Fun with monsters & essential oils

Many moms know, kids are full of surprises. One of those is the active imagination that comes along soon into toddlerhood. Alex has provided no shortage of amusements and surprises so far.

When toddlers reach a certain age, some of them may develop a sudden fear of sleeping in the dark, or of being in their rooms alone. Often, when asked why, they will blame it on an infestation of monsters. This fear is very real to them. Dismissing it can often make it worse.

There are plenty of ways of approaching the problem, but there is one solution that is not only fun, it supports their imagination, and helps them overcome their fear in a creative way. It is also a safe and pleasant solution; and that is to whip up a batch of ‘monster repellent’ using a recipe of essential oils that is formulated to help soothe and calm them before bedtime.

Essential Oils are becoming a household resource for an array of health and home solutions. So why not use them to calm an anxious child in a fun way?

Start with a 16-ounce food-grade glass spray bottle. These can be found at natural grocers, and a variety of other sources, including Amazon. Glass is recommended when using pure essential oils. I also recommend you seek out and find the highest-quality, high-purity essential oils for this project. We can’t be too careful when our children are involved—so we strongly recommend you find a reputable, safe source. I recommend dōTerra essential oils.

Begin with the recipe. Blend the following in your spray bottle:

• 20 drops Vetiver
• 8 drops Lavender
• 8 drops Ylang Ylang
• 8 drops Roman Chamomile
• 4 drops Frankincense
• 4 drops Clary Sage
• 2 drops Marjoram

Fill the difference with purified water. Close tightly, wipe down the bottle and set it aside.

Measure the desired size of your label. Apply your craftiness, and starting with your child’s particular category of nemesis (monster, ghosts, etc), create a colourful label for the bottle. It can say: MONSTER REPELLENT or GO AWAY GHOST! You are also welcome to download the design featured on this post by clicking HERE. This label is 3” x 6” and fits the bottle nicely. You just need to print it on a matte photo paper, trim it down to your desired size, and then with some rubber cement, affix it to the bottle. Let it dry. You can also take it one step further and put a layer of clear tape or contact paper over it so it doesn’t fade or smudge.

Pretty cute. Smells nice too.

Using the Spray:

Shake the bottle vigorously before use in order to emulsify the oils and water. Quickly and lightly spray the child’s pillow and bedding a few minutes before bedtime so the water can evaporate. You can also go through the motions and pretend-spray where the child thinks the monsters are hiding; like in the closet, under the bed, etc. Spraying curtains will also prevent outdoor monsters from coming in, I’ve heard. The fresh scent of aromatic oils will assure the child that you have actually applied a remedy, and the application of these particular essential oils will also help soothe and calm your child before bedtime.

You may also allow your children to help spray down the room, participation will reinforce their confidence that this spray is working, and assist in further calming, soothing and reassuring them.

So if your little one has a fear of monsters or witches, goblins, ghosts or ghouls, there’s a solution for that (pardon the pun). J

Disheveled Vlogging about Gifts (and mostly me)

So I vlogged. It sounds dirty doesn't it? I look like crap, but oh well. It's a fifteen and a half stream of consciousness, really. Home in my jammies, thoughts permeating my brain as they often do come the holidays; baby free about the house wreaking havoc unsupervised (Parenting award goes too...).  I'm talking about giving trees, and how memories influence who I choose to buy gifts for.

Of a room and of rain.

It's been a tough couple of weeks. But I have hermited up lately. And as if timed to perfection, the Oregon liquid autumn has arrived, and has begun with bravado, bringing record rainfall to many areas of the state. When it is raining, I am happy (as long as I'm not in it).  Mom/Satan is on the mend, but she isn't quite the same, truth be told.  She is, for a lack of a better word... kooky.  She had a ministroke in the hospital, and nearly died for it. And I think there was some damage there, because her brain just isn't quite right. Correction, her brain was never quite right, but now it's just wrong--er.  For example, she had the nurse at the rehab facility call me tonight to make sure I gave my sister directions to the facility to come and get her, for she was certain Anna was going to do so tomorrow. I had to explain to her that this was incorrect, and when I called her 'confused'... well, she got mad and pretty much hung up on me.

The Old Man's Beard is going crazy in this rain. Some strands are fifteen,
twenty feet long.

