Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Keep Calm and Carry On: Lessons from my first real...

Keep Calm and Carry On: Lessons from my first real...: It all happened because I rear-ended Sarah's car in the Junior parking lot. She certainly didn't deserve it, not her or her pretty whit...

Keep Calm and Carry On: Lessons from my first real job

It all happened because I rear-ended Sarah's car in the Junior parking lot. She certainly didn't deserve it, not her or her pretty white 90's-model Honda with the painted white bumper. (I still don't get why cars are made with painted bumpers. Can any good really come of that? What is the purpose of a bumper, if not to protect? Painted bumpers are just asking to show off scars....I digress.) But I was newly licensed, poking along in school dismissal traffic, and yelling to friends out the side of the car instead of paying better attention to the stop-and-go action in front of me. Now not only was I legally authorized to drive a vehicle, but I had bills to pay (or a father to repay for car repairs, rather). It was time to start earning my keep. Necessity is the mother of invention, yes. And payback is a mother....

My BFF, "Beffy" let's call her, talked me into applying where she worked. It was definitely a Misery-Loves-Company suggestion. If I had to work, at least I could do it standing alongside a friend, making snarky comments about whatever we were doing. So I skipped off to apply at a fast food restaurant in the mall. Let's call it "Everybody's Favorite Chicken" or EFC. I think part of me naively romanticized EFC, since I had some strong, fond memories of eating there with my mom on shopping expeditions while growing up. How cute that I could work on the other side of the white counter! Also, given the make-up of its current employees, it was a high school cult of sorts. I would definitely be with familiar company, which I hoped would be good company, if I got hired. Given my sum total of zero experiences in a paid job beyond babysitting, I'd gladly take a few familiar faces as Chicken Compadres.

Oh, and what an education it was. And in so many ways...Since I've had a long, long time to reflect, I have come up with these little life lesson that I figure - even if somewhere bogged down and semi-repressed in my unconscious - stay with me today.

Keep Calm and Carry On

Every job has its hazards, obvious or not: Gossipy colleagues, crazy bosses, rude customers, snake pits disguised as assignments. EFC had the fry machine.

So it is a lot like what you see if ever you have been in a fast food joint: There are metal baskets full of starchy goodness pressed into fry shapes. The baskets are dropped into hot oil (peanut oil, if I recall correctly), and after a few minutes, a migraine-inducing shrill beep sounds when the fries have had enough of their hot oil bath.

For a long while, I had some lovely scars from fry grease and/or some clumsiness of mine that ended with branding my flesh on the sizzling metal basket. But the greater hazard was the oil that persistently dripped from the baskets and/or the fry machine. It would be a rookie move to wear any kind of good shoe to work, because the side effects of the job included all sorts of stains, gunk, and ruined clothing and shoes.

My mom's old Reeboks, retired from her aerobics class, were what I wore to work. Ugly and unfashionable in my opinion, or in other words: Perfect for the job! The problem was that there are few shoes out there except maybe metal cleats or ice clamps that could protect someone from the treachery of the oily floor. While those super-slippery rubber Reebok soles helped me to do some rad dance moves (on purpose or not) - a little Axel Rose side to side shuffle, or a Michael Jackson moonwalk - I also ended up doing some crazy acrobatics to stop myself from completely wiping out. I wasn't always successful, though. And if you've ever been to an EFC, it's rare for there to be a time during opening hours when a customer is not around. It's the perfect set-up for public humiliation.

Oh, and how! One minute, I was taking my next customer and having a very rote discussion about the specifics of her EFC order, and the next...I was in mid-air, feet above head for that split-second, until gravity had me pinned to the floor. My customer (nice lady that she was) leaned over the counter, eyes bugging out in horror: "Are you okay?" I quickly peeled myself up off of the floor and, without missing a beat, assumed the position of cashier, put that bored teenager look back on my face, and said, "Yeah. Happens all the time. Would you like a drink with that?"

No wonder the place was teeming with teenage and college-age kids as employees... Young whipper-snappers tend to have fresh, healthy backs and physical elasticity - and a likelihood of recovering (and not suing) when injured.

More of these little (chicken) nuggets to come...

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Crayon-Bit Hearts

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Crayon-Bit Hearts: In keeping with my ever-present theme of pursuing my "tragic craftiness," as my friend Neely calls it, I passed the time away with my kids o...

