Fabrics, Fabrics, Fabrics

I walk through the door, my eyes take a minute to adjust to the dimmer light from outside. I let the door slide close behind me and just inhale the scent. It is the first thing to hit my senses, a sweet, homespun, medicinal aroma that embraces me like a warm childhood memory. My eyes begin to absorb all the colors, the kaleidoscope is almost overwhelming. I start walking selecting an isle at random, no purpose other than to immerse myself in the moment. My fingers brush the textures gently, I can feel the patterns and colors through my finger tips and it excites me.


A voice calls to me, "Let me know if I can help you."


I smile because I know that I will not be able to walk out without purchasing something. I feel the tug, the need for one of these beautiful fabrics to call my own. A chuckle bubble up from the back of my throat, I am amused that I think I can stop with only one. I nod at the clerk, but continue on my quest.


It doesn't matter what name the store is called, where it is located, it is a mecca to me. The only way to save me is not to go in. But I am drawn despite my best efforts. Sometimes the effort to stay away is more than I can bear and I must give in.


Purples, greens, yellows, reds and more tease me with their own unique energy. My skin becomes more sensitive and responds to the racks of textiles. Each one is special, but I wait, quieting my soul and wait. I know that I will hear the siren call of that fabric, the one I must have. Sometimes I need it for my projects, other times, I just have to have it.


I then become two separate halves of myself. One side lets the color wash over her and becomes part of the design, the other focuses in on the details and begins the analysis for what is needed. That is the side that keeps me on track, keeps me from taking home everything.

Suddenly I stop, my hand stills and I know. This is what I want, what I need. The colors are bold, the pattern dances enticingly across the bolt. My other side decides how much of it I can afford. I contemplate the price and my halves make an agreement, how much I can afford versus what I want. The deal is made. I slide the bolt from between the other creations that it is nestled between.

I continue on my way, hearing the whispering songs of the other fabrics, tantalizing me with their sensuality and beauty. My other side decides that is all I need and I am forced to comply. I shuffle up to the cutting counter and place my treasure on top. My child-within is delighted with my find and eagerly awaits her prize. I let my other side select the quantity and enjoy the moment of my conquest.

The clerk slides the bolt fabric off, opening the whole scene and displays it like an offering to the gods. I hear the bolt thump on the counter and the fabric swish into place to be cut. The rotary knife slices cleanly through both layers of fabric with only a slight whoosh. The clerk folds the rectangle piece of heaven into a more manageable size and calculates the purchase total. I feel my palms twitch, waiting to hold my prize. The clerk hands me slip and the fold fabric, a signal that we are done with our interaction.

I turn to go pay for my purchase but look longingly over my shoulder at the rest of the bolt. I wish I could take all of it home with me. I never know if I have enough for what I need. I let a sign of regret whisper through my lips and turn to continue to the register.

I clutch my fabric to me breast and give the new clerk my paper slip. While I watch her ring up my purchase, my mind begins to imagine how I can use this gorgeous creation. I know that it will begin to take on different hues depending on what it lies next to. I am drawn back into the moment as the transaction is done and I walk out the doors. I feel a tearing in my soul as I leave. I so want to stay. I know that all day would never be enough time, but I promise myself, I will be back. For this is my mecca and I will make another pilgrimage.

Good Ol' Doc

So I took Ayla in to the doctor to see what the "lump" was all about. Yep, I called as soon as I got up and left a message at their office that I needed an appointment today. Did I get it, you bet! They are amazing at the office and Dr. Bridge is a jewel. He has a thing for Jelly Beans, M&M's and silly ties.

The official diagnose (so far) is Cat Scratch Fever, treatment antibiotics. But the rub was that he wasn't sure what it was. Gee whiz, am I the only one who hates to hear doctors say that? Their confusion and stabbing in the dark always worries me. I know they aren't God, but if they don't know, then we rely on their "best guess". I would rather go play at a casino with my "best guess" then throw the dice with my kids health. But that is what I get to do. Play the odds and go from there. Not the happiest course, but a course none-the-less. I like having action, so I guess that's something. Plus, I do trust the kid's doc, he is thorough and thoughtful about his diagnosis and I know if he didn't know or have a best guess, he would find out.

A lump

I found a lump last night. Not on myself, but on my daughter. To me that scared me worse than if it was me. At first I thought it was her little breast bud, but it wasn't in the right place. Then when she kept saying "Ouch" every time I touched it. I thought maybe she hurt herself, her rib or just a bruise, but it moves separate from the rib and under the skin. That is when the greasy, oily, black knot of fear coiled in my belly. My next debate came deciding if I should take her into the hospital, it was late at night. But what could they do with her, it didn't appear to be affecting her motor functions, she could still use her arm and shoulder, it was just a spot that jutted out from her body. A little piece of hell.

