Maddie changes her outfits 80 times a day anyway, so folding is a complete waste of time. And I don’t know any princesses or presidents — that too. This logic may appear flawed, but let me assure you, it is a reflection of magnificent growth in me personally. In the past, I would have taken the pile of clothes and hid them in my closet in trash bags. I actually did that. Frantically shoved all the clean clothes in trash bags instead of folding them so no one would judge me by my homemaking skills. Makes perfect sense.
Anyway, back to the confession. For at least two years I did laundry that way. One day when I was pregnant with Maddie, I had an eye opening experience. I don’t know if it was the nesting hormones kicking in or the fact that I just physically opened my eyeballs in the laundry aisle at the store, but I noticed there was this foreign substance called DETERGENT next to all the cute colorful jugs with flowers on them with the fancy names like Vanilla Passion Oasis that I had been using. To put it plain, my sweet naive adult self had been buying FABRIC SOFTENER based solely on the packaging and scent, then I’d go home and rush through the laundry because it’s the worst. I was basically soaking our clothes in perfume for two years and never really washing them. FOR TWO YEARS. That’s just, I don’t even know. I’m not ashamed, just kind of perplexed and actually a little in awe of how completely ridiculous it all is.
Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I’m not sure anyone can top it, but you are welcome to try! Maybe I’ll do a follow up post with all your embarrassing confessions in it. Okay yeah, that sounds fun, let’s do that!
How many times can you reheat a cup of coffee before it becomes just a really cute mug of toxic brown goo? I ask because I never really get to finish a cup without reheating at least 5 times and that’s kinda sick, no?
The moment I sit down to take that first sip is a downright intimate experience. “Come here, you sweet thing. I’ve waited all night for this.” And then no matter what state of perfect peace things are in just minutes before, the moment I go to take that first precious taste, it’s as if my entire household senses it and decides to come alive. Every time! Welp, from the sound of that screeching in the other room, the baby needs to eat or someone’s butt needs to be wiped or a spill needs to be cleaned all of a sudden right this second. Better deal or heads are gonna roll! So its back to the microwave.
Then after getting sidetracked with watching some Beat Bobby Flay or Pioneer Woman (#priorities), dealing with a few more rounds of poops (#regular), it’s already time to pick up Maddie from school (#commoncore) and I still haven’t finished that cup I made at 8am. I’m not even exaggerating here!
Not to mention, we don’t have an actual coffee maker or a Keurig or anything normal like that. We have this aeropress thingamagig Justin bought because he enjoys buying terrible things that confuse the average human being. It probably takes about the same amount of time as brewing a pot of coffee, but it only makes one serving. And the process is not exactly convenient nor does it invigorate.
Ahh, just look at it. It has hipster-like appeal, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, Susie. When you don’t have a handsome flannel-wearing, bearded man making one for you, it’s downright medieval torture first thing in the morning. Funny thing, now that I mention it, I do have one of those handsome flannel-wearing bearded men, so why am I complaining again? Oh right, I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. brb, I left it in the microwave.
And on that note…