Author: afthead

Ouray Beauty

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized8 Comments

Damp and smelling of hot springs we made our way to the concert in the park.  Music and a sno-cone tent had lured us away from the warm pool.  My daughter and I were both overdressed for the weather in our jackets, but underdressed in our lack of underwear and shirts.  We had decided that wearing our swim suits under our clothes would just be “too soggy” for the rapidly cooling evening.  My husband’s damp swim trunks looked enough like shorts that he blended in. The band we didn’t know played music we did know.  We swayed to the music at the edge of the crowd while my daughter attacked her bright blue dessert.

Ouray is a mountain town, and there were distinct groupings of tourists in their “Ouray” and “Colorado” souvenir clothing and locals in their Patagonia, Mountain Hardware, and skinny jeans.  Tourists were not wearing skinny jeans, because no fabric is flexible enough to allow for anything beyond breathing in those jeans: completely impractical for anything but standing and looking cool.  Sprinkled between the tourists and locals were the traditional concert-in-the-park attendees.  The requisite braless old lady, somewhere between 45 and 95, hula hooped in the front row.  She briefly attracted attention of many wondering if her breasts would be exposed during her gyrations, even though no one really wanted to see them.

My daughter was marveling, “Why doesn’t everyone give straws and spoons with snow cones?” when I noticed a woman weaving her way through the crowd.  Well, I actually noticed her coat.  I am a coat aficionado and this was a spectacular specimen.  It hit her mid-thigh and was made out of some chamois colored leather or perhaps waxed canvas.  The material had a slight sheen and accentuated her ordinary movements as she nodded at this person and hugged that one.  In the fading sunset her coat glowed and looked so soft that I longed to touch it.  Laughing, she tossed her head and her long earrings sparkled beneath her asymmetrical black pixie hair.  It wasn’t a haircut in response to aging or motherhood, but just the haircut she should have.  When she bent to swoop up her son I noticed her jeans – not skinny like the cool people – but soft, medium blue, body skimming, practical and perfect.  They just brushed the top of her bare feet as she stood, cradling her boy on her hip.

She was beautiful.  It wasn’t that she was thin.  It wasn’t that she was well dressed.  She was both of those, but what made her beautiful was that she was impeccably herself and she was fully and completely present in the space she occupied.  I wasn’t the only person who noticed her, although I may have been the most intent observer.  As she would stop to talk to a group you could see the people nearby pausing in anticipation of her arrival.  When she left a group they would watch her go before resuming their conversations.  It was as if a spotlight followed her and the crowed brightened where she was.  She was magnetic.  I could spot her in an instant either due to her personality or the ebbs and flows of the crowd dynamics moving around her.

Never close enough to make eye contact or to be graced with a smile, I left without meeting this woman.  As I closed my eyes to sleep that night I imagined a life for her.  She owned a little boutique shop in Telluride.  She lived in Ouray in a house she inherited from her grandmother, and she loved the quaint mountain town.  However, as a savvy businesswoman, she knew the real money stayed in Telluride, the richer of the sister towns.  Every year women traveled from all over the world to spend thousands in a single shopping trip so they could look “just like her.”  She catered to them, fawned over them, impeccably dressed them, and under her attention they became beautiful.  Huge packages would arrive at their homes containing entire new wardrobes selected by her hand.  The rich women would take out each item and lovingly remember how they felt that day in Telluride.  Unfortunately, none of them could capture the same confidence they felt in the shop, because the shop owner didn’t come with the clothes she sold.  The memory of beauty didn’t wane so those wealthy women would return year after year to rekindle the feeling, and every year they found it under her gaze.  

I fell asleep wishing I could travel to Telluride and wondering what coat she would select for me.

Explaining Irony to Writer’s Digest

On By aftheadIn Tickles my afthead9 Comments

Remember a bit ago when I told you how I explained irony to my daughter?  (Reminder: pain relief spray crashed down on her head.)  Well, my writing friends, here’s one for you that just arrived in my inbox.  Enjoy!

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Update – 6/28/2016

I must stop trying to be overly clever.

Perhaps Writer’s Digest University should contemplate taking their “Introduction to Copyediting” course that begins June 30th.  They could apply their new found knowledge to e-mail subjects.

writers digest goof

Thanks Kathy for letting me know that my “joke” fell flat.

Mommy, Make Me a Blankie?

