I hate getting my picture taken professionally. Any time this issue comes up, I instantly turn into a 5 year old, having a screaming ninny fit. The brakes go on, and I am just not having it. Why you ask?

My mom worked for Olan Mills when I was little. She worked there for years, in multiple states, which meant I got my picture taken damn near for free, and pretty much constantly. I lived in the studio (ok, it probably wasn’t THAT bad), but after thousands of pictures and what I am pretty sure is years worth of time spent in the studio, and even working there for a stint, I won’t set foot in any photo studio.

Let me give you some reference of what I had to go through and why I can’t stand getting my picture taken:

At first, it’s cool. You’re a baby, and clearly clueless. See that? I have no idea that the next 17 years will be filled with this and similar backgrounds. I’m giddy. Possibly medicated, who knows what’s going on here!

 By this age I have mastered the art of the forced grin. I had not, however, figured out how to hide my bucked teeth and bad hair and clothing choice.

 After a few years, my mom started letting me do my own hair and pick out my own clothes. I don’t know that I did any better, but that smug closed smile says that I won the battle by choosing my Bon Jovi necklace, Native earrings and half can of aquanet hairspray.

It was cool though, as this was our holiday picture. This was after HOURS of photos being taken. See that glazed look? Almost as awesome as those Bart Simpson boxers I was rocking. Yep. I so lost this war.

But I was not to be out fought. I brought back-up, namely our portly teacup poodle Odie. I made faces like this in almost every picture I could. I also did my own hair and make up. This was 7th or 8th grade and close to the end of weekly picture events.

So, why the ode to Olan Mills torture?  All my years of fighting to avoid a studio have caught up to me, and have come to a screaming halt.  My mom wants me to get “maternity pictures” done. If possible, multiple photos, from multiple studios, so I can later revel in my belly days, where I can look back and go “awww, look how I look like a Weeble Wobble!”

Sigh.

She isn’t letting up, and isn’t throwing in any bartering chips. In fact, she’s threatening my unborn with picture packages for the first year of her life. She says, if I just get my picture taken while pregnant, then I only have to bring Izzy in once a month to one location to have her picture taken. So I am stuck in a quandry…throw my kid under a bus, or buck up and just get the pics taken. Hard choices, people, hard choices.

Left to my own devices, I would escape to a small foreign country with suitable healthcare. But since I am being forced to do this, I did threaten a pic like these:

Her response? “I don’t care, as long as you go. You’ll thank me later.”

I don’t think I will, but I will have a good reminder of why I won’t drag Izzy through this crap.

So here’s to you, on this election night. I hope you got a laugh and some relief from the tension, but also a damn good reminder of how bitter you can make your kids by taking thousands of strange pics of them!

😉

Raina

10 weeks.

So yes. 10 weeks. 10 fast moving weeks and I’ll have my little bug here and I’ll have yet another thing to be grateful for. So with that, I’ll leave you with a few recent pics of us:

It’s fall here in the North West!  The air is crisp and cool and the leaves are turning. This is my favorite time of year. It’s the time of the year for sweaters, and boots and tights, warm cider, chai tea and scarves.

In short, this is my favorite time of year!

The change in seasons, makes me want to do even more crafts, light the fireplace, and snuggle under a blanket with a good book. It makes me want to cook warm cozy meals and go for hikes.

This week and weekend will be spent doing just that!

Today, I picked late harvest blackberries for jam; I’m cooking lentil, sausage and chard soup for dinner, and I’m planning a weekend picnic with Nick, too. I can’t wait!

With the change in seasons comes the desire to get things done, and to that, I have started a new food-blog! This gives me a little separation for this blog, which was intended for crafts and my home projects.

If you’re hungry and looking for ideas, please feel free to follow my new blog- blackberrysage.blogspot.com.

Yours in fall snuggliness!
Raina
“But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.”  ~ Stephen King

Someone asked recently if I was nesting from all of the prep work I have been doing for the arrival of Isabella. I can just shake my head. This isn’t nesting, that sweet, beautiful, heartfelt work that’s done to lovingly welcome your bundle of joy into their new home.

