just to get things straight
Dan and I ran into a neighbor yesterday afternoon. "How are you guys doing?" she asked. Fine fine, we said, a little flooded, but nothing harmed.
"And how are YOU DOING?" she said looking at me knowingly, narrowing her eyes.
What? Fine. I'm doing fine, I guess. OH! You mean because I spent an entire week blogging about my breasts? Yes they're fine now too. A little worse for the wear, but currently lactating properly. Thank you for asking!
These are the sort of things you run into when you pen a highly personal blog.
We are just getting to the point now, after seven years of blogging, where we have real repeat visitors who we haven't met in real life. For some reason this frightens me more than the fact that all our friends and neighbors have intimate access to my breasts. I mean information about my breasts, INFORMATION about my breasts.
Anyway, I like to think that everyone gets a chuckle from the blog, but if you met me in person you'd come away with the impression of a woman who is elegant and gracious at best, and at worst at least a semi-functional human being. On the blog I may come off as a nervous political extremist with untreated OCD, but that merely underscores the most humorous aspects of my personality.
I'm really a lovely and gracious potitical extremist with untreated OCD. I won't like, come to your house and give birth all over your carpet while reciting psalms. Unless you're into that sort of thing.
This all came into my head last night when I woke up panicked that people are going to read yesterday's post about Helen coming to dinner and think that maybe I didn't have a good time or enjoy the company or even behave graciously, on account of my humorous but debilitating anxiety. Obviously this is not the case. I have anxious thoughts, but they're not debilitating. I am capable of having a lovely evening. Joy and satisfaction are indeed sensations that enter into my consciousness. I just never find them near as hilarious as the scattershot things my brain finds to worry about.
For example, leaving the house on Sunday I said to Dan: "I don't like to leave the dishwasher on when we're out, but I think it's okay this time."
"okay."
"Because we're all in the car together, all four of us, so the worst that can happen is the house burns down but none of us die."
"O...kay..."
"And it probably wouldn't burn down because it's raining so much right now. So the worst that can happen is our kitchen gets destroyed."
"O.... kaaaaaay..."
"No, the worst that could happen is the fire would start in the basement with the electrical cords running TO the dishwasher, and the basement would be on fire but we wouldn't know it, and then when we get home we smell something funny but we go in the house anyway, and right at that moment the floor collapses underneath us and we ALL die."
"o. kay. You know that's highly unlikely."
"I think I should maybe turn off the dishwasher anyway. I don't like to leave it on when we're out."
See? hilarious. Yet written by a person who is still functional enough to drive you to the airport. I'm glad we cleared this up.
Easter Basket Pants
A few years ago I read a charming story on Soule Mama about how she accidentally started an Easter tradition around linen pants. One year she made linen pants, and then the next year she made linen pants, and then before she knew it she was sewing three pairs of linen pants into the wee hours of the morning.
For this reason, Easter crafting brings to my mind thoughts of guilt and linen. No, just kidding. I think first of competition. Amanda, I will not be out-done.
new trousers and a classic album from the '90s
Using same guidelines from the last pair of pants I made, I created a linen outside pant and orange liner pant. I sewed the first together and realized my pattern was vastly too small. So I added stripes on the sides and an extra gusset in the back.
the view from behind
Necessity is the mother of orange.
Of course, once the pants were finished last weekend I couldn't wait till Easter. He's a growing boy after all. He needs all the pants he can get.
Thank God he's too young to think of tradition. I loved making these pants, but I'm not jumping to make another pair quite yet. Maybe about a year is the right amount of time.