Oy, mom.  Anyway, I saw her today, brought the baby to see her.  When I walked in, she was lying on her side facing the room, fast asleep. She had her head cradled on her hands, which were put together like those creepy disembodied prayer hands you see on Christian stuff.  She looked so frail and wasted.  Alex was quite vocal, and eventually she stirred, reacting to his voice with immediate happiness, waking with a smile.  When Anita and Istvan came to visit, she actually ignored them when they walked in, and put out her arms for the baby.  It gives me some measure of happiness to know that someone who is incapable of joy, someone who cannot love without conditions, and who had no qualms as a mother taking away that love for whatever reason, can find such simple happiness in the existence of my beautiful son. For that, no matter how she feels about me, and no matter how I feel about her, I have to love her for loving him.  She insisted on having lunch in the lunchroom today, so 'everyone can see the baby'. So we did.

Sedums are having a final hurrah before
the real cold sets in.

It is pretty evident Mom is on the downward spiral. Friday, I will bring her back to the assisted living facility where she was when all this began.  I can only imagine things will repeat themselves. I'm hoping they won't until the middle of this month. We have rented a large house at Long Beach, Washington and will be gathering there as a family.  It will be a chance for her to be surrounded by all her kids and stepson, good rangers and bad rangers alike.  And Alex.

But I'm helping, Mama.

I digress... As you know, if you follow this erratic blog of mine, Alex's room has been an ongoing project for many months. The room's history is this: It is the only other bedroom-like space in the house besides ours. It is very small. It wasn't heated, and two weeks before I discovered I was pregnant, I had terraformed the catch-all room into the PERFECT sewing room.  ::Bwaaahbwaaahbwaaah:::  The plan was to start on the room immediately, but we really didn't actually start on it until Alex was about three months old.  We'd emptied it out, but there was the whole heating problem.  But that was solved when we finally managed to secure an electrician that wasn't a flake or too self-important to get out of bed for a job of <$1,000. They came in and installed two cadet heaters, one in our bedroom, and one in Alex's.  Once that happened, it was open season.

I started by painting it.  I used very light values of the blue and yellow in my sister's pony painting, and painted one wall a pale blue, and the rest a buttery yellow. I then painted the birch forest on it. This painting is by no means finished. I will, at some point, at least hopefully before Alex's teens, add some forest creatures to the branches. A Steller's Jay, a chipmunk, a raven, etc.    So here comes the glut of photos. My sister asked me to do some graphic art for her and she paid me with a new camera. I was having some fun.

This is called the 'Book Nook', an homage
to my fifth grade teacher who had such
a space in her classroom. There aren't many
books yet. But we'll get there.

The chair is a twin sleeper. It fits pretty
nicely in the bay window.

The window is new. It used to be a narrow,
salvaged single pane leaky thing. But a few
weekends ago, my husband and his 'work wife'
installed the window while I dealt with mom issues.

 The room is infinitely warmer now. And it's more... sealed feeling. I know, sounds stupid, but when you have a rickety thing replaced by a nice large, bright, well sealed replacement, it changed the whole feel of the room.  Interestingly, Dan got the window for free on a community list. It was a salvage that included other large windows we will use in his garage when we eventually close that in.

IKEA is the source for almost everything
in this room. The furniture, the linens,
many of the toys, the lighting, the rugs... you just can't
beat IKEA.

My sister Anna sent Alex the rocking dolphin.
He has a large rolling drawer toybox there under the
window. It hugs up against his little closet unit.

There is a little bit of wood trim on the high-rail
and the baseboard that have yet to be painted.
I won't do that until the cabinets are moved
and I can finish it up. Maximilian the Bear hunkers
in the corner, waiting for Alex to cuddle up on his broad belly.

We took out the crappy beige carpeting I seem to find in almost
every house I've ever lived in, and replaced it with vinyl plank.
It's 100% waterproof for one. Although it does scratch rather easily.

Alex enjoys his play cube. Another auntie gift.

I ADORE these curtains.

I got a single panel originally for the bathroom before I got pregnant, but decided I wanted them for the baby's room when I found out.  By then, my source had stopped carrying them, and I had to hunt them down. They weren't cheap either. They also weren't long enough. Five inches short. So I went to the fabric store, found a leafy white-on white cotton, and added five inches to the bottom.