Crayon-Bit Hearts

In keeping with my ever-present theme of pursuing my "tragic craftiness," as my friend Neely calls it, I passed the time away with my kids on a rainy weekend by making something I found on pinterest: Crayon Hearts. It's a project that answers the question: "What ever shall I do with all of these broken, semi-worthless crayon bits that are taking up space in the crayon box, lest they get ground into the carpet by little hands and feet, making me resent them even more?"

Here is the link to the original post I read on Pinterest -
http://www.flickr.com/photos/61951289@N08/5672821563/sizes/l/in/photostream/

Basically, it involves this:

1. Round up crayons and free them from their papery confines.

2. Slice 'em and dice 'em. (Adults only - Knives involved!)

3. Throw them in a bowl or container.

4. Get one of those lovely floppy silicone baking molds, for ease of popping those suckers out. (I got mine from JoAnn Crafts. On sale! Woo-hoo!) Fill the cavities with different colors.

5. Preheat oven & bake at 230 degrees (F) for 15-ish minutes.

6. Take them out, let them cool, and work them out of the mold.

Note: They look better on the rounded side than the flat side, in my opinion.

It really was pretty stinkin' easy. I recommend it! And for the record, you can still color with them in rainbow-crayon form once you bake them. Niiiiice!

Here's the proof that we really did it:

Chop, chop!

A virtual kaleidescope of color. Wowie!

Evenly distributing the crayon bits.

Still a bit melted from the oven.

 Nice and dry. Popped out the first one.

What becomes of the broken-hearted? I don't know, but I can say this...These little guys don't make good fast-pitch baseballs.

Sukie Iron-Ons + Left-Over Onesies = FUN!

I bought a book of Sukie iron-on graphics from the San Francisco MOMA. I figured I'd find someone to give it to as a souvenir. A few months later, I came across a ba-zillion left-over onesies from my two boys' infancies. (Seriously. You would have thought they were disposable, with the quantity in which I bought them...Like, they might need 5 a day for the first year of their little lives. Sheesh. If only a new mother's love was measured by the number of onesies she bought her baby...)

Inspiration struck at the intersection of Hurricane Irene Path and Eastern Seaboard Way...So while we hunkered down and waited for the power to go out - which took a surprisingly long time, but also stayed off for nearly a week once we lost it - I got busy, ironing and patting myself on the back for my crafty geniusness. If you know me and you're having a baby in the future (or past), don't be surprised if you see one (or more) of these littled decal-icious masterpieces heading your way. And a word to your babies: These are not the ones(ies) upon which you may to spit up or poo.

Oh, Sukie, Sukie!....(Scandalous what other things turn up when you google "Sukie.")

Prep work: Fancy ironing board (tray table), fancy board cover (pillow case), iron, bodysuit, cut-out decals.





Iron those suckers for a few seconds, then give it a break for a few seconds. After a few minutes - Viola!

One for Baby Eliza.

Portlandia fans? "I put a bird on it!" (Well, two.)

Hedgehogs and mushrooms! Mushaboom!

I can't decide if this strikes me as feminine or masculine. The flower border says feminine, but the lion figure looks a bit masculine. Maybe it's androgynous? We'll go with that.

Squirrel-Nut-Treehouse. (There were no Zippers in the decals...So close!)

Who? Who? Who? Who...should this one be for?

Puttin' a bird on it (or a few) for a newborn.



Cat wearing a scarf...on a motor scooter?! I'm in love!

Cityscape.





Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Office Redux

Office Redux: I'm probably the only one who remembers my "Make Over My Office" Contest, and that's just because I have to look at those cubicle and cinder...

Office Redux

I'm probably the only one who remembers my "Make Over My Office" Contest, and that's just because I have to look at those cubicle and cinder block walls day after day to remind me... So to refresh you:

[Insert wavy flashback television scene and dream sequence music]

CONTEST: MAKE OVER MY NEW OFFICE'S UGLY WALL!! While I'm getting over the fact that I'm working in a flimsy cubicle (for reals), I can't get past this sludge-green wall. It's leading me to suicidal thoughts, and that irony isn't lost of me, given my profession. I'm not allowed to paint it, cut out a window or tear it down, but I can hang stuff. Seriously, I will pay you money, albeit meager, if you can come up with a good idea. HELP!!!

