Because, let’s face it, it’s still birthday all the time, if you’re only going by what I write here. But! Today I’m guest posting over on Cynthia’s blog. And it’s extra special because TODAY is her birthday. So click on over to my post to hear about how childhood birthdays turned me into a basketcase every summer.
Monthly Archives: July 2011
Moving Week with a Side of Birthdays
So last week was a pretty gigantic one for me and for Dan together. And I’m feeling like I need a week to recover from my week off. Dan and I both have made a habit of taking the week that contains both of our birthdays off from work, and it’s a tradition I completely adore. Last year’s Birthday Week Extravaganza was one of the best weeks, ever. This year’s birthday week ended up being moving week, and while I was reluctant to surrender the All Birthday All The Time mentality, having a full week plus a few days on each end to deal with everything having to do with moving out of two separate places and into a new one, together, was completely vital.
Here are some of the highlights, as well as some photos I want to preserve for posterity.
I started the week off with a Harry Potter double feature with my brother and a few of his friends. We saw Deathly Hallows Part 1 at 9pm, and then Part 2 at midnight on Thursday. And it was AMAZING. Both to see them back to back, to be seeing it at midnight, the first moment we could, and the movies themselves. Dan has never seen the movies, so we’ve been rewatching all of the Harry Potter movies amid moving, and having this story I love as an anchor has been kind of nice.
The first weekend was spent doing projects at our new place with my parents. We painted over the ugly mint green walls in the dining room (and I totally forgot to take before pictures!) and put up blinds and curtains. We went out to dinner with Dan’s family to celebrate his birthday, my birthday, and his brother’s birthday, which is also within a week. And Dan ate a one pound burger and then had to pose with a stuffed cheeseburger.
Then we had to go back to the couch drawing board, after our first choice ended up being way, way too big. We went to several stores and I got to experience the joy of someone who is both very tall and has exacting requirements about how high the back of a couch should be, and exactly how his feet should rest on a recliner or ottoman. Luckily, we finally found a couch and a recliner that we both love, that were super on sale, AND that didn’t come in ugly colors. We also spend an incredibly fun afternoon at Ikea, where I yet again drooled over Expedits, but where we bought necessary but not as jazzy things such as a table for Dan’s desk, coffee table, and some end tables. (And meatballs.) Oh, and we saw a Somerset Patriots game for Dan’s birthday on Monday night.
Of course, the part that I’m leaving out to save time is that in between all of these bigger errands and fun birthday things were multiple trips in both of our cars between my old apartment and our new one, and between HIS old apartment and our new one. Every time we were passing by, we dropped stuff off. We really just used up every moment, and had very little time to just sit.
(my color-coded box labeling system actually got COMPLIMENTS, you guys. Not laughter. I’m still shocked. Each room had a color, and then I also wrote on the label what was in each box. It was both pretty and helpful!)
Wednesday was Moving Day, or The Day With The Truck where we emptied my old apartment. I’m infinitely grateful to my parents, my brother, and my sister and her boyfriend for yet again carrying all of my shit. Especially to John, James, Dan and my dad for getting the orange couch out of my apartment over the balcony. (That couch went to my parents’ house, where it is PERFECT in my old bedroom, or the room they are now calling the “back bedroom”.)
It was a long, hot, sweaty day, but we had bagels and pizza from the (very, very tasty) pizza place we can now walk to, and we got a ton of unpacking done, too. Then Dan and I drove into New Brunswick for microbrewed beer and greasy food.
Thursday was my birthday, which I’ve written about already. 30 wasn’t like any other birthdays I’ve had, but it was good to get some unpacking done, and to get dressed up to head into Princeton for my usual trio of Paper Source, Triumph Brewery, and Bent Spoon cupcakes.
On Friday our furniture was delivered, which was pretty fantastic, not only because we finally had a place to sit in the living room. And then we drove down to Lakewood to see the Blueclaws play, which was more fun than you’d think given the 90+ degree weather. And Saturday, we spent a long time at Dan’s old apartment so he could pack and so we could (blissfully) just sit and watch a movie. Sunday was the day I finally unpacked more, and the day that allowed me to finally feel like we’re settling in.