The stars are from IKEA and they change colour.
There is also a moon-shaped light in the book nook,
to illuminate bedtime stories.

Baby J is comfortable in his little space.

He is a master at hiding little bits and bobs all over his room. Drives me crazy
when I'm trying to reassemble his toys and clean his room.

He demonstrates the best use for dowels.
First you chew them, then you direct
air traffic with them.

*Sparkle*Sparkle* -- they help hide the shittiest wallboard job I've ever
seen in all my life. Someday, we will gut this room and redo it properly.

The Book Nook's modest beginning.
There are a few more books that
have yet to be gathered and added. But hopefully
as time goes on, those shelves will be crammed.

This is the 'Crew'. The Monkey boys, and the basket of costumed teddies, and Angus,
who's toppled over, the plaid bunny, a gift from a friend from Scotland.

I put the stacker high because if I don't, I'll be hunting for its components for hours.
He hides them EVERYWHERE in impossible places!

The door. My sister's first painting for Alex.

From the book nook. Soon, the changing
table will be replaced with a little desk and chair.

Such concentration.

The mess begins.

Alex gets into EVERYTHING already.

This duck is from Great Grandma Georgia's house.

I've had these Beatrix Potter books for at least twenty years.  They
were purchased for this reason. Somewhere, there is a copy of the Velveteen
Rabbit too, that will be added. They mattered to me, so I want them
to matter to him too.

Possibly the best toy in the universe.

Alex concurs.

The overall 'theme' is the forest, of course. It is where we live, after all. The forest floor is the rug, the trees on the wall, the light is the sky, the ceiling a constellation, the book nook, the night.  I love his room. So does Papa J.  We think he will grow up loving it too. We hope so anyway. :)

Bitter blast from the past

Baby J is growing up too quickly! Almost five months already!

Opinions change. At least mine do. Maybe back in the day, when was still in my impassioned, idealist twenties, I might have resisted this notion, but now that I’m over 40… you realize that sometimes, you can be wrong about things, and sometimes, you have to give the benefit of the doubt.  I realized this recently. I already have the challenge of my introverted nature to battle in order to create and maintain relationships with people. I've had social anxiety for all of my life. What ‘cured’ me of it… or more accurately, what forced me to deal with it, was my job with the Merrimack Valley Community Service Corps, and namely, my gregarious and often charismatic boss, Terry.  Terry is/was one of the most outgoing, social, open person I had ever met, and mind you, I grew up in a saddle club with a bar and club house.

Since I can't illustrate this narrative, I'll just post pictures
of my baby. :)

Some folks called Terry a ‘dry drunk’. Someone with all the behaviours and narcissistic habits of an alcoholic, but without the booze. He was a drinker and partier in his youth, and when he dropped it, he still had to be the center of attention. I was okay with that. I adored him. He was and still is the best person I have ever worked for—even if it was exhausting. Every day, Terry would hold court. I only was able to spend time in my own office when he was out or on the phone. Thankfully, because he was such a chatty attention whore, he as on the phone a lot. Hahaha. His sparkly blue eyes, strong English/Irish traits, and his super-strong New England accent, this charming son-of-a-bitch could only rip me out of my shell.  He did it the moment I started working for him.  Around Terry, I learned to be open, to laugh, to joke around, to chat, to interact, and to be open and less fearful about engaging other human beings.  I love Terry for that, and for so many other reasons.  These days, this normally slim walker has pudged up a bit. His hair has turned white and he’s growing a white beard. He looks like a Springtime Santa. I haven’t seen him in person for many years, but he does drive-bys on my Facebook account occasionally to like the innumerable photos of Baby J.  Terry is a community theatre ‘star’… has an amazing singing voice and is as melodramatic and charismatic as anyone can be. I miss him all the time.  You can probably find him with Pentucket Players.  He is still doing the same job.

First time having solids (brown rice cereal). I decided to
wait it out because he became constipated. His
digestive system just isn't ready.