BEFORE...In all its glory. It took me a good 6-7 months to unpack, I was so paralyzed by Fugly.



Since I am slowly, begrudgingly accepting that no one is going to pay me to quit my job and complete all of my Pinterest pin projects, then I shall have to take matters into my own hands by turning my current job site into a Pinterest project. In doing so, I'm really just procrastinating (as usual), but who doesn't wait until the 11.5th hour to get the real work done?


BEHOLD..."AFTER"

 I bought some fabric I liked and had my mother-in-law sew them together. (Thanks, Coco!) Added heavy-duty velcro to the back side of the tapestry and the accompanying side to the uuuuuugly cinderblock wall, and I now *almost* forget how hideous that wall really is.

Like my new big-girl "How Am I Feeling?" flip chart? "Subversive," indeed.
(My former feelings chart was made of monkey faces. This is a step up. Sorta.)

 Zen Garden! Dollar Store score! It really is soothing.

 Just to prove I'm really no Maaaaahtha Stewart, here's the "imperfect" side of the room, still cluttered, and with my tapestry starting to fall off of the wall. This is good news -- More excuses and projects to foster procrastination!

It's the kind of place where you want to sit back and tell me all of your confidential details, right? That is, until you notice that it's a cubicle with walls that don't extend to the ceiling and absolutely no sound-proofing...Good thing that I usually spend my days in school buildings instead of my main office.   : /

Crafty Geniusness

Metal Washer and Satin Ribbon Necklace

Follow this link for the How-To:

http://www.cutoutandkeep.net/projects/washer-ribbon-necklace

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: A Brief History of My Preoccupation with Clothes

A Brief History of My Preoccupation with Clothes:

TODDLERHOOD
My parents kept me entertained with the glossy images in catalogs and Sunday's advertisements in honest attempt to build my vocabulary. I...

A Brief History of My Preoccupation with Clothes

My parents kept me entertained with the glossy images in catalogs and Sunday's advertisements in honest attempt to build my vocabulary. I suspect that these materials included all of the latest in men and women's fashion. Thus begins a life-long (?) love affair (?) with clothes.


CHILDHOOD:


AGE 4: I began to thwart my mom's efforts to dress me, complaining that the clothes she wanted me to wear were "too plain" and "didn't have a toy [appliqué] on them."


AGES 4 - 14: The Age of Tacky-ness (now that I was dressing myself) meetsThe Age of Self-Consciousness. Spoiler-Alert: The outcome is not pretty...


AGE 7: I have a vivid memory of wearing THIS on picture day:
Brown and orange Brownies uniform (blouse, brown vest, brown skirt, orange accents)
Red stockings
Black patent leather Mary Jane's
God knows what in my hair

ALSO AGE 7: I remember attempting to impress my grade-school crush (a fourth grader, whereas I was only a third grader! Scandalous!) by donning a light blue Care Bears sweat suit. Who can resist? (My crush went unnoticed - or, more likely, ignored. Shocker.)



MIDDLE SCHOOL
 As a late-bloomer, and also young in actual age compared to my grade-mates, and genetically pre-disposed to being short anyway, I remember the shame and disappointment that I couldn't wear the clothes from The Limited, etc., because they dwarfed my already dwarfish frame. (This was before the children's versions of these stores were prominent.) No, I would have to continue shopping in the Size 10/12 range within the Children's Department at Belk. I would squat and duck beneath or between the racks to hide whenever I saw someone I knew walking through the store nearby, for the shame of being "found out" as someone who still wore children's-sized clothes.


I also spent HOURS (and I do not exaggerate - just ask my folks) planning out what to wear for the day or week, in effort to not repeat an outfit within two or three weeks. I kept a weekly planner into which I carefully wrote out my potential outfits. I can still hear my Dad's eyes roll to the back of his head as he pounded on my door, only to learn that I was still trying on clothes in front of my mirror.


I was desperate to wear uber-cool Benetton clothes (in spite of the fact that they remained out of an appropriate size-range). I set my sights on a sweatshirt. Oversized sweat shirts were in style, anyway! I could get away with it! I still remember the price tag: $50.00. Back in the early 1990's, that was even more money than it is now. My Dad saw the foolishness in this and tried to talk me out of it, but I was determined. I bought a cream-colored sweatshirt with the rainbow of letters spelling "Benetton" embroidered across the chest...And lo and behold, the damn thing shrunk, leaving me (for once) in clothing that was too small! I wore it in denial of my terrible judgment and my discontent, tugging at the sleeves to stretch them out to a "normal" length, since it would be many years before 3/4-sleeve shirts were en vogue.


