The Stitch

More apologies as I let those who aren't in "the know" that from May to November is my busy season, and this year is proving to be no exception. In fact, it's busier than it has ever been (a big, heartfult "thank you" to my customers). Needless to say, blogging ranks pretty low on the priority list during these months. I'll post as I have time, I promise.

In the meantime, I hope you're all having a fabulous holiday weekend! Enjoy!

Clothing manufacturers, please pick ONE of the following:

Low-cut jeans

OR

Short belly shirts

Because I am sick of bending over and showing the whole freaking world nothing but(t) crack. This is not what the world wants to see, trust me. So, either raise up the back of my pants or make my shirts longer. Crack is NOT attractive on plumbers OR women. EVER.

PS: Plus, I'm really tired of Elizabeth shoving her toys down the back of my pants every time she walks past me when I'm playing on the floor with her.

* I've been on a Vincent D'onofrio kick lately, so I watched Full Metal Jacket last night for the first time. What a versatile actor he is. I was impressed. The background music (especially toward the end while searching for the sniper) was terribly appropriate and really enhanced the whole film.

* I managed to keep off the ten pounds I lost while sick, and am now down to a comfortable size 10 (meaning a size 10 is a bit loose on me and not skin tight). I'm one size away from my goal weight. It's so funny that I look in the mirror and see myself as much heavier than I actually am. I didn't realize this until I saw video of myself last night and was utterly shocked to see that I'm actually not anywhere near the size I see when I look in the mirror. Isn't that bizarre?

*E-Beth is now a walking maniac. Overnight she decided that crawing was for idiots, stopped carrying her toys in her mouth, put them in her hands, and Franken-walked across the room. She can say "Thank you" and "please." Thank you sounds like "Den-ooo" and please sounds like "dat." It's highly possible (and likely) that when she is pointing at the chocolate ice cream and saying "dat," she is actually NOT saying "please," but is instead saying "give me THAT." Whatever. Who cares. As long as we can share chocolate ice cream, we're both happy campers.

* I've been writing a book in my mind and at first I thought it was brilliant, but then I had second thoughts. I've written books in my head before and thought they were brilliant, when in reality, they sucked. For example, the apocolyptic comedy I wanted to write about hibernating yetis in my backyard. . . Yeah. . . We'll pretend that one never entered my brain. However, I emailed the outline to my friend Krista, who I trust to be absolutely honest with me about everything. If the story sucked, she'd tell me. Plus, she's an excellent writer herself, so I value her opinion. She read it and said I should put it on paper. I will do so.

* This Saturday I will be meeting with a woman who has a collection of over 2000 historical garments and has written books on historical textiles. She'll teach me much and I've been eagerly awaiting our appointment.

* My cheeks are rosy. People tell me I look like I have a healthy, sunny glow, but it's just rosacea and I hate it. I want nice pasty, pale cheeks to match the rest of pasty, pale me. I'm going to the doctor to see what they can do. I hate not being able to stay in the sun for more than five minutes without looking like a lobster.

* The garden is tilled and seedlings have sprouted. They will be placed into the earth this weekend. In a few short weeks, peas, beans onions and radishes will be ready. I love fresh vegetables from the garden.

I've been under the weather, traveling and keeping up with orders the last few days. I know a big update is due, and as soon as I have some free time, I will give you all the details of the last week.

Soon, I promise.

What's good: A giant, heaping spoonful of creamy, delicious Fluff, right from the tub. It's good for what ails you.

What's bad: Fourteen Fluff spoonful chasers.

What's downright ugly: Washing it all down with 12 ounces of Heluva Good French Onion Dip and a Slimfast shake.

More pictures? You got it. You may regret it.

My Mom used to sew most of our clothes for us growing up, which I feel is amazingly cool. I never have time to sew for members of my family, so I can really appreciate all the time and energy she put into making our holiday clothes (a new outfit for Easter, and a new outfit for Christmas, every year). The only thing I would have requested differently is non-matching dresses. We were geeky enough without being dressed like Cindy, Jan, and Marsha Dorkfest.

Not to brag, but Mom was one of those SuperMoms you hear about sometimes. Every day she baked bread and a hearty, healthy meal for us. She sewed our clothes for us, cleaned, baked cookies, reupholstered our furniture, stripped paint from and refinished all of our wood furniture, canned vegetables, hung wallpaper, made homemade granola, she even CHURNED BUTTER for us.

People, she CHURNED BUTTER!

It's pretty funny, because now she stores grocery bags in her NEVER-USED oven and only eats deli foods. I guess all those loaves of bread made her kind of hate cooking.

At any rate, we all get a good giggle when we look at these pictures. Enjoy!

And I don't want to hear any "BOY IN A DRESS" comments!

Congratulations to Jack and Ruth Wheeler (Jack is my cousin, Ruth is his new bride) on their weekend wedding in the Adirondacks! It was a beautiful event, and everyone had a grand time! My immediate family decided to head home a day early because of the chilly weather, and because Elizabeth is on the tail end of a second ear infection. We want to avoid a third.