(my parents surprised me with a giant bunch of birthday balloons. when was the last time you had balloons? they are SO fun.)
Now that I’m back at work, people keep asking “how’s the new apartment?” and “how was the move?” and all I can come up with is that it was COMPLETELY EXHAUSTING. Amazing, frustrating, stressful, fun, and oh yeah, our birthdays were in there too, but just so exhausting. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally just full. And a bit overwhelmed. But now it’s Tuesday night, and I’m typing this while sitting on my new couch next to my red striped and yellow striped throw pillows while watching a baseball game, and I’m finally starting to feel like this is really, really, really good. But I’m also glad to be getting back to normal life. Because enough with the Big Stuff for a while, right?
Thirty.
I feel like I have been talking about turning thirty all year. And I guess I kind of have, what with the 30 Before 30 list and everything. (I am still working on a few of the items, and will definitely write to wrap up the list once things calm down a bit.)
July 21, 1982. One.
As a kid, I had a strange history of putting way too much importance in my own birthday. There were a lot of years of stressing about what the perfect gift might be, or how to spend the perfect day. I have been afraid all along that the oh-so-typical Birthday Stress would be exponentially larger, since Turning Thirty is such a Big Deal And Whatever.
July 21, 1984. Three. THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE CABBAGE PATCH DOLL.
But now it’s here, and I didn’t really end up coming up with anything outrageously noteworthy to do today, unlike most of my friends who have planned big parties or super fun things to do with large groups of everyone who loves them. I couldn’t even think of what to tell people I wanted. And the biggest surprise to me, the same girl who used to FREAK OUT the week before every birthday (it’s the last time I’ll ever swim in a pool while I’m 13!!), is that I’m totally okay with all of it. I am wearing a striped dress and giant pink, red and purple earrings with my purple saltwater sandals, I’ve eaten a bagel and will soon consume frozen yogurt, a beer sampler, and some cupcakes. I’m spending the day with my love. And that is pretty damn great.
July 21, 1985. Four.
29 seemed like it was going to be The Year, and really? It turned out to be not great at all. There was so much stress and hassle and tears and frustration and for a really large part of the year, it felt like nothing was going as it should, and that everything was more difficult than it needed to be. Right up until this past week, when I almost broke my foot and had unexpected and expensive car repairs. So, no, 29 was not what I expected. But I think that fact is what has helped me approach 30 with increasing excitement and hope the closer it got. My teens were spent knowing somewhere deep down that I just didn’t fit in. My twenties were years of endless searching. For my place in the world, for a career, for fulfillment, for love, for friendship… And as I sit here, newly 30 and perhaps a bit too reflective, I can’t help but feel for damn sure that everyone who has ever told me that their thirties were the best years EVER was SO RIGHT.
Because Dan and I just moved in together and even though the last few weeks have been unsettled and chaotic, things are coming together SO nicely. And I have some of the best friends in the universe. And a craft room. And a brother and a sister and parents who know me better than anyone and who have carried my shit way too many times. And someone who really loves me. And I’m having a really great hair day.
So thirty, bring it on. I simply can’t wait to see what you have in store.
Summer Postcards!
My friend Jodi hosted a summer postcard swap this month, and after Cynthia posted her creations, I knew I wanted to do the same.
I keep a few old paperbacks with my craft supplies, because the book pages make such a great background. All I used otherwise were moo cards (some of my own business cards, and some of the older small ones), some stamps, a few summery magazine pages, and LOTS of washi tape for some stripeitude. I coated them all with a light coat of Mod Podge, because I was afraid they’d fall apart in the mail. (They didn’t, so it worked!) We always send cards to wish friends and family happiness in the winter, but why not wish everyone a happy summer? It’s my favorite time of the year! I made my required postcards, but also a few extras for my out of town friends, and sending an unexpected surprise in the mail is one of my favorite things to do.