Oh no, this is warfare. I am on a Rambo style mission, guns blazing to rid my house of all of the crap that I have accumulated over the past 34 years, including the junk from my family, the junk from my exes and anyone else who made a pit stop long enough to leave something here on their way through.

Yes folks, hand me the cammo paint, and the holster, cause this means war.

I am currently in the living room, surrounded my boxes, bags, and piles of random crap. All of which is part of my master plan to gut my house. My living room looks like a hoarder-y bomb went off, and I am pretty sure it’s all going to go:
1. In the trash
2. In the recycle bin and
3. To goodwill

After cleaning and organizing for weeks on end, I am tired of organizing things into smaller piles to be sorted and filed away, going gently through each old card, letter and random thing. I think I just need to cut my ties and get rid of it all. Thank goodness the whole weekend is ahead of me and I can just plow through it all!

What’s your tip for getting rid of things you’ve held on to for far too long?

Today was a mixed bag day. I found out the mother of two men I have known for close to 20 years passed away suddenly. In speaking with one of them, he was lost, unsure of what to do. I remembered that feeling so clearly. It was after all, less than 4 months ago that I lost my own parent suddenly.

It’s that paralyzing moment when you realize nothing else will ever be the same, but you don’t know quite what to do. So you sit.

I did the best thing I could think to do, which was to send my love and offer a home cooked meal when he was ready for it. I let his friends know, so they could help. The core group of guys I used to hang out with are all over the country these days. It was nice to catch up, especially with those I don’t text or talk to very often. It was nice to hear how they are, and how life is better for them since moving away.

It was also a reminder of how much happier and at peace I am than I have been in years. There’s no pushing, no hoping, no waiting. Just being. Sometimes that paralyzing moment when something happens, good or bad, gives you pause and makes you re-evaluate your priorities. You don’t know what to do, or how to react, so you just stop. And you sit.

And eventually it gets easier, and your path to happiness becomes much more clear.

I hope that path is a fast one for my friends.

I am also reminded how lucky I am to have my little Isabella Grace. There was a day when it was like a switch went off. I was no longer angry at my past, the failed relationships; the hurt didn’t matter, being happy with my new life was all that I cared about. I didn’t know why, until a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. I have been really lucky to have her-through the passing of my own parent, the loss of a beloved pet. She’s been my saving grace through this, hence the middle name, Grace.

Today, I miss my father, feel sorrow for my friends, and am so appreciative of the life I have now. Here’s to you, and chasing your bliss, comforting those who are hurting, and for all the good that life has to offer, no matter how hard it is to find.

Raina

I like to think that I am pretty handy. Given the right amount of instruction, the right tools, and a fair amount of time, I can fix/install/build things as well as any guy. Now, given the wrong tools, no direction and a few glasses of wine, I can still get things done. I just may need a little more time. You can read more about my awesome handimanliness here. Oh yes.  But today…Today, I reached new lows…Contact Paper kicked my ass. I’d like to blame pregnancy hormones, or lack of food, but I don’t think that is enough to explain the epic fail that I had.

First, let’s make sure you know what this EVIL (yet lovely) product is:  Its the sticky backed paper stuff that you put in drawers or in cupboards to make them look pretty. At first glance, it’s pretty innocent looking. When I first opened the roll, I saw a ton of directions, and I thought “who the hell needs all these directions???

Isn’t it just measure, cut, stick?  Apparently not (and no I didn’t read the directions)…

I got as far as measure and cut, but the only sticking happening was me to the paper, and the paper to itself. So after running out of hands, and making grunting noises, I hear from the front room, “Baby… um…do you need help?”  It’s contact paper, I am pretty sure I’ve got this!  So I holler back that I’m good, and try to lay the sheet into the drawer.

And fail again. At this point, I am grumpy that contact paper is kicking my ass, and it’s stuck to itself and I’m out of hands. So, I do the next best thing – I use my mouth to hold one corner while I pull the other areas apart. This is all sorts of brilliant, until I go to remove the paper from my lip.

At which point, my skin goes with the paper. Sigh.