Anyway, I digress. I loved Terry. I loved him because he taught me to figure out who I was, and taught me to find enjoyment in interaction with other people, even if it was hard and daunting.  All these years later, I have grown so much socially. The ORS is proof that I can overcome the crippling introversion that has hampered me, and yes, I do talk too much about myself, and I do overshare, but I’d rather have that and be an interactive, engaging person, than just being the hermit my nature keeps trying to make me.
With relationships… hell, with people, you have drama. I’m not a big fan of drama. I remember being a dramatic soul myself in my twenties. I look back with some measure of embarrassment as I see how my penchant for it affected the relationships I did have at the time.  I lost a couple of good friends who got tired of it. I wish I could find them to apologize.

In my circle of friends, I have had people who have rubbed me the wrong way. I have had to do a lot of soul searching to understand what it was that did, and what it would take for me to confront that dislike and understand it and in some cases, overcome it to come to the realization that most of it is contrived and cultural. Most of it is fabricated. And given a chance, the people I initially find irksome, are often really great people who just do things differently than I do.  I change my mind about people. It happens, I guess. It’s something I realized about myself and I can say with pleasure, it’s something I can be proud of. I can get over myself and give people the benefit of the doubt. I guess it comes with maturity.  It makes me aware of how much energy and emotional baggage holding grudges and bad feelings for people exacts from me as a person. I feel so much more liberated knowing I can just let that resentment go and move on.  Life is too short to spend it being bitter.

The other day, I got a message in my Facebook inbox from a woman who claims to know me from middle-school when I was at the International School of Brussels. Her message was a diatribe of concentrated bitterness… something that had been held onto, something that festered and grew dark and viscous… something she just couldn't let go. From what she told me, I was someone who had done something awful to her.  She hated me.

         “You are the worst human being to ever walk the earth and you ruined my life.” 

Yes. She wrote this. Now the worst part? I have NO idea who she is. I have no memory of her; her face on her Facebook profile is completely unfamiliar to me. Mind you, I was in no way, not even possibly, a mean person. I was an introvert. I kept to myself, and was picked on myself by pretty much everyone, from students to teachers. I had very few friends in school, and didn't interact with many people, so how I could have somehow caused someone to hate me, and so efficiently that she would hold onto it over twenty five years after graduation, still feel compelled to hunt me down on Facebook using my maiden name, and then write a giant seethingly furious missive of anger and bitterness …. It is completely impossible for me to grasp.  I would think this is a case of mistaken identity … but she named me by my maiden name (no easy task… Peteranecz? Who remembers that let alone remembers how to spell it?). So whatever it is I did, it was obviously inadvertent. I don’t want to feed her delusion by addressing it, so I've ignored her. Oh, did I mention that she had to have paid $1.00 to send me this message because Facebook is requiring that if you want to message people into their main inboxes if they are not your friend.

Anyway, it was a surprise to have this woman come out of the woodwork. It made me realize how much *I* let go, even through my twenties. I do have a lot of resentment towards some folks still, but my way of dealing with that is to ignore their friend requests on Facebook, or to avoid engaging in conversations with them on other peoples’ pages. I sure as hell don’t send a bunch of embittered $1.00 messages going on furious tirades about things that happened thirty years ago or more. It’s kind of pathetic. We were kids, and I’m pretty sure, even the worst person that treated me badly in school is dealing with their own issues and has explanations for their stupid behavior as a kid.  I forgave most of them years ago. I let it go, and I just avoid opening the door with them again now that Facebook has arrived. I have gotten friend requests from a couple of my former bullies, but I just delete them. What’s the point? I don’t need their apology. They can come to terms with themselves without my help. In the meantime, I live on.

I have to look at people differently now. If they are doing something that grates on my nerves, I need to just get over it. It’s not all about my nerves. It’s not all about me.  I grew up. I guess that’s what maturity is. Because of that, my life is richer. I am lucky to have interesting characters to enrich my life. And it’s a hell of a lot less complicated when you’re not busy holding grudges and reminding yourself why.

So, I am giving everyone a chance. It doesn't mean I will take anyone's crap. I don't. And there's only so much intentional BS and drama directed at me that I can take before I start cutting ties. But if it's not personal, and there's room to communicate, then I'm okay with it.  I won't hold onto things, and I won't allow others to make me hold onto things because they haven't gotten there yet.  It's their lesson to learn. Not mine to teach.

