Before and After Church

The girls before church:  clean pressed dresses, pretty hair, clean faces, and all smiles

The girls after church:  bare feet, one missing button, crayon on the sleeves, chocolate on their faces, pulled out hair clips, crying in the car, smashed flower pins and dirt along the hem because they thought they could ride their tricycle to Oma and Opa's house for dinner.   

The boys before church:  new ties that Mommy started and finished late last night, grass stains on pants from wrestling in the front yard during the girls quick photo shoot, Easter egg dye on their pants from sitting on a colored paper towel, blotch on a shirt from sipping out of Daddy's root beer, missed a few belt loops, and forgotten socks.

The boys after church:  untucked shirts, pockets full of candy and happy to enjoy the beauty of the day walking home with Daddy  

Mommy before church:  too tired from staying up late sewing and rolling stuffed grape leaves, frustrated she has nothing to wear, thinking it's time to sew something nice for herself, nervous about the girls wrecking their dresses, only 60 seconds left to apply make-up, yelling at everyone to get out the door, then holds everyone else up to take the girls pictures, late for church.

Mommy after church:  happy the girls brought smiles to many of our elderly friends, warmed by the tight seating with my husband and children, uplifted and edified from the words and music celebrating the divine life, death and resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ, a sweet reminder of how we are to live here on earth and the promise of eternal life.  Happy she found the lost button and shoes under the church bench, but does not mind the dirty dresses because her vision of what truly is important has been reset, feels very blessed by the faith and knowledge that guides her life but still needs a nap.     

Easter Dresses

Here are the dresses.  They are really quite simple in design and construction but sewing two at once made it a bit tedious.  Actually what made it really hard was my iron - it is on the brink and there is nothing worse than sewing with a spitting iron, especially when you are using white cotton.

I thought I'd post them tonight just in case the girls wake up sick from all the Easter candy they ate today. I'll take some more pictures before church but I'm starting to wonder if they'll even fit in their car seats with all the fluff from the under slip. I'm also wondering if they will be appropriate for church - they seem more flower girlish and prompt dancing rather than reverently sitting.  Still they are fun, fresh and springy and hopefully make up for last year's flops.    

Distracted

All I have left with the dresses is hemming and iron touch ups.

These socks were kind of a fun distraction from the tedious work of sewing two dresses at once. I originally stopped by Four and Twenty Sailors, a local children's boutique, to pick up some new socks to go along with the dresses. I stop in there every once in awhile for inspiration and also a chance at their 70% off room, but even at 70% off it is a bit pricey. The socks I was looking for were priced from $8-$21 a pair!  I decided to make my own.  

I headed to Old Navy, got 2 pairs under $5 then forced myself to break into my stash of Spanish laces that I got 2 years ago in Barcelona. But before I cut I shouted out to Paul to promise to take me back there.

This is a project I should have thought of a few years ago - it was so simple! Cut the sock, gather the lace a bit then zigzag onto the inside using 1.5 width and 1.5 stitch length. I suppose I should have soaked the lace in hot water first but these are just my first pair. I'm sure I will make many more in the future.

Marie' finished her dress and it turned out great! 

A little bit of pink

I thought I'd be done with the Easter dresses by now but I'm not.  I am using a white cotton pique for the bodice and light blue cotton pique for the skirt.  The fabrics are beautiful but knowing my girls it would be hard to get them to wear them without a touch of pink.

These flowers are what I came up with after a bit of experimenting. Once I got the hang of it it was a fun project but there were at least 4 flops that proceeded what is pictured above. They are made from linen and now I can't wait to try this technique with other fabrics.

If I don't get too distracted I will finish the dresses and have them ready to post very soon. If not - I'll just post what distracted me.
 

I'm back and so are my pictures!

Thanks for all your kind words and comments.

I'm happy to report a successful trip to the apple store and all was restored.  I still don't know what happened but the tech guy assured me it was probably the result of some crazy banging by our three year old.  She some how copied all the applications and files on my user and pasted them in an unknown folder labeled g.  The process was too much for my hard drive and it crashed.  But there it all was in the little g folder. 

Still this was a great lesson and reminder to #1 back up my photos, Suz even says print the ones you love, #2 clean up photo clutter, and #3 not to be so worried about taking and storing my photos that I forget to enjoy the moments.

Also not being able to open my laptop for 4 days was a bit refreshing. 

   

Hard Lessons from a Hard Drive

I don't know what happened. I was watching conference on my bed with Maryanna. She fell asleep, or I thought she was asleep, so I left her there with conference still running and I joined Paul in the family room. When we were through and fully edified from the messages we heard, I grabbed my laptop and found the screen had gone blank. I plugged it in and started it up but the screen was still blank. After finally booting up I was surprised to see my screen saver was gone as was my cluttered desktop - I checked my photo library and it was empty. All of my files except my 2007 slide show are gone. In disbelief I gasped and slapped my hands against the floor below me. I desperately asked Paul to help and tell me it didn't happen. Again, I don't know what happened but Paul did say when he stepped into our room earlier he caught Maryanna banging on all sorts of buttons and set my laptop out of her reach.