It’s right around this time that Nick comes around the corner to see me covered in contact paper, bleeding from the mouth, with eyes wide open in awe – as I mumble with a drippy lip, “Contact paper kicked my ass!!”. He holds back his giggles reminds me about setting myself up for success (again, see the blog above), and gets me tissue, which promptly soaks through and he sets to work lining the drawer.   Sigh. Apparently, lining drawers is a two person job, and having a box cutter for trim work makes the job run smoothly.

I now have three nicely drawers, a fat, tingly lip and a guy who held back laughing too hard at me as I tried to talk with a wad of tissue stuck to my face.

So lesson learned? Read the directions, and don’t underestimate the power of paper to whoop on you something fierce. Oh and don’t use your mouth when sticky paper is involved.

What projects (good or otherwise), have you been up to?

Raina “I’m definitively not Bob Villa”

I just wanted to post a quick blog to say “thank you” to all of my readers. When I look at my “audience”-i.e. the list of what countries people are visiting from, I am amazed!  Sweden, Latvia, Italy, the list goes on. It’s nice to see people stopping by, and reading about my little world, it sure makes me happy!

Please feel free to follow me via the site, or stop by any time. I’ll have more recipes and fun crafts, soon.

Best to you, dear reader!

Raina

That is what little girls are made of!

Today, I found out that Noodle is a girl. I had been willing to put cash down that I was having a boy, but the ultrasound looks to be a girl!

We showed up early, after drinking a ton of water, just to wait for 45 mins. Sigh.  Noodle was quite active, as she tends to be around 3:30-6, and this appointment was no exception.

The radiology technician chased Noodle around for over an hour, trying to get the shots that were needed, and to try to see what we were having; mentioning, “If this is any indication of what your baby will be like after it’s born, good luck!”.  I could only laugh. After feeling her do dance routines all day, and then stepping it up into a full bore tiny martial arts contest for 3 hours in the afternoon, I am impressed the gal got any of the shots she needed in.

She clarified, “your baby doesn’t sit still much, huh?”  This is clearly my baby!  🙂

So, without further adieu, I introduce you to Isabella Grace Anderson-Webber, my little baby bear. As you can see, she wouldn’t sit still long enough for this picture, either!

Here’s to all the adventures this tiny monkey will lead me on!
Raina

Hmmm…So I am pretty sure there’s a lot of ways, but I am pretty easy going, and quick to forget, so for right now, there’s only one thing…Ok. Two, the other being withholding bacon. But I don’t think anyone I know would ever do that to me, so I am pretty sure I can scratch that off my list.

Which leads me to a quick blog on stupidity.

I’m not a thick girl. I never have been. I eat like a wildebeast, but I also try to do things in moderation. I am also pretty awkward and don’t like a ton of attention paid to my body, especially by random strangers.  All this to say, that at even 5 months, I don’t have a big belly. I don’t show a ton, so unless you know me and my normal build, you may not guess that I am pregnant.

This week alone, I have had numerous strangers offer their gaffaws, opinions and thoughts on what I should be doing or how I should look.

“Are you sure?”
“Is your baby ok?”
“YOU’RE ONLY 5 MONTHS?!?!  You’re so small!”
“Are you eating?”**

Let me pause here, and go through the check list I use to ensure, that I am, uh…yep. Pregnant.
-Lack of period for multiple months? Check.
-Weight gain? Eh.
-Body changes? Check.
-Initial, monthly, AND MD regulated tests indicating that I am indeed a host? Check, check, and check.
** This is my fave, as it usually comes at a time that I am eating something covered in gravy or made of a slab of meat.

I don’t know why, or if I should even be defensive, but holy crap people. How would you like if I came up to you, or butted into your conversation, and offered my two cents on you, your body type, or how you are doing something, etc.
“Wow, you sure don’t look smart, sure you should be using that steak knife?”

When I hear these statements, someone getting judgy, or just talking with their unsolicited words… this is what I imagine the person looking like:

Yep.

People…do women a favor. Don’t make stupid comments. This also goes for any comments on “normal”, “subnormal”, or higher than “normal” weight gain, or any of the other random things that come with pregnancy. Chances are that person you’re talking to is already feeling awkward and questioning if they’re doing even the smallest of things right. They don’t need a stranger adding to that crazy insecurity.
Cool?  Cool.

Well, thanks for your time 😉 On tap tomorrow??  A recap of crafty goodness!

Raina