In the meantime, I am focusing on my small family, finding a strange new relationship with my mother (talk about not holding onto bitterness... this is proof I'm capable of forgiveness, because I am actually forging a good relationship with my mother because of this baby that has graced our lives). Baby J has given joy to someone who was seemingly incapable of it.  I'm a full on atheist, but I don't mind using the word 'miracle' when it comes to this. It's not a deity that affected this change, it's the plain good vibes a sweet, unmarred, innocent baby emanates.  I have come to find that love for my mother (the good love, not the obligated love one feels for a difficult family member) again. I feel forgiving. It feels good.

She spends a full day with us at least once a week. We do things together. She stays and plays with Baby J while I cook us all dinner. It's not bad.  Not bad at all. It's the relationship I wanted with her.  Who knew it would take a little baby boy to achieve it.

Baby J's room is almost finished. I'll be posting about that soon, because it's reaaaaally cute (at least to me). I'm waiting for some fabric from Spoonflower to finish off some details, and Dan has to replace a window so I can finish painting the bay window area. When it's done, I'll do a whole post on the baby's room.

Warmest Holiday Wishes To All

We never did things like this in my family. Time to create some new traditions.  This is from Macy's downtown Portland. What an awesome Santa. :)  I misted up. I admit it.

Wasn't so crappy after all & Happy Friday!

Happy Friday all!

A hasty sketch & ink office-special. He needs to be
redone with greater care. Lord Fox.

I had a wonderful birthday; almost flawless—the first one I can think of that was so romantic and intimate. My co-workers took me to lunch as promised at my very favourite Sushi-joint (I love how fresh their food is and I’m addicted to their Florida roll), it’s SOOOooooo good. I pigged out; we shared a Florida roll, of which I had the lion’s share because I’m a savage—and I had the bento I love so much with sushi. The restaurant knows me pretty well, there was a time when I would eat there twice a week sometimes, and so when they found out it was my birthday, they played the birthday music and the whole restaurant broke into song while the server brought me a ball of green-tea ice-cream with a candle in it.

My coworkers were sweet and thoughtful. They treated, and we ate until we were so full we could barely breathe. Back at the office, they presented me with a balloon and some begonias, and a card and a badly sung rendition of Happy Birthday.

I then drove home after work to discover my husband waiting for me inside the back door holding a package. A little backstory here, everyone knows I love the American Duchess’s Pemberly shoes. I’ve wanted them from the moment she released the first design concepts, but since we are always in a financial pinch, there’s no way I could justify the expenditure, not to mention explain to a husband who has little to no patience for my expensive costuming hobby, why I reallyreallyreally want this shoes. So when the American Duchess posted an announcement of having some ‘imperfect’ shoes for sale, I thought, hey, maybe he’ll let me get at least imperfect ones for my birthday. I sent him a link, to which he did not respond, so I was pretty sure he probably rolled his eyes upon receiving it and promptly deleted the email.

So excited, I took them with me into the car to
admire them on the way to the restaurant.

To my surprise, when I came into the house, I saw in his hand a rather clumsily-wrapped box suspiciously sized similarly to a shoebox, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I smooched him and grabbed my present, excited to have something to open on my birthday (another rarity). I tore it open and it was still in the shipping box, but when I saw the shipper’s name on the tag I started squeeing like an idiot. I tore it open and pulled out the pemberlies, my eyes glistening with tears.

He then informed me that these were not the ‘imperfects’ but the ‘perfect’ shoes as he watched me turn them and examine them for flaws. More squees ensued, and in spite of being almost late for our dinner date, I insisted on clickety-clacking around the house in them like an idiot just to see how disgustingly comfortable they are. For anyone who knows how English Country Dance can take a toll on one’s feet because of the flats we wear, you would surely appreciate the comfort of these shoes. They’re AWESOME! I’m so excited. I just ordered leather paints for them.

Anyway, we went to my other favourite restaurant; the Rendezvous Grill, it’s a local place we go to for most of our special occasions, they have really great food and you can go in a pair of jeans and it’s okay. Dan walked right into the dining area instead of waiting for seating, and brought me to a table with a reserved plaque on it, and a vase of pink roses and pale yellow carnations. Apparently he’d stopped by the restaurant ahead of time to drop off the flowers so they would be on the table when I got there. Aw!