Memories of my clothing preoccupation at this point included my "favorite outfit": an oversized purple men's-style button down emblazoned with yellow lightning bolts and even a skinny, hot pink elastic-necked men's tie. This was worn with (close to) fluorescent yellow shorts (to match the lightning bolts in the shirt, of course) and fluorescent yellow high-top Chuck Taylor's. (I forgive myself for the shoes, which were kinda cool, at least.) I fell for 80's tween fashion hook, line, and sinker.


MIDDLE SCHOOL & HIGH SCHOOL: THE MALL


So there wasn't much to do for a tween/teen in her spare time (or so I remember), except to go to the mall (like, duh!...). I was finally able to wear some clothes from the popular stores where all of the teens shopped, even though I could rarely afford them. So in awe was I that I had finally grown into something vaguely reminiscent of a "normal size" (five feet, barely), that I'd spend hours in the stores' changing rooms, verifying again and again that things did fit (or did not, depending). And in those rare instances when I was able to con my Mom into buying clothes for me or the even rarer instances when I was able to save enough allowance money to buy my own duds, I basked in the warm-fuzzy glow of a coveted clothing purchase. It was so wrong, this love, but it felt so right. And wearing things that the other kids were wearing, shopping in the same stores where they shopped, it was all so validating!


COLLEGE:


I lived footsteps away from the GAP, and I was introduced to Old Navy and Barree Station (an outlet for J. Crew) as a college student. This only fueled my appetite for clothes. When I wasn't making my own money working at a music store, I was threatening my parents that I might sell my plasma, I was so broke (which I did consider at times). I could hear the tone of "Good Lord, our baby girl shouldn't have to sell her own plasma, communing with the homeless people of Chapel Hill, NC!" in their voices as they begged me not to do it and asked how much money I needed, thereby enabling my cycle of spending money on clothes. (Sorry Mom and Dad...Yeah, I just threw you under the bus.)


GRAD SCHOOL THROUGH D.I.N.K. (Dual Income, No Kids) Era:


This was a nice chunk of time during which I could afford my clothing habit. I surely overspent my money and and my time in clothing stores, just the same.


Fast Forward to the "HAVING KIDS" Era:


A rapidly expanding belly necessitates a whole new wardrobe. Then there are the post-baby clothes, or transitional sizes, as I prayed to deflate to something closer to pre-baby width. And then there's the part where I'd get back to something near my pre-baby size and I'd feel wholly unfashionable about the state of affairs of clothes that I was wearing two years prior.


Oh, and then there's all that shopping I loved to do for baby clothes. (And to think I didn't even have girls for whom to buy!) I still managed to buy about one outfit for every day of the year (per size worn, really) for my little guys. This, combined with store credit cards offering in-store rewards and discounts for spending on said cards, really sent me into a shopping spiral that I haven't quite been able to extinguish. (Yet, anyway...)


So, there...It's more than anyone needs to know - or probably took the time to read - about my generally unhealthy relationship with and, at times, full-fledged obsession with clothes. I thought I'd lay out the past to understand the present. Plus, thinking about it so throughly is like a smack in the face: It's a necessary evil to recount this history, if only wake you up every so often. It also allows me to basically condemn my parents as the fault of whatever bad habits I have maintained. (See "Toddlerhood," above.) Freud would like that, I think. (Uh, just kidding, Mom and Dad. Kinda.)

A BRIEF HISTORY IN PICTURES

"C'mon, Mom...Only clothes with appliques will do!"

Sixth or seventh grade, with a dangerous mix of accessories - Gold and silver, leather and plastic.I am way in over my head...

For once, I wasn't the one wearing the Girl Scout costume (er, uniform) in the school picture. But I was wearing athletic socks with dress shoes.

Dreaming of a world free of tacky shirts and couches and carpets.

That coveted Benetton sweatshirt...It was dreadfully, unfashionably "too small" (fitted?) rather than oversized, by early 1990's standards. Let's not even "go there" with the statement my hair is making...