Week 28: This Post is Actually About Moving
So things have gotten a little crazy around here over the past few weeks, but so far I have still managed to keep up with Handmade52. Somehow. Maybe partly because I need the distraction, even though I can’t really afford it much longer. I started an afghan this week, one that I saw in my summer issue of Crochet Today. I couldn’t find the yarn that the pattern called for, so I went with the old standard Red Heart Super Saver, and I’m okay with that. A ripple afghan is a pretty classic thing to crochet, and I feel a bit like it’s a right of passage. Or, okay, fine, I just wanted to make one and I like the stripes of the one from CT. I started it over the weekend, and am enjoying the mindless stitching as forced relaxation amid the chaos. Because I’m moving in a week.
I chose the colors when I thought we were buying a camel-colored couch, figuring that red and teal could be my accent colors. That was before I found out that the couch we loved was entirely too monstrous for our not-overly-large living room. So we don’t have a couch, but I’m still crocheting.
Moving is stressful. I’m sure you all know that. But it’s so much more than that for me, this time. It’s all gotten so complicated, the things that I am sad about, combined with the things I am excited about. Add in the fact that I’m, you know, turning 30 the day after I move, and my brain is kind of on overload. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Dan and I have been together for two years and nine months now, and we have livedan hour apart the whole time. He works nights, I work days, so one of us has been driving ut to see the other every weekend. And it’s doable, it’s certainly not as difficult as many people deal with, but it has gotten old. When I started my current job last fall, we decided that it was about time to think about getting a place together, because we are both just so tired of packing a bag every other weekend, figuring out where we’ll be, adjusting plans based on who we’ll be closer to… etc.
We found a place that we both like, despite an awful, frustrating process. And it’s good. And I’m happy. I’m in a good place as far as packing goes, and I’m off starting on Friday for what was originally supposed to be our Birthday Week Extravaganza (Dan’s is on Monday, mine on Thursday) but is now Moving Week with a Side of Birthdays.
But.
I know there shouldn’t be a but. And I’ll get to the things I’m excited about in a minute. But for me, this is kind of the end of an era, and it is hard, sometimes, to always be expected to only talk about the things I’m excited about. Because there are a lot of things I’m going to miss, little things that I am losing. I’ve now lived by myself for four years and now… I won’t. I like living by myself. There’s no one to judge me for how often I eat cheese and crackers for dinner. Or the fact that my refrigerator is stocked with beer and cheese and cranberry juice most of the time. I love my bedroom and the sunshine during the day. I love my wall of Es and how close I am to my family. And Chipotle. And my favorite pizza in the world.
But more than anything else, I love that I have lived 15 minutes from the beach all of this time. (All my life, truly.) I can go there when I need inspiration or when I’m sad or when I just want to smell the salty air. And I have never been able to imagine not being so close.
Except in a week I will no longer be that close. And that is making me really sad.
Okay, fine, I’m only moving an hour northwest. And Dan and I will finally be together, and we’ll have a pool to swim in and I’ll have someone to cook for. And we won’t have to miss each other on weekdays. And you guys, I’m getting a CRAFT ROOM and it will be full of my books and craft supplies and it is SO SUNNY. And I will be able to do laundry whenever I damn well want to, instead of once a week at my parents house. There’s an ice cream store and a pizza place within walking distance. And holy crap, we’ll be TOGETHER.
So there’s sad. But there’s good. And yes, I’m turning 30 right in the midst of it and that makes everything even more complicated and stressful. But I’m still crafting, and life goes on, in both big ways and small ways.
#29: Bake something just for me, without an occasion
Some days, I really don’t know whether all of these projects I have going are a blessing or a curse. When I’m in the midst of getting ready to move (more on that later this week), they do begin to feel more like the latter.