Yes, my cellphone camera is a joke.

It was a delicious dinner. And yes, I had my snails; don’t yuck my yum. Escargots have been a favourite of mine since I was very little. In fact, one of my favourite treats when I was little was whelk sea snails that were cooked in a super-peppery broth. You could only get them in certain spots, but they were SO good. We also ate periwinkles; they’d serve them to you in a paper cone, just like fries, and they were yummy as hell, if not challenging to wrench their tiny, coiled bodies from their shells using the pin or toothpick sold with the cooked critters. Don’t wrinkle your nose at that! I’m pretty sure wherever you live there’s something *I* would consider gross; but I’d try it before I said yay or nay, and I wouldn’t go: EWWWW! (There are some small exceptions; when it’s insects, eyeballs, testicles, or anything worm or grub-like, I’ll pass). It’s my way. It’s all about culture. Suck it up!

I topped my meal off with a piece of cake with chocolate, mascarpone and drizzles of Grand Marnier (why is that SO good with chocolate? It’s evil). Anyway, the whole evening was nice (save for one hiccup that was completely unnecessary but happened anyway; I merely shoved my grumpiness about it until the next day. Days like Wednesday was are so rare, I wasn’t going to let something smirch it for me) and I went home glowing with happiness. Best. Birthday. Ever.

Un p'tit morceau de gateau. :)

Birthdays are the only day that’s truly yours. Holidays are about family, weddings about everyone else BUT you, even if you think otherwise, but birthdays, that’s different. I used to think I was selfish to expect to feel welcome and special on the day that marks my birth, but I have come to realize there’s nothing selfish about that at all, and anyone should be able to spend their birthday in a way that makes them happy to be alive. It’s the whole point of celebrating it. There are always forces out there that willfully or unknowingly choose to do things to make you feel less than happy, which sucks. For me, that has unfortunately been the case more often than not—so when days like Wednesday happen, I hold onto them tightly. I do love my husband. But more so for his attention to the details that mattered so much, the expensive shoes I wanted badly but really did not need; the flowers on the table; his smile when I saw my gift.

Satan called but only to get my sister’s number. My eldest sister is out of the country so she didn’t call, and my brother and his family are too wrapped up in their own crisis to think of it. My middle sister, Helen called and sang me the ‘zoo’ version of the birthday song, which I punctuated with a couple of monkey ‘oohs’ when she finished singing. LOL. Satan felt bad and shoved some cash into my hand yesterday, ordering me to buy new riding jods because my old ones are falling off my butt. “Joo look layke a homeless woomahn,” she said.

She’s coming up tomorrow, I’m making mussels Belgian-style. I’m not sure about fries though. Maybe some baked ones, not sure. Then I’d like to focus on fixing and finishing up the bodice for my habit—which will require me to measure out and cut sleeves, which his always fun.

Oh, and I forgot--the fox drawing reminds me... Someone asked me recently if I knew what that screaming noise was in P&P '95 I think during an outdoor take looking at one of the great houses, maybe Pemberly, could be Netherfield, who knows... but the answer is a that is a red fox screaming.  It's a haunting, skin-crawling sound that upon my visits to the UK as a child to see my two best friends, would scare the bejeezus out of me.

Anyway, that’s it for this lovely Friday.

Happy %$#@& Birthday, Hungarican Chick.

Today is my birthday.  Be prepared for whining. I whine on my birthday. Birthdays for me are something I have come to dread—because there’s the selfish expectation, and then the disappointing reality. And it’s rarely a day where I am not finding myself upset by being forgotten by certain people, and upset at myself for feeling negative when others are doing things to make it a good day for me.  I know that the people who apparently matter won’t change; they will continue to forget my birthday, or treat it like it’s any other day. I really hate it when someone doesn’t really think about it, and then in the last-minute, does something as an afterthought—or simply out of a sense of obligation. I’d rather they do nothing and not even mention it.  I cannot stop myself from being hurt by all these things, year after year after year. Even at 41, I let myself get hurt by it.