On By aftheadIn Knitting14 Comments

When my baby girl was still in my tummy I nested with crafting projects.  I made her a huge Amy Butler flower pillow that she could do tummy time on, as a baby, and sleep on, as a kid.  I made curtains to match.  After she was born my mom and I made her a crib skirt that matched them both.  I also bought machine washable Encore yarn to crochet her a huge granny square blanket and then soft organic cotton Sprout to knit her a blankie.  I have books of Baby Cashmerio patterns and the yarn needed to make a tiny striped cardigan and beret.

It was a surprise to me that new motherhood did not leave much time for knitting.  Even when the baby was asleep, she was often in my arms, or my hands were busy with laundry, dishes, or pumps.  Once I went back to work my hands were on my computer when they weren’t with my baby.  The infant years were not for knitting.

Fast forward eight years.  During the crap-moving part of our basement remodel my daughter found the two bins of yarn I’d purchased before her birth. When I told her what my plans had been she said, “Mommy, will you make me a blankie now?”  Without a second thought I put aside my knitting in progress and started planning her blankie.  When your eight-year-old asks for a handknit you knit.

We dove into the bins. I had hoped she’d pick the Sprout, but the anti-itchy girl decided the Encore was better.  At one point I had a whole rainbow of colors, but somehow only a three-quarter rainbow was in the bin.  No matter, she loved it.

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Then we searched patterns.  One look in my Ravelry library and she picked the Chevron Baby Blanket, not even caring that it said “baby”.  It looked easy and fun, so away I knit.  Between the zigzags, the yarn overs, and the color switches the blanket flew on my needles.  I was smart and wove in ends as I went.  Little Afthead is learning how to knit and even took a few stitches in the last green stripe and helped with the bind off.  A few snips of loose yarn bits and it was ready to block.  I showed it to my kiddo and she hugged it and drug it off to bed.  Who can argue with this kind of instant love?

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Today while she was at camp I snuck it out of her bed so I could take a few pictures of the still unblocked and unwashed finished product.

Here are the knitting details for the knitters.  

  • Yarn – Worsted Encore in 5 colors (I used half a skein for the two colors with 4 rows and about a third for the other three)
  • Pattern – Chevron Baby Blanket
  • Pattern modifications – used a different color repeat than listed and didn’t purl the yarn overs through the back loop.  (Do any of my knitting readers know how to do that?)
  • Needles – Addi Turbo Click Lace, size 9
  • Ravelry Link – http://ravel.me/afthead/cbb 

Now, I’m back to my previous project.  Remember that gorgeous cowl I had color elections for awhile back?  Well, I’ve just started knitting it again.  I’m still in the boring neutral section (because of a request from my daughter, see above blog words) but soon though I’ll be able for the big reveal on what colorway won!  Just pretend you still care even though it is months later…

Hiatus and Compromise

On By aftheadIn Tickles my afthead, Uncategorized10 Comments

Oh my dear blogging friends, I have missed you.  The insanity of May flowed into the craziness of June and my poor blog suffered.  In hindsight I should have told you all I was going to be missing from this space, but alas, I just went and left no forwarding address.  Now refreshed and full of stories from a week’s vacation I return ready to blog again.

For starters, let me just say I have finally figured out this “vacationing with a child” thing.  Now, 8+ years of parenting has taught me that the second I utter such words that hubris will destroy me leaving me in the land of horrid vacations for years to come. I shall not be daunted!  I believe this knowledge will endure!  The key to successfully vacationing with a kid is… duh duh duuuuhhhhh…. compromise!  Let’s look at some pictorial evidence from my recent Tour de Soutwest Colorado, shall we?

In order for child(ren) to enjoy the seven mile hike to Lizard Lake, you must first incentivize them with a gnome home contest.  Then, when the whining and complaining part of the hike begins you may be lucky enough to notice a bonanza of snail shells (What?!?  In Colorado in the mountains???  It’s like Mother Nature was on the parent’s side) which will lead to the creation of a snail-shell-walkway which will result in a champion gnome home.  Everyone is happy, especially the gnomes.  Tune in, because I am certain this home will be featured on gnome HGTV for years to come.

Oh, not more hiking.  We adults love hiking, and somehow we think if there is a waterfall at the end the children will like hiking too.  That may work for you, especially if the hike is short and the waterfall is amazing like this one is, but maybe, just maybe, giant inflatable pool toys are more amazing?  Try coupling the success of passing a swim test with an hour of “Water Ninja Warrior” competition – where your child legitimately crushes you on 6 of 6 obstacle runs. (She’s over a foot smaller than me, how was I supposed to fit?  And don’t get me started on her strength to weight ratio….)  The whole way up to that waterfall there will be nothing but joy, especially if you couple the hike with really great rocks in the path.