I don't know if a 3 year old is capable of crashing a computer but she does have a destructive history.  At age 1 she pulled out all the door stops in our entire house, made dents in the wall next to her crib where she successfully peeled away paint and plaster, age 2 tore apart the foot of her Jenny Lind bed and pulled the handle off our Sub-Zero fridge, age 3 pulled off her closet door and disassembled the doorknob to the downstairs bathroom, all with her bare little hands. I don't blame her but I do blame myself for leaving her unattended.

I also blame myself for not moving all my photos over to my external hard drive, I only got through 2004-2006.  Over the past couple months the thought kept coming to me to back up my photos.  I did make several burn folders but was frustrated when an error occurred during the burn process.  But it would have been just as easy to sync up to my external hard drive and save them there.  I didn't and I don't know why, I'm kicking myself and on the verge of tears.  There's something about a computer that sucks you in and is so distracting.  I'm sure every time I opened it up to move the photos over I let the time pass reading blogs, checking out facebook, or browsing through fabric at my favorite online vendors.   It would have been so easy to move them over but I didn't.  All I can do now is go to my appointment at the the Apple genius bar and hope there is something they can do to help.  If not?  I'm preparing myself mentally for that.

Here are some of my thoughts.....first of all there are worse things that could happen. But my mind is racing with deep thoughts and questions.

Are memories only as good as the photos we have recording them? Can memories be tangible without a photo to prove they happened? Does our dependence on visual files let our mind's ability to be photographic diminish? Am I not taking enough mental images? When in the moment of a memory have I become too obsessed with recording it that it interferes with the overall experience? Before the age of photos how were images recorded? Before even the age of written word how were memories recorded? Am I using enough imagery in the stories I tell of my own childhood?  Does our obsession with the virtual world diminish our ability to make real memories?

In addition to these questions the kids have been debating and challenging me on the law of conservation of mass/matter. This leads to more questions. My photo files were created - but out of what? When I used film they were certainly tangible matter but what is it with digital? Could they actually be completely destroyed....gone forever?

If they are gone does it change me? I wrote this poem back in November and now after this loss I ask myself am I any different? What if more were lost such as my laptop itself, my camera, sewing machine, or other favorite "things"?  Perhaps it would "shake" me but hopefully just enough me to remind me of what is really important.      

Still, I am sad. It's time to set aside sewing projects, shut this laptop and find a tangle pen and journal and record all that I can remember from the past two years.  And the words from my kind husband..... "I guess it's time to make more memories".  

wordfull Wednesday: funny

Here's a guest post from Paul because I'm too tired from my big canning day

"Jackpot"

Though I am somewhat renowned for my ability to select just the right type of potato chip to appropriately match any family meal – pairing a less complex salt and vinegar chip with grilled chicken sandwiches, or a deeper-bodied rippled barbeque chip with a hamburger cookout, for example – I rarely get the call to assist with cooking or grocery shopping. Unless we are in the need of doughnuts or ice cream or root beer, I rarely make the trip to the local grocer.

Every once in awhile, however, I am called on in an emergency. Recently, when out with a couple of the kids I got the call from headquarters. We were running critically low on baby formula. “Could you possibly stop by the store” Alison graciously asked, “without buying a lot of treats?”

We were out on the west side of town, the decidedly tougher, less familiar area of Salt Lake. “Sure” I said, “we’d be happy to.”

As luck would have it there was a supermarket across the street from where we were parked. It sat in a rundown strip mall, anchoring a development that had seen better days. Several dark storefronts populated the center which was surrounded by an enormous, optimistic expanse of asphalt parking lot to accommodate the cars that both never did and never would come.

As we passed through the front door of the supermarket, the squeaky and rusty carts, mustachioed men, crooked teeth, faded blue jeans, flannel shirts reeking of second and even third-hand smoke, and hairsprayed bangs reaching for the sky lent the place a decidedly downscale feel. It was a refreshing change of pace from the normally snooty scene at our preferred east side grocer.

At once the kids and I set out looking for the baby formula but before long we were lost and disoriented in the foreign and unfamiliar store. I did my best to block out all the treats that seemed to beckon me as we passed up and down the aisles in search of the baby goods. Everything of interest seemed to be on sale and the kids and I seemed to be equally well aware. “Look, Daddy” my 3 year old said “these ones are yummy” as she pointed toward a display of Keebler Rainbow Chips Deluxe cookies, on sale 2 for 1.

Besieged and distracted by the seductive power of all the endcap displays and feeling somewhat lightheaded and disoriented by all the temptation I practically ran over a young employee who was dutifully restacking a display of Nutter Butters in the shape of the Great Pyramid of Giza.

“Can I help you with something?” she cheerily asked.

“Just looking for the baby formula” I said.

“Well, it’s just right around the corner” she smiled, “c’mon, I’ll show you.”