TODDLERHOOD:

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: 'Clothed Case' for a New Year's Resolution

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: 'Clothed Case' for a New Year's Resolution:  And to think that this is only about 1/8th of my clothes. (Greg wanted me to show how I color-code everything - which I do, and I'm pro...

'Clothed Case' for a New Year's Resolution



And to think that this is only about 1/8th of my clothes.
(Greg wanted me to show how I color-code everything - which I do, and I'm proud of it, thank you.)




Well, hello there, New Year! Here I go:


I resolve to not buy new clothes (including, but not limited to, shoes). I am nothing if not ambitious....And perhaps crazed.


In the never-ceasing pursuit called "Spend Less Money," I have faced the facts about myself: Damn, I'd save a lot of dough (hopefully) if I could just stop being a slave to the allure of buying clothes! Everyone has their vices. Some people over-eat, others drink or abuse substances/pastimes. Me? I go shopping.


I don't even think I'm particularly cutting-edge in what I wear. I'm not trying to out-style anyone but myself. And it's not lost on me (a.k.a. psychologist by trade) that I am probably compensating for some lack of something or perhaps trying to fill a void. While I work on these larger issues with my therapist, I'm going to do a little experiment this year in deprivation to see if I can kick a bad habit.


I know enough from my behavioral theory background that I am going to need a "replacement behavior": Something to do instead of pine away for the LOFT and Banana Republic's sale-o-rama. Something to counteract that craving when it hits me. Something that gives me some sort of outlet (but not the outlet mall) or positive direction in which to channel my energy.


In spite of being a member of a book club (that is named "Reading Between the Wines," which may tell you a little more about what we're about anyway), I don't think I read a complete book all year last year. Case-in-point: After raving on and on to people about The Hunger Games series, I have yet to finish the last book in the trilogy(!). Oh, the hypocrisy... (Side Bar: I have a theory about why that's taking me so long, and I think it's that I don't want the series to end, so this keeps it from being "over" for me... Same reason why I'm having such trouble wrapping up my blog series on my trip to Iceland. I don't want it to end. So if I don't conclude it, it doesn't.... But I digress.) My point is this: I need to read that damn book, because the Hunger Games movie is coming out in March of this year. I now have a deadline.


I have a ba-zillion crafty ideas just waiting in the wings (or in the recesses and corners of my room, gathering dust) for me to remember them and set aside some time to actually do them. Cork Wreath? You're next on my list. I got your number.


So there we have them - Two ideas for replacement behaviors that are fully legitimate. Oh, and I could devote more time to playing with my kids, though part of my desire to shop has to do with escapism, usually meaning escaping the house, kids, husband (Sorry, Greg), and all that reminds me of domestic responsibility. We all need a break; I just choose to run up my credit card bill during mine by escaping on "errands."


I wish I could say that my inspiration to conduct this experiment of will power is about the plight of America's dependence on material possessions (oh, so true) and accumulation of things we don't need ("Hoarders," anyone?) and how we should reduce our purchase of resources such as textiles, or at least recycle them. Yes, these are all very good points, but really, um, it's about me. Me, trying to not be so shallow in my interests, and me, trying to change a bad habit.


So here are the Rules of Play:


1. I will NOT buy new clothes this year (2012).


2. I CAN borrow from others.


3. I CAN re-sale my clothes at consignment stores/sales and potentially have the credit to use towards other things...But only necessities. (So if all of my underwear falls apart this very year, I will have the ability to buy new undies, but something else in my closet has to be traded for it; thus, I must use credit earned for re-sold items.)


4. I CAN continue to consign my sons' clothes for store credit as well.* However, all purchases for their clothes must be approved by Greg, my husband, who himself buys new clothes once every ten years or so, and not even that often if he doesn't "need them" - a very liberal definition. Yellow pit-stains and holes in his underwear? Not a problem. He's still rockin' the 90's grunge look (or whatever someone gave him for Christmas in 1992) without shame. He plays hard-ball.


*Note: I am adding my sons' clothes to this list because my habit of buying clothes often transforms itself into buying clothes for the boys. This affliction of mine that bleeds into their closets, too.


Wish me luck, and please, for God's sake, don't invite me to go shopping with you any time this year. Lead me not into the Valley of Temptation, y'all!

Skirts and pants and sweatshirts, oh my! It shouldn't be hard to stop accumulating these, right??