Oh dear God. You are not done hiking yet?  You want to hike to a cave?  A dark creepy cave?  Well parents, just stick a horseback ride on the front of that cave hike and let Yuma the horse do the majority of the hiking for you. Sure, you won’t be able to walk for a couple days while you develop real understanding of the term “saddle-sore” but your kid will love every minute of the ride there, and then might even surprise you by being the only family member willing to follow the guide “just a little farther into the cave.”  Try not to hang your head in shame while you let your kid go spelunking into the depths of a cave with some guide you met less than an hour before.  She’ll probably be fine and besides, your butt hurts too much to crouch.

EVEN MORE HIKING?!?!  What are you insane?  Is this a death march or a vacation, I ask you?  Well, if you can hike in a creek and, I don’t know, pick up even more cool rocks then maybe you can squeeze one more hike in.   Note: we may have failed on the rock portion of “take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints” goal of hiking, but that’s okay, because you are done hiking now, right.  RIGHT???

Let me tell you, at some point you have to put your butt down.  Sure the top of the sand dunes are very tempting, but that sand is hard to walk on and after awhile there is so much of it in your ears you can’t hear the pleading, “Can’t we just go a little farther?”  Fine, go a little farther, but me and your backpacks of water and snacks are staying here, far away from the sand ledge of death – which somehow didn’t claim my family (or any other lives) during our trip.  You go on to the top.  I’ll wait for you, even without any rocks to gather.


 

Running Obituary

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized6 Comments

This weekend I had my last traditional Sunday run.  Every weekend for fifteen years (give or take a year) I have met a friend and we’ve run 4-22 miles together.  We’ve run in snow, rain, heat, and darkness.  We’ve trained for marathons.  We’ve run through miscarriages, depression, pregnancy, divorce, and marriage.  My friend and I have never lived more than five miles apart.  Friday she moves 19 miles away.

The routine has changed over the years, but it’s always involved meeting at her house before 8:00 and running.  I remember finishing runs with eyelashes covered in frost, blood running down my leg, or tears in my eyes.  I remember running wondering if she would ever shut up, and I’m sure she remembers runs wondering the same about me and my current gripe, aggravation, or crisis.  The running therapy was sometimes one sided, but that was how the weekend runs went: sometimes one of us needed to talk and sometimes one of us needed to listen.  We both spent time as the therapist and the patient.

Before kids we saw each other socially, but since our families arrived our friendship has dwindled to a dinner or two a year and a run every weekend.  The lack of variety has not diminished the value of the time together, in fact, I think it’s grown more important.  When you have kids making time for yourself and your friendships gets difficult, but while other activities have gone by the wayside the Sunday run was constant.

I exaggerate a bit.  Life did interrupt our runs from time to time.  Vacations, surgeries, and weather would cancel the runs, but that was the exception, not the rule.  For me the exercise and the chatting meant my week started with a clear head and was worth making an effort.  We talked about our kids, our parents, our husbands, our friends, our jobs, and our health.  Our insecurities around parenting, our bodies, our relationships, and our careers were common topics.  For an hour every week we didn’t have to start and stop a discussion to parent, wife, or work.  Together we focused on ourselves while pounding the pavement.

We both hate treadmills and dislike gyms.  Neither of us runs with headphones and her dog always keeps us company.  There was never a negotiation about any of those details, so it was easy.  When we first started running she was so much faster than me that I’d have to run half a lap around the park with her and then turn to walk the opposite direction to recover.  When she caught back up I’d turn around and run again.  I worried about keeping up with her, but then we got to the same pace and it was easy.  At one point we could run a 7 minute mile, but now we’ve slowed to a comfortable 9-10 mile per hour pace for our Sunday  morning runs.  She runs every morning and her inflexibility is the reason this tradition has continued on.  I know because we’ve had other friends come and go from the run but she has been the constant and I’ve gone along for the run.  It just happens every weekend.

We can keep running – and I’m sure we will meet up from time to time to run the trails by her new house or the parks by my house – but it will require planning and schedules.  It will become difficult, and that’s what makes me sad.  All of my friendships right now require negotiation and calendars and texts and cancellations and rescheduling.  The run was easy, and easy is in short supply in my friendships.