It was really wonderful to see all of my relatives - I wish I had more time to spend with all of them. Uncle John - send measurements! I was absolutely serious about making a kilt for you!

My sister, Shannon and her husband Gary have been borrowing photo albums from various family members, and for the past year, I've been pestering her to put some on a CD for me. After I pinned her down and licked her face, she finally made me a copy (after kicking and swearing at me).

I spent an hour this morning going through each one. If I had to pick only one favorite, it would have to be this one:

This is my grandfather, William Wheeler. He was an amazing man, and this picture gives you a tiny glimpse into the life of one of the heroes from my family history. He was a New York State Trooper and a "Rough Rider" from Troop D, stationed in Oneida, New York.

That image really makes me proud to be a member of his family.

Elizabeth liked the picture too. She pointed at the horse and said "pppppppppppppp," which is her word for the sound a horse makes, and also her sign of definite approval.

Shannon provided me with hundreds of pictures, and as time allows, I'm hoping to post a few more for you all to see. For now, I'll leave you with the typical "Heather the Brat" family picture and story. For reference: I'm one and a half years older than sister Shannon.

Who: Me and gullible sister Shannon.
Where: The sandbox
What: A feast

The scene: Standing before my mother is a screaming Shannon and a guilty-faced me. She asks simply, "What happened?"

Between sobs, Shannon chokes a tale of woe. Somehow I had convinced her that my "Sandbox Surprise" was a giant, tasty pie.

With great compassion, Mom wipes away Shannon's muddy tears, and explains carefully, "DO NOT listen to Heather when she tells you that DIRT is PIE. It's not pie. It's dirt. Dirt doesn't taste good. So the next time she tries to convince you that she has made pie, DO NOT EAT IT."

Shannon nods, sniffles, and heads back out the door.

Mom issues a warning to me: NO MORE MUD PIES ARE TO BE FED TO YOUR SISTER!

Five minutes later I lead a crying Shannon by the hand, back through the door. This picture was taken at that very moment as I delivered my sobbing sister to my mother.

Mom asks: "Shannon, what did you do?? I told you that she is feeding you mud - those are NOT pies! "

Defeated, muddy, and empty of excuses, Shannon cried, "But Mom, she told me they were COOKIES!"

One of the more exciting events of the Piper summer (apart from the COMPLETION OF UPSTAIRS REMODELING, FINALLY) will be the digging of a one-acre pond in the back yard. A choice was made between the pond and a pool, and the pond ranked highest for being more user-friendly.

Here's why:

* You can't kayak in a pool (not without risking a big rip in the liner when a fellow dingbat flips the kayak off the diving board, just ask my mom).

* You can't keep fish in a pool. Well, you CAN, but the chlorine messes with the fishy gene pool, among other things (like the ability to exist).

* You can't have a Victorian ice skating party on a pool. (Yes, this is one of the biggest reasons *I* want a pond. How much of a geek does that make me?)

However, the BIG selling point, as it was explained to me by several wayward skydivers:

When you build a pond, you are left with about 10 tons of earth with which to play. That dirt can be built into a giant ramp. The giant ramp will be an all-season ramp:

In the summer it will lead to the festive sports of "ramp kayaking," "parachute ponding" and "water mountain-biking."

In the winter it will be used for "snowboard leaping" (as towed behind an ATV), "winter ramp kayaking," (also, as towed) and "dangerously icy ramp parachuting."

In the fall, when it's too cold for swimming, it will probably be used for late night bonfire, intoxicated-accidental-skinny-dipping by falling off the big dirt ramp while peeing.

Dittos for icy-water spring., of course.

Skydivers. They're adoptable. Email for further information.

On the kidlet front, we recently reached a major milestone: The turning of the car seat from rear-facing to front-facing. I've been terribly eager for this event, thinking that it would make E-Beth's car-riding experience much more enjoyable. Alas. Not so much. This is what I have deduced:

* When a child faces backwards in the car seat, he/she believes that cars are a mystical teleportation device that allows them to travel backwards, alone, from point A to point B. Mom or Dad plugs him/her into the seat, shuts the door, starts the rumble-dee-bumble noise and then next thing you know, you've arrived at your destination and WHOA! MOM or DAD is at the same place too! (How did THAT happen??) You can't see anything except the back of the seat and the road upon which you've already traveled, and everyone knows if you can't SEE people, that MUST mean that nobody is in the teleportation device with you. It does no good to scream and cry if nobody can hear you.

E-Logic 101: If a tree falls in a forest, there's no sense in screaming. Dead trees don't pay much attention to a screaming childypants.

* When a child faces FRONT, he/she can see you. All of the sudden there is someone who pays attention when crying/screaming/strapped-body-flailing commences. This is no longer a mystical teleportation device, this is illegal torture. Mom or Dad ignores said child, and pays attention to this crap called "THE ROAD AHEAD" and "TRAFFIC."

So much for making her car riding experience better. I've now accomplished the first of many changes that will make her life unbearable. Wait till she hits 16. Boy, have I got a few surprises up my sleeve.

And if you don't like presidential criticism, DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK!

Don't say I didn't warn you. . . .

(waiting for the complaint emails to commence)