But because I’m a bit of an idiot when it comes to following my self-imposed rules, I power through and do things like what I did on Friday. I had the day off, the usual set-up when I work a Saturday, and I spent the bulk of the day packing and sorting and sweating in general. So Friday evening, instead of relaxing or just sitting still for a while, I decided it would be the perfect time to bake. Because baking something just because is one of the few remaining 30 Before 30 list items, and I hadn’t made anything that could count for Handmade 52 last week, either. And again, I’m an idiot.
I originally put this on 30 Before 30 because lately it seems like I only ever bake for parties or for other people. And while I love doing that, there seems to be a lot of things that I’d love to bake, but the masses wouldn’t enjoy. Or, the masses only ever request chocolate chip cookies and holy crap am I sick of making chocolate chip cookies.
Anyway! My cousin made homemade oreos around Christmastime and I couldn’t stop eating them. I can’t deal with more than three or four of the original ones, because me and chocolate aren’t the best of friends. (Oddly enough, though, cookies and cream is my favorite ice cream flavor. Don’t ask me, I know it doesn’t make sense.) So I have wanted to make them since then, and since the recipe source that I always go to first, Smitten Kitchen, had a recipe for homemade oreos, I was set.
These weren’t difficult, and I did leave off a half cup of sugar as Deb suggests to avoid an overly sweet cookie. I think I would try to make the cookies a little smaller next time, though. I learned the hard way why you shouldn’t buy the bottom shelf $7.99 hand mixer at Target while making the filling though. (And didn’t burn down my soon-to-be-vacated apartment in the process.)
The bottom line? These were heavenly. And you should totally make them. They aren’t exactly like oreos, but they are amazing in their own right.
#22: Get a Tattoo
I feel as though if I had polled my friends and family back in July when I originally posted my 30 before 30 list, this is the item that most of you would have filed under “unlikely”. And I might have agreed with you, to be perfectly honest. I have wanted to get a tattoo for at least ten years (I distinctly remember sitting in dorm rooms in college talking about what I’d get if I ever got the nerve). I just really didn’t think I’d ever have the balls to get one for real.
I also have always had trouble nailing down what kind of tattoo I’d get, let alone where I would want it to go. And those are two pretty important aspects of choosing to get a tattoo. So I held off. The idea started to seem a little more attainable a few years ago when my brother got his rampant lion tattoo, though. He had an artist he liked and trusted, and perhaps more importantly, he had That Discussion with our parents and lived to tell the tale.
Cut to a little over a year ago, when my beloved grandmother became very sick and passed away. It was a very difficult time for all of us, but we found a lot of comfort in her outlook on life. I have often felt a little bit like Ghami was a misplaced hippie who was not really religious but very spiritual. Every card any of us received from her said “Heads up!” or “Feel the wind” alongside stick-figure drawings with short hair, hoop earrings, and a twirly skirt. It was her wise way of reminding us to take time to enjoy the moments in life, to focus on the details instead of the heavy stuff, to pause. And it never meant more than it did last spring.
It seemed like the perfect thing for a tattoo, but I had a lot of trouble figuring out how to symbolize the feel the wind spirit in an image. And after a week or so, it hit me, because sitting right on my desk was a tiny card I had bought at Paper Source sometime last winter, orange ink on white, a single dandelion with the seeds blowing in the wind. It was everything I wanted to convey – the wind, hope, details, wishes… perfect.
So I left that card (and the idea) on my desk for over a year. I wanted to make sure I loved the idea after months of staring at it as much as I did when I first thought of it. And sure enough, I did. And after becoming mildly obsessed (in a totally cool, not-creepy-but-friendly way) with the tattoo Jodi got on the top of her foot, I had found my ideal location. Visible when I want it to be, easy to see myself, and easy enough to cover, too.
before
After a few stops and starts, my brother and I showed up bright and early (or, at noon on the nose) a few Saturdays ago to get my tattoo. I showed Erik a few dandelion designs that I had printed, and he then drew up his own design, one that managed to take all of my favorite parts and combine them into the perfect design. Three dandelions, because three’s a good number, and lots of wind.