As we turned the corner she paused briefly to straighten a few chairs facing the pharmacy window and then led us down to the baby aisle. The formula was, like fine jewelry, set in a glass case under lock and key and looked to be, given the security camera perched above, under close video surveillance.

“Do you know which kind you want?” she asked.

I knew exactly which one I wanted, the organic Similac, in the green can, the one featuring the creepy looking teddy bear with the enormous forehead. But the question seemed odd, and, as I stared at my reflection in the formula window, I wondered if I ought to be taking more time with this, such an important purchase. I had never seen formula as anything but a commodity, but now it seemed like so much more.

“Yeah, right there” I said hesitatingly, “the green one.”

Out of her pocket she produced a massive keychain with what must have been the keys for all the other really expensive store items like Depends and organic milk. She unlocked the cabinet, slid the glass aside, and handed me one.

“I’ll take two” I said. “Thanks.”

The kids and I made our way back to the self-checkout where I rung up the purchase. It came to $60 total for the two cans of formula. Just as I was about to walk away a coupon spit out of the register: $5 off any kind of formula, expiring in 1 week.

As I stood there in the no man’s land between the checkout and the door, I briefly considered reentering to use the coupon to buy another canister of formula. I’m not a huge coupon user, but we would most certainly need more formula in a couple weeks, after all, and there was virtually no chance I would be back this way in the next week to redeem the coupon before expiration. For a moment I thought back to a memorable date when Alison and I were newlyweds. We were at a local hot dog joint, Red Hot Lovers, when she pulled out a “15% off one item” coupon. The most expensive item on our order was a $1.50 hot dog. They were gracious and rounded up. We saved 23 cents.

Buoyed by the memory of Alison’s frugality I lead the kids back to the formula aisle for another round of purchasing. Walled off by all the security measures and unable to help myself, I pushed the “Ring for Customer Service” button next to the case.
In a few moments the same young employee came bounding dutifully around the corner, her cheerful expression turning decidedly puzzled when she saw me and the kids standing in front of the formula bank once again.

There was an awkward pause as I explained that we had come back on account of the coupon, which I then proceeded to hold out in front of my face as proof. She took out her keys once again and pulled out another canister of expensive, green, organic Similac.

Back at the self-checkout, Ruth, the plain-looking, matronly cashier overseeing the four terminals expressed surprise to see me and the kids again. I showed her the coupon and as I swiped my credit card to complete the transaction she agreed it was a great deal and, mentioning the recent birth of her 5th and 6th grandchildren, reassured me she would have done the same. Just as she said so another $5 coupon popped out of the register, and for a moment it felt like we were on a winning streak in Vegas. “Jackpot!” I cried triumphantly.

Ruth looked at me in astonishment and nodded approvingly. She lowered her head so that her eyes could make contact with mine, unencumbered by her thick glasses. “Go for it” she said with a stern determination, reading my mind with the savvy of a veteran grocery checkout clerk.

Her encouragement was all I needed to trek back inside once again to the formula aisle. At the checkout again Ruth smiled at me admirably as I once again rang up another sale. I had purchased 4 canisters now, enough to last a month back home, and, more importantly, I had saved $10 in doing so.

Waiting for the transaction to clear and receipts to print, Ruth and I chatted about the unseasonably warm weather. Out of the corner of my eye I nervously eyed the register hoping for yet another formula coupon. When yet another one popped out I was ecstatic. “Oh, Baby!” I yelped as I pumped my clenched fists in excitement, cutting Ruth off in mid-sentence, “winner winner, chicken dinner!”

Something deep inside me was now gently telling me to quit while I was ahead. But the indescribably intoxicating thrill of collecting and using the coupons was too great. It wasn’t really gambling, but I still had a creepy, foreboding feeling that I was doing something wrong. But whatever good sense I had to quit I rationalized away quickly. “I can’t lose” I told myself,” I can’t lose.”

Four minutes later I was back at the self-checkout with my 5th container of formula in hand, for what I promised myself, no matter what the register spit out, the last time. I inexplicably used cash to speed the process and the $30 formula less the $5 coupon came to $25. I put two $20 bills into the machine.

Distracted momentarily by the whirring noise of the coupon printer spitting out yet another $5 coupon and my daughter attempting to stuff an entire pack of Bubblicious, wrapper and all, into her mouth, I gathered up my grand total of 5 cans of Similac and the kids and headed out to the car, satisfied with the fruits of my labor.

We were halfway home when I realized that I had failed to pick up my change out of the self-checkout machine. $15. The exact amount I saved by using the three coupons.

I should have quit while I was ahead.

Somewhere in the grocery store parking lot, I imagined, a mustachioed man in a flannel shirt and faded blue jeans climbed into his rusty, dented pickup truck. As he plopped his bags of groceries onto the front seat and took an unlit cigarette into his mouth he sorted through his receipts and change.

“Jackpot!” he whispered to himself with a crooked, toothy grin.