For our last run Sunday I imagined some epic last meeting.  We’d take selfies (that I could post on my blog).  I’d bring a present.  We’d reminisce about all the runs over the years.  None of that happened.  Another friend joined us and we ran a lap.  We talked about our kids and the move.  Then our friend went off to church and we ran one last lap together just chatting, bitching, and running: same as always.  Tears were blinked away, not about our last run, but about her son.  No selfie was taken, and our goodbye was a quick hug, since I hadn’t showered in three days and she had to mow the lawn.  It wasn’t until I got in my car that I let myself mourn the end of the Sunday morning run.  Then I wiped my eyes and went to pick up bagels for my family, just like I’ve done every other week.

Next week she moves, and the week after that I’m on vacation and then…who knows.  I’ll have to plan something, but maybe this hour a week with a friend is worth it even if it’s hard.  For now I’m sad that it won’t be easy anymore.

Ack! Spider! Part Deux

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized11 Comments

Why does this keep happening to me?  Six months ago a wolf spider freaked me out during my shower, and today, well a relaxing bath just isn’t that relaxing when this guy jumps out of the shower curtain as you are cleaning the tub.  He was relocated to the front porch in a cup that he refuses to vacate.  Enjoy your new home spidey, and stay outside where you belong.

No more angry holidays

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized11 Comments

I had an amazing, beautiful Mother’s Day.  I ran with a dear friend.  My daughter made me a sweet card and gave me some yarn so I can make her a hat for when she goes to sleep away camp.  She picked out not-itchy yarn to guarantee she will wear it.

I spent a few blissful hours alone before my mom and I had our traditional buy flowers until the car is full then buy some more shopping trip.  This is a picture of her car before our last stop where we bought three more flats of plants.  (She had one on her lap and one under her feet by the end.)  We decided our million dollar idea is to build a double-deck car plant stand.

We went back to my house, unloaded the car, and picked up my daughter.  Then after a quick visit with the grandparents little Afthead and I headed home.  I cooked dinner, and we enjoyed our evening as a family.  There was a card on the dining room table with my name on it.  At bedtime I said, “I’m going to open this card from Daddy and then let’s get ready for bed.”

Daddy said, “Oh, that’s not from me.  It’s from my brother and sister-in-law.”

My head explodes.  My husband and I have this fight at least once a year.  We’ve had it on Mother’s Day, my birthday, Valentine’s Day and our anniversary.  He has a variety of lame excuses such as he didn’t know he was supposed to buy me a card or he forgot or whatever, but at least once a year he totally ruins a holiday for me.  I know it’s going to happen, so I’m mad at myself for letting it bother me, but I feel like I’ve given up so much.  I don’t expect a present.  I don’t expect flowers (because I have plenty, thanks.)  I don’t want chocolate.  I don’t expect breakfast in bed.  I expect a card which is available at any grocery store, card store, book store, and even most convenience stores.  When you can’t even bother to get me a card it’s like a giant middle finger raised with a “you don’t matter at all” tacked on top.  My husband knows this.  I am not a shrinking violet when he forgets the card. We have been together for twenty years, but this year I gave up.  He is never going to remember the damn card.

I went to bed furious at myself for letting him ruin my great day and at him for forgetting the card, again.  I made plans to run off with the cute lifeguard at the pool, or the cute bagel store guy, but when I woke up I tossed those ideas and solved the problem: I went to Target and bought my own cards.  There was one decent Mother’s Day card left, so I got that.  I picked up 4 birthday cards, a few generic “I love you cards” appropriate for Valentine’s Day, our anniversary, or just because he loves me. I bought some “I’m Sorry” cards, because he really freaking needs those.  I got some blank cards.  The Target bag was full of cards, and when I got home I handed them to him explaining that if he couldn’t even manage to open a drawer and sort through these cards I really would kill him.

He wasn’t offended.  My husband is aware of his shortcomings, but he was smart enough to have a card of his own waiting for me.  A “thank you” card because he figured that was what he should have said on Mother’s Day, and because the grocery store was out of Mother’s Day cards.  I may have to pick up a few more “thank you” cards for him.  It was a nice sentiment.

Survival. Costco style.