People keep asking me if it hurt, and I’m not sure what to say. It wasn’t unbearable, I didn’t cry, but it hurt like hell. And certain spots? Hurt even worse than that. About five minutes in, I started to feel kind of clammy and light-headed. I’m not a fainter, but I surely didn’t want to find out what it’s like in a tattoo shop. So we took a short break, and I chewed some gum and gulped down some soda. (I didn’t end up needing my emergency Skittles, as it turned out. Yes, I brought emergency Skittles.) After that, I’m not sure what changed, but while the pain was exactly as bad, it was somehow easier to deal with. My brother was there to talk to me through the hour, and I’m so glad for that. It wasn’t exactly something I’d recommend, but I got through it just fine.
About halfway through my tattoo, a for-serious biker dude came in to say hi to Erik. Long white ponytail, beard, leather vest, LOTS of tattoos. He scoped out my work in progress, and said to me, “So how does that feel?” I’m not sure how I responded, but it was probably something intelligent like “Well it’s not fun.” And then he said, “my feet are the only spot I’m NEVER getting tattooed.” And luckily, that made me feel like a champion, rather than unwise.
And then suddenly it was done, and it was amazing. Bigger than I expected, more painful than I could have guessed, but amazing. I probably left the bandage on longer than I needed to, because I was so freaked about screwing up the healing process.
all bandaged up, two hours later and so swollen and sore. I was so nervous to take the bandage off; it was a strange few hours between getting it done and then confronting the reality. Not that the overall soreness made it easy to forget during those hours!
Now that it has just about fully healed, and I’ve been looking at it, for real, on my own foot, I’m completely in love. It’s just so pretty. (And most people’s first comment is that it’s beautiful, and that’s nice, too, but I was prepared for some not-as-positive comments, too. It IS very visible.) My dad said to me the other night, “Hey, what happened to your foot?!”, which means that he’s getting used to it, too.
And hell, I just really can’t believe I really did it. That is just so damn cool.
Week 26: Friendship Bracelets
This past weekend was a sort of an unplanned childhood summer revival. First, I bought flying saucers on a whim at the ice cream store, and Dan and I housed them. I really can’t remember the last time I ate one. And I had that same feeling I used to when I was a kid: “I ate mine without dripping or making any mess! Am a champion!” Dan just looked at me blankly.
The second half of my childhood summer revival is this week’s handmade52 project, one that I really didn’t plan. I’ve been seeing tutorials and photos making their rounds through pinterest and the blogosphere for old school friendship bracelets (I think I saw it first on Elise’s blog). And at first, I thought they were fun, I remember making those, but I’m not sure I need to make them now.
And there I was, sitting on the couch this past Sunday, watching Dexter and then baseball with Dan, and I was struck with the urge. Thanks to my cross stitching over the years, I have a pretty solid rainbow of embroidery floss on hand, which meant that five minutes after I decided to go for it, I had colors picked, and was safety pinning the knot to my throw pillow.
I ended up making three that day, and have made one more this week, and started a fifth. And I’m obsessed. When I’m at work, I want to be home tying my 4-shaped knots. I’m trying to think of which ones I should make next. It’s so childhood, but the bright colors in endless combinations, the varied patterns between the chevron (instructions here) and the standard stripes… I can’t get enough.
Maybe it’s because of the pure time capsule feeling. It sends me back to sitting in the backyard picking colors with my sister. To that giant plastic box we had to keep all of our colors organized in rainbow order. To knots taped to picnic tables at girl scout camp, the town’s summer recreation day camp. To the ones with the lighthouse pattern, where you make the knots over all the threads, instead of just one at a time. To the woven one that was so complicated but I was so proud of. To ones we made longer to turn into ankle bracelets. To that Klutz book that I came thisclose to requesting via inter-library loan at work this week. It’s just summer, pure and simple. And as I’m staring down one of the busiest Julys I’ll have maybe ever, at the stress of packing and moving and turning 30 after talking about it all year and who knows what else, pure and simple and brightly colored is EXACTLY what the doctor ordered.
she likes stripes 