Annoyances and a Poll

There are times when I love BurdaStyle. A website offering instance gratification pattern acquisition combined with an active community of knowledgeable members is a good thing.

Other times, I think they are drunk.

Today, I think they're drunk.

A few weeks ago, they put up a poll asking which of four patterns the community might like to do as a sewalong. Immediately, my eye was drawn to this gorgeous muted periwinkle motorcycle sewn up in a beautifully textured raw silk. Be still my damned heart. Look at that thing.

The other options were interesting enough but it was the moto jacket that spoke to me. I've never sewn a moto jacket before so the idea of a sewalong is just the thing to get a little procrastinist motivated. (It's a word now. Deal with it.) So I voted and I hoped and I prayed. And wonder of wonders, the sewing world agreed with me.

I eagerly awaited further details on when the sewalong would begin as I perused the internet for the perfect buttons and zippers to suit a posh shimmery linen that just so happened to fall into my lap.

Then came the post.

Then came the disappointment.

Then came the eye twitching.

Apparently, I am hella spoiled by the blogging world because when I hear sewalong, I hear free. When Burda hears sewalong, they hear Kah CHING!

I'm still making this damned jacket, people. I'm just not paying $19.99 to do so. Oh pattern included? No. The pattern is $5.99. Oh you're going to teach me to work with silk? Yeah, I already know how to do that, bud. Mostly because a slew of bloggers taught me, for free actually. Imagine that.

Boo on you, BurdaStyle. Booo on  yooooooooou!

Or maybe I'm spoiled. IDK.

Anyway, moving on to the poll section of this post. (I promise not to charge you when the results come in. Isn't that nice of me?)

What shall I sew next? I just made Pinky a slew of new things the last few weeks and I managed to sew up my first version of Sewaholic's newest pattern, The Belcarra blouse (blog post to come soon) so I'd like to take advantage of my sewing mojo while it's still flowing. Mostly because I should be cleaning. I'm always more successful at things when I'm supposed to be doing something else.

Shall I dive into the Motorcycle jacket? (Wait until you see this linen. You will die.)

Perhaps I should get it popping on the Caroline Doll project but starting on pinky's chemise, though I'd rather wait until the linen for my chemise arrives so I can do them both together.

Shift sewn by ECDCostume

Or should I stop being such a fraidy cat and bring my serger into submission via the very lovely Burda 7059? I have a rayon slub knit in a navy print that's begging to be worn to church on Sunday.

What say you?

Summer lovin'

As with anything in my life, the anticipation is worse than the actual event. Summer is here and my kids aren't dead. I'll give you a moment to recover from your shock. While I have been asked too many times to count a barage of questions, I've yet to hear the dreaded, "Mommy, I'm boooooooooreeeeeeed!" Maybe because they know I would end them. I'm not sure. In any case, the weather has been beautiful, the kids have been cooperating and thanks to a friend from church, we made our first trek of the summer to a beautiful pool in my friend's subdivision.

Can we talk about swimsuit season for a moment? Because quite frankly, I'm annoyed with all the hubaloo about getting your perfect beach body and the obsession with the right swimsuit to flatter your figure. Let's be honest here. Unless you're Twiggy, there isn't much flattering about any swimsuit. In fact, it's much like voting for president. It's not a matter of what you love but what you hate the least. Or perhaps I'm the only one whose "troublespots" have nowhere to hide in a bathing suit.

You give me a pencil skirt and a pretty top and I feel fine as hell (because I am fine as hell, let's not lie.) But you wave a swimsuit in my face and suddenly, I'm feeling a bit like something Captain Ahab was chasing, albeit slightly less white.

There's nothing perfect about my figure. The sisters are difficult to support even when I'm not nursing, my postpartum belly resembles a bowl full of pudding, and there are faint lighting bolts streaking across my thighs. But it's my body. I'm not going to let a series of crappy commercials and magazine articles make me feel bad about wearing a garment that wouldn't flatter all my less than stellar spots even if lovingly crafted by Karl Lagerfeld himself (don't laugh).

I have two choices. I can hide or I can be proud. I'm choosing the latter, not just because I don't want thoughts about my jiggly ass to destract me from playing Loch Ness monster in the pool with the kidlets but because I hope my daughter notices.

THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!

On a slightly related note, do people not take young babies in the water? I couldn't find a single swim diaper to fit pudding's tiny heinie. They don't even make plastic pants that small. Anyone have some advice here? I see more pool visits in our future and I don't expect him to hit 18lbs any time soon. Sure, he could wear the monstro ones but I thought the point was to contain his power poots. If his swim diaper doesn't hold up, I may as well save myself the ten bucks and stick him in his shorts. YAY FOR FREE!

I do so solemnly swear

to be less of a hot mess and get back to blogging and other housewifey type things.


pics on Sodahead

While we're discussing my lack of getting done crap, can we discuss Park Seed? Is there a reason it's taking them forever to send me my damned seeds already? How much effort does it take to drop some peas in a damned envelope, slap a stamp on it and send it my way?

Hmmmmmmmmm?

GAH!

I'm going slightly mad

It finally happened, woah oh

Remember my meandering Sunday wallyworld thread?

Welp, I realized Tuesday when headed out the door with plans to raid goodwill that I hadn't seen my debit card or my I.D since my last run in with my Sam Walton stalker. I scrounged my car, my purse, the diaper bag, the trunkish thing that's not a trunk but totally is the back of the car where you put trunk stuff, the diaper bag again, the backseat, the front seat, the pocket of every pair of jeans I own, the bathroom floor, even my kid's jeans since I remember sticking my keys in there as I had no pockets on Sunday and wasn't carrying a purse.

No dice. Up against the clock and a lunch date with a cool lady and her awesome kid, I snatched Mr Man's debit card and dashed out of the door. After being treated to the antics of very smart four year old with a perfect Mario imitation, I came back home and repeated my search to no avail.

So yesterday morning, I rouse my lazy ass from bed and consider which will be more painful, playing round robin with the stupid voice automation feature on the phone or dealing with the heavy sighs, starched shirts, and eerie quiet of the bank. Choosing the latter, I got the pudding dressed and hot footed it out to the car ready to take on the day. I went to straighten the straps on his carseat and what do my fingers graze??

That's right, my debit card. Don't ask me. I just live here.

A bank trip avoided. Now I am free to run into Joann's real quick for a couple invisible zippers and see what else randomly attacks my cart. Seersucker maybe? mmmhmmm! And two bolts of a really pretty peachy rose cotton with green birds on it? Oh yes please especially as I not only had a 40% off Joann's coupon but thanks to a wise comment on Gertie's blog post from the other day, I was also in possession of a beautiful, gorgeous, shiny 20% off your total purchase coupon.

Tada!!!

Oh yeah, baby!

My high lasted exactly six hours when standing in walmart (see, sucked in again!) I realized I actually had lost my debit card. I carried it in when I ran in to get yogurt, somehow set it down when I was distracted by a bolt of brown, pink, and cream striped knit and somehow, by the time I headed towards the grocery side of the place, I'd lost it.

Grrr

Guess I'm going to have to deal with the bank tellers after all. At least I won't spend 30 minutes yelling NO, LOST CARD, YES, BACK, SCREW YOU AUTOMATED SYSTEM!!

See, I can look on the bright side.

I think I deserve ice cream today, don't you?

Cold Stone, here I come!

Ice cream fixes everything,
except a raving case of fatass of course.