On By aftheadIn Tickles my afthead14 Comments

Oh blogging buddies, how I have missed you!  As those of you with school aged kids know May is a crazy month filled with soccer games, school plays, Mother’s Day, field trips, and in the Afthead house, the little Afthead’s birthday.  In preparation for the big birthday party this weekend we stopped by Costco for some party food: popcorn, candy, and wait a second…what is that?

Across from the popcorn was a big paint bucket that said “Food Storage”.  Always looking for a better solution to plastic bags and Ziploc containers I had to check it out.  After reading a bit I realized that this bucket did not hold what I thought it held.  This bucket contains 390 “delicious just-add-water” meals.  When enjoyed eaten these meals will supply the family of four 2000 calories per day for thirty days, and the contents are good for twenty years!

Wow, so many questions before I purchase though…  First off, I calculate that a family of four eating three meals a day for 30 days needs 360 meals.  Since this has 390 meals I wonder what the extra 30 meals are for?  Picky eaters?  A snack every fourth day?  That mutant rat that snuck into the emergency shelter with you?  Can you have a family of five eat for 10 days and then pick who doesn’t get to eat the rest of the time?  With a family of three, we could eat for 43 days, unless those random extra meals are important somehow.  What a deal!

Next, there is the highly touted “Gamma Lid” featured in the Costco online write up.  I don’t know why a Gamma Lid is important or what it does for your bucket-o-food, but man, I feel like more of my buckets need a Gamma Lid.

Oh, and the reasons you might want this bucket are so important to note.  You might want it because, like me, you relish the idea of not having to cook for your family for 43 days and paying a mere $114.99 to sustain yourself.  However, that is not the benefit according to the bucket.  You need this in case of

EARTHQUAKES – STORMS – ECONOMY – FIRES – FLOODS

Mother nature can be unforgiving when we least expect it.  Have the peace of mind that being ready provides, confident that you have the basic necessities to survive the unexpected.  Live Life Ready.

Whoa there.  Let’s all start singing the old Sesame Street song, One of these things is not like the other… Is anyone else aware of a Mother Nature derived economic disaster?  Maybe a tornado ripped through the Federal Reserve?  I had to watch the video online to get clarification, but that just played peppy music and showed me a happy lady with a white chunky necklace making some “Creamy Cinnamon & Rice” from the bucket.  I also got to see her twist open the Gamma Lid!  Based on the video, I also think the meals come with garnish like lemons, parsley, sour cream, fresh strawberries, jalapenos and whipped cream.  Yum!  Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh….Come on, sing along if you watched the video!

Well, I didn’t buy the bucket, because my husband and child dragged me away from the display before I could really understand bucket’s worth, but with all my additional online research I may just have to join chunky necklace lady and plaid shirt man (who appears on Costco’s site stocking his shelves with what appears to be a tenth bucket) in “living life ready.”  Mmmm….tomorrow I think I’ll twist open my Gamma Lid and enjoy some Cheddar Cheese Grits with Green Chilies, Chicken Flavored Vegetable Stew and Creamy Mashed Potatoes!

Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh….wait…there is a “3,986 Total Serving 1-Year 1-Person Food Storage Supply” option for only $4,499.99 and a “31,500 Total Servings 4-Person 1-Year Food Storage” option for $3,999.99????  I’m going to need to do more research…

Explaining Irony to a Child

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized8 Comments

Recently my daughter asked me one of those head scratching kid questions.  “Mom, what is irony?”

I don’t know about you, but ever since Ms. Morissette released her hit single “Ironic” I have had a hard time explaining the difference between bad luck and irony.  Rain on your wedding day?  Not ironic.  Behold, last night provided me with the answer to the wee Afthead’s question.

Upon realizing that she had a cut on her foot –  that didn’t hurt at all until she saw it – little Afthead went to get the box of first aid supplies.  This was unusually independent of her.  Normally wounds require drama and snuggling and mommy’s attention.  However, as the wee child got her stool and reached up to the top shelf of the linen closet tragedy occurred.  A can of pain relieving spray tumbled down bonking her on the head.  I came running when I heard the clatter, but before the tears could start I assessed the situation and exclaimed, “This, this is ironic!  Remember when you asked mommy what irony was and I couldn’t explain?  You getting bonked on the head by pain spray is ironic.”

Amazingly the definition was enough to stop the tears and launch us into a conversation about other ironic first aid situations.  Getting a paper cut opening a band aid.  Getting an infection from a germ on the outside of the antibacterial spray.  Apparently irony is best explained in terms of band-aids and boo-boos.