Mind you, this began years ago in childhood, where my birthday was perpetually an afterthought. When I hit my 20s, it was forgotten constantly. And in the past decade, My birthday has mostly consisted of last-minute calls from someone who had to be reminded by someone else that this was my birthday; but most of the time, no acknowledgement at all. My family then gets all upset when *I* don’t make a big fuss about their ‘special’ days either. Hm.

A part of me wants to just hide at home and not be given any reminder that this is my birthday, and there’s a part of me that secretly and selfishly desires to be treated like queen for a day; to get a cake and have the people I love all around me paying me special attention just like I see other families and friends do. But when they do, I’m just embarrassed by it all and I am made anxious by all the attention.  I truly, truly, truly HATE my birthday. I hate the fuss, but want the fuss. I hate the forgetting, but wish everyone would just forget it. It’s a horrid divided feeling that I want to just go away.  When the day is over, I’ve secretly cried at least twice.

What would my ideal birthday be? A day that shows that someone listened to me, and paid attention to what I love the most—and shown an effort to fulfill that wish—not do what’s convenient for *them*. I wish to be surrounded by people who will not hurt me, or turn the day into a drama-fest about them; make me feel like their presence or efforts are an inconvenience, or like they’d rather be elsewhere.  I want to feel precious and loved and not like an afterthought. To feel special, I guess. Most of the time I do not—by my own doing in some cases, and by the way my loved ones treat me in others.

So my solution is to grump out on my birthday. To hope everyone will leave me alone, and still be sad that they do. It’s inevitable. Unless the poles reverse, pigs learn to fly,  and my family learns to give a crap about things like this, and get together in Brussels to throw me a huge regency ball with all my friends, and shower me with gifts of sidesaddles and chocolate , I will probably never be happy. LOL!

Today is probably closest to the most tolerable birthday I can have. No muss and fuss (in great quantities). My coworkers want to take me out to lunch, which is okay. They don’t go nuts, they take me where *I* want, which is always a plus, instead of taking me where they want (I have an in-law who insists on doing something for me on my birthday, asks me where I want to go, and then when the day comes, her husband exclaims that he doesn’t want to go there, and we end up going where he wants—where he proceeds to complain incessantly and dominate the conversation the whole time).  My husband is then going to take me to our favourite local restaurant where I can eat my Escargots à la Bourguignonne and a decadent dessert (maybe with a candle, maybe not) and then it’s homeward bound for bed and the rest of my week.

Today, I got lots of wishes on Facebook from friends and not-so-close-friends. It was sweet, especially from the people who I adore. I know people think the facebook birthday reminder is an exercise in thoughtlessness, but I don’t think that at least with my friends, that their wishes are in any way insincere, and for a day where I spend most of it on the edge of tears because my family doesn’t give a crap and never has, it is fortifying and touching that so many people I care about really want me to have a happy day. It’s humbling.

To top today off, Mary Robinette Kowal, author and someone I look up to, organized a month of letter-writing that went viral recently, and someone obviously said something about my upcoming birthday, and even though I am not an active participant in this letter-writing initiative, I have received a flow of lovely cards from all of my Regency friends which really touched me very deeply. It was so sweet to have all this post waiting for me filled with scripted wishes. :D

So happy birthday to me I guess. One year older. Yay.

Aaaanywhoo... Progress on my riding habit... Stalled. I sewed in the rest of the lining last night, and did so sitting on the sofa watching TV. All I had left was the collar area, and I sewed it too tightly. I’ll have to release the seam and resew so that it doesn’t distort the back, which it did. Annoying.

Also, the barn owner, Dee let me have a child’s 14” English all-purpose saddle she had lying about not being used. I will use it for S2’s girls when they come to ride Tag.  When she gave it to me, it was in this shape: 

Now, after a vigourous cleaning, it looks like this: 

How cute is that itty-bitty saddle? Teehee!  The saddle is cheap, but it’s fine. It has a tiny little fleece saddle-pad and very shabby leathers I’ll eventually replace. I put new stirrups on it.

My horse is throwing his winter coat, and he gets SO fuzzy. Last night I combed a pony off of him.  Look how long his fur is:

Sorry the pictures are so dark. My cell phone camera kind of sucks.

Annnnyway, that’s it for my birthday rant. You all have a lovely Wednesday.