Besides yelling at my kids and rambling in other bloggers’ comment boxes, I have another hobby. Which is to sew, at least in theory. But I never seem to manage to sew when I’m pregnant, nor when I have a newborn. Every time I’m pregnant I hope to sew (maternity clothes! baby clothes! crib linens!,) but after five pregnancies of vain hope, I guess I should just state it as fact: I don’t sew when I’m pregnant.
Even when I’m not pregnant I don’t sew nearly as much as I did a few years ago, and, besides having more kids to overwhelm me and consume my time, I’ve traced this sad fact to a decision I made to not sew instead of cooking or eating dinner, nor to pull sewing all-nighters. And there went all my sewing time.
Be all that as it may, I’m feeling cautiously optimistic, in that I’ve actually spent a few hours in my sewing room over several days recently (mostly doing mending, but still, it’s something.) I accumulated such an astoundingly vast quantity of fabric before my productivity halted that I tend to get overwhelmed when I go in there — but it’s also fun. With any luck, I might even get back into sewing enough that this blog will go (even more) quiet — which is a price I’m willing to pay.
But before it goes completely dormant, here are a few of my rambling comments elsewhere, with links to the posts that inspired them.
On a “confessions” post at Beehive and Bird’s Nest:
I got hash browns at the McD’s drive-through while Rose was at gymnastics today, and when she asked me where we’d gone while she was there I said, selecting a portion of the truth “Savers.” When she pointed to the McD’s bag and asked what that was from, I said, “It’s just a bag of garbage” — also technically true. After buckling her in, as I walked around the car I found myself muttering “Lies, lies, lies,” to myself, and then realized the other gymnastics moms could have heard my muttering.
On a post about miracles at The Apron Stage:
I’m one that really doesn’t believe in chance — I think God knows everything that will happen, from gusts of wind to individuals’ decisions, and makes use of all of it to fulfill his purposes. (For some reason it doesn’t make me feel less free to think that God knows what I’ll choose, although I’ve known others who find that to be a troubling contradiction.) I also don’t distinguish between miracles and Miracles — I guess I feel like whether He works with the laws of nature or goes around them, it’s always a miracle when we get what we need or grow in our faith, and the whole spectacular-vs.-mundane distinction comes from a very mortal perspective. (I’m not saying I’m super-mortal enough not to be more impressed by the more spectacular sort, but at least intellectually I believe the seeming-coincidences are just as Providential.)
I love your needle story, but it reminds me of a story I like less. I heard of a sister missionary in my mission who told Heavenly Father that if she found a certain color of crayon in the street that day, she would believe in Him. (I don’t remember what color she specified.) She did find the crayon, but I thought her question had been of a very faithless/sign-seeking nature. I guess Heavenly Father judged her innocent and granted the sign anyway, but when I make specific requests of God (which I do often,) I try never to make my faith contingent on my will being done.
On a post about books and libraries at If you give a mom a moment:
I used to work at the Orem library and my mom still does work there, and it really is a great one. I lived in Berkeley, CA, and the libraries really aren’t that great. They have so many branches that the odds are your book will be at a different one, and yes, you can do inter-library loan, but you have to wait for the book and come back for it, or think to call ahead. Also, I think they just figure the university library will cover any holes in their collection. Or they just have the grandiose idea that their libraries will be good no matter what, because it’s Berkeley, so they don’t actually try hard. Anyway, one time when I was having my books checked out, I started opening the books to the bar code for the clerk. He said, “You don’t have to do that.” I said, “Sorry, I just used to work in a library so I was doing it out of habit.” He asked, “Oh, where was that?,” and when I answered, “Utah,” he sneered, “I didn’t know Utah had libraries.” GRRRR. I wanted to say “Yeah, and the one I worked at was MUCH, MUCH better than this po-dunk hole you’re so absurdly proud of.” (But I didn’t say that.)
On another post at If You Give a Mom a Moment, on life callings:
Somehow I didn’t see this post when I was here earlier today reading the other one.
Lee’s comment about grammar made me laugh. I met Kristina P. (virtually) when I corrected a spelling on her blog, and instead of being offended she was “sympathetic and empathetic” towards me — I just didn’t know at the time that reflected her life calling. 🙂
I used to love talking with my husband at night, but now we both stay up too late and although I’m still talkative when I’m tired, he falls asleep. It would be a good reason for him and me to reform our night owl ways — but at least we have nice conversations when we go out on dates.
I’m a little surprised to find myself in a minority by feeling pretty certain about several aspects of my life calling — in fact, it’s making me realize that knowledge in and of itself is a gift of the Spirit. There are undiscovered aspects I’m sure, but motherhood is a very big one, as well as missionary work, family history, writing and other forms of creativity, etc.
At Write Stuff, responding to a post about the ineffectiveness of implausible plot twists:
You mean plot twists like where the President of the United States fires her chief of staff for supposed wrongdoing, hires on her wayward daughter, DOESN’T bring the ex-chief-of-staff back on board when his name is cleared, and the wayward daughter proceeds to commit all sorts of crimes against the State just because she has PMS? (Or were you not talking about the writers of “24”?)
I liked State of Play, too, even if I couldn’t quite get on board with the glorification of newspapers as an inherently more noble form of mass communication, nor admire Russel Crowe’s girlish bob.
At The Apron Stage, Rebecca wonders whether it would be worth trading in some intelligence for a perfect body. My response:
I’m guessing by “perfect body” you meant “perfectly beautiful,” but if the perfect body included perfect health, then as someone who’s struggled with various chronic conditions for nearly 10 years, I’d be tempted to forfeit a few brain cells to be free of that. On the other hand, my mind has helped me seek out good medical care and work with my doctors for treatment, so if I don’t get the perfectly-functioning body, I’ll need to keep whatever brain function’s available to me.
And on yet another hand, isn’t intelligence linked to physiology? So a truly perfect body would include perfectly-firing synapses, and I could have the best of both worlds.
On Louise’s post about anxiety and panic attacks at The Apron Stage:
This isn’t much related to your post — the bit about hearing voices made me think of it:
Last night right after we’d put the kids to bed I shouted upstairs to my two oldest kids, “NO MORE TALKING! I MEAN IT!” and then realized that the voices I’d been hearing were actually some teenagers outside, whose voices were coming in through the open kitchen window that I was standing right next to.