So of course I start thinking about the big "C". What ifs run through my mind, wondering of what it is, what it could be, worries that I can do nothing about. I don't want to be one of "Those People". Those parents that realize how truly fragile your child is. Those people that watch their little baby suffer and feel that helpless frustration. Those people that walk that line between what was and what could be. My stomach aches from the knowledge that this could be for her. This could be the road she needs to walk, but it makes me so incredibly sad and angry.

But I don't know yet, and that is the worst. Now I just wait until I see the doctor. Or wait if he can't tell us and see another. I don't know. The potential for what it could be scares me and I hope that I am worrying for nothing, that it's just a bruise or something else innocuous. Now I just wait. And I pray.

Titles

I had a conversation with a good friend of mine not too long about about titles. Not just titles, like Mr. or Mrs., the essences of titles and what they mean to our identity. My friend and I are both "stay-at-home mothers" which means to the outside world, sit at home and eat bon-bons. To other @home moms we are amazing, multi-tasking, dynamos that need monuments or metals for all the unappreciated, unrealized and unrated attention we get.

She was brimming with anger for the responses she had been receiving from people in her life. The disdain others, i.e. doctors, teachers, PTA, family members were giving her because staying at home was "all she was doing".

I laughed at that. Can you believe such malarkey? I can't! My back has never hurt more, my feet have never throbbed more, I have never been more exhausted and I never ever seem to be able to finish my projects. Gee whiz, I bet that's not a problem for people who have "jobs". Who have a title they can bank on.

What we realized in our lively discussion is that without a title to "bank" on (money in the bank), you really aren't considered a viable person in society. If you can't show your worth via income and a title, who are you? After you ask someone their name, don't you ask a person what they "do"? Because we all know that defines the person, more so with men than women, but what we do gives us a facet.

So is being a mommy enough? That is what we debated back and forth and what we both concluded...Hell No! At least not for us. I believe in being at home for my kids with all my heart, but does it fulfill me? Not entirely. That drives me to do other things to fill that part in me that needs more of an identity. Volunteering, creating, designing, doing. That way when someone asks, what do you do...I can answer, how do you mean? In my personal, professional, private, spiritual life?

I watched an interview from a well know journalist (name escapes me now), female, who quit her job to stay at home with her kids. She went on to write a very controversial article about how she loved her kids, but didn't really like them. Well, you can imagine the response that got!!! Oooohh...she was flamed! How dare she say that and what a bad mother she was. What she was trying to say was that, she loved her kids and wanted to be there for them, but they didn't entirely fulfill her. She wanted more, craved more in her soul. I could identify with her.

Ironically the people who are most critical are working mothers. Which I would have thought would be the most sympathetic or more empathic to stay at home mothers. But after watching a really horrific Oprah about the opposing sides, WOW, it blew my mind. I couldn't believe the amount of prejudice and disdain working moms had for at home moms. Made me wonder what side we were all on.

In my wondering I have hit upon a theory; we (moms) are so caught up in our kids and husbands and what their needs are, we forget ourselves. We forget we are and were interesting people before. Before we met our spouses, before we gave birth. We went to college, attended art shows, plays, concerts. We write stories, drew pictures, sang beautiful songs...before. We did so many things before we became "MOM".

We let "MOM" define us and forget that we have a name. We are more than so-and-so's mom, more than so-and-so's wife. We forget that we can be separate than our family. That we have an identity beyond them and separate from them, that it is all ours. But of course, that comes with a price. Guilt. And for some, it's worth paying. But for others, the alternative is creating a headstone for wonderful and dear women that this world should know.

Fast, fast and faster

Okay, I've always considered myself pretty savvy with anything electronic or along those lines. I can program a VCR, wire my own stereo system, write computer programs, and work through a Microsoft issue on the computer...but I have realized, I am reaching that time. You know, that time when you are getting too old to keep up with the tech-life.

Sure, I can text, but it takes me FOREVER. I can even do it on the road while I am driving...(don't tell the cops!) usually finishing a 30 word (all written out, of course) essay by the time I have reached Tacoma. Then I watch my daughter whip messages back and forth like gun fire. It amazes me! There is even a special way to hold the phone/mobile so you can do it faster, I haven't mastered that at all. And, wait for this, I now know I am old...I don't want to. There is going to be a new carpal tunnel syndrome...something like text thumb syndrome or mobile wrist syndrome.

But I just can't get over the spelling! I went to school and even college so I could learn proper English, speaking or writing. Now all I see is Spktxt! Kids learning the quickest way to write, but is it grammatically correct or even spelled correctly? Heck no! Now, I just heard on the news that a school is teaching kids to write words and sentences phonetically...geez whiz, it's no wonder we rank so low on the education ladder. Can you imagine competing on a world level by text writing? Shudder to think so.

So I must say that I am keeping up as much as my deteriorating body can. I can still sit at a computer and work code and noodle out the Microsoft issues, but I don't think I'll ever get a laptop. Those little mouse pads kill me. So as things get smaller, more intricate and faster, I will continue to get bigger across my backside and try to keep up. :D