Hitting The Road With Love, Auntie M

In every extra nook and cranny of my house (and if you've been to my house, you know there aren't many) are stacked piles of fabrics and photo boxes filled with threads and rick-rack and buttons.

Olen asked if I've started hoarding since he's been away, but I'm not that far gone. The stacks and piles are just the ingredients I've been gathering for my new project:

That's the name of my little Etsy shop and the reason I haven't been to any blogs in the past two (going on three) weeks. I love seeing how the real-life versions of my ideas turn out. I was encouraged by the success of my friend, September, and her shop Tiny Tutu Boutique. She asked if I ever considered selling the shirts I've made for my girls and nieces and if I would think about making shirts to match her adorable tutus. So I said, "Why not!" and made twenty-three onesies in seven days and opened shop.

I've been in business exactly one week today. I feel like such a big girl playing this e-commerce game. Thank you, September for coaching me on the ways of Etsy and thank you, Katie, for making everything so beautiful.

The "Hunting Widow" Speaks

I've been washing clothes one load at a time all week and tonight I finally made it to the bottom of the laundry basket when a sad realization came to me, there weren't any of Olen's clothes left in the basket.

Olen left to go elk hunting on September 9th (that's about fourteen days ago, but who's counting). I got a kiss and a hug and a "Wish me good luck!", then he was gone. I didn't wish him good luck though. I pouted and wished he would come back. He was so giddy that day he left. It was annoying and endearing. He kept saying, "Who knows? I could get the next record bull and be on the cover of a magazine!" I said on that same magazine cover the kids should get the bottom fourth with a little caption that reads: "Have you seen us lately?" This got me a big squeeze and reassurance that he'd find his trophy bull on opening day. Opening day was thirteen days ago.

I've never felt so required in all my life as I have these past two weeks. My day doesn't end till the last little eyelid closes. I could actually say that's when my day begins. Something about the way my brain was stitched together makes me need to be busy. It's a very bad habit. I wish I could just quit being busy and try doing nothing, but it's hard to stop once you're going. After I tucked the kids into bed these past weeks I would escape to my drawing pad and doodle pictures of rabbits and ladybugs and monsters. Then I would cut my pictures out and think about what fabric my new friends would wear and I would sew them to their new home on the front of a children's onesie. I did this every night until my sewing table started to look like an acceptable place to spend the night.

The first few mornings were rough because Olen is the morning bird to my night owl and without him to start the day for me, the day didn't seem worth starting. On the second morning after Olen left, I smelled something burning. This got me up. I followed the smell to the kitchen and found Porter making me pancakes for breakfast. He made me a letter M too large to flip with just one spatula so he was using two. He said he promised dad that he would be the man of the house until he got back so he wanted to take care of breakfast. After that, getting up the first time the alarm went off was a little easier.

Tomorrow at sundown is the last day of Olen's hunt. So far the trophy elk have found one better hiding place than Olen has looked. I reminded him we will still welcome him home with or without a trophy. There's still one more day left, and it's been done before, so maybe tomorrow will be his lucky day.

I wish him good luck now. Not because the odds are against him, but because I should have done it from the start. The sooner he gets what he set out for, the sooner he will be on the road back to me. Even if it buys me only a few hours before sundown tomorrow, I wish him all the luck in the world. I hope he finds the largest, most elusive bull elk in unit 9 then comes swiftly home. Whiskers, shaggy hair and all.

Do you know what my second realization was when I reached the bottom of that laundry basket? Olen's been gone for fourteen days but I only packed him five pairs of underwear.

"Man of the House"

Did That Really Just Happen?

My house is unusually quiet. I haven't decided if I like it yet.

Porter is at school, Daisy is napping and my constant little shadow of four years and four months left me for preschool this morning.

London couldn't go to sleep last night because she was so excited to start school today. She had her outfit laid out and was the first one awake. She checked on her lunch three times on the way to school to make sure everything was in its place. I thought she would bolt to the door when I unbuckled her but was surprised when she took my hand and asked in a whisper if I would please walk with her. Of course, I would. Always.

Preschool, meet London.

We waited out front of the school with the cat, Charlotte, for our cousin Daniel to come.

Then we all walked in together.

I had to call London back to give her a hug and kiss then she was off.

I know it won't take me long to get used to my quiet house two times a week. I have a "to-do" list of things I've been putting off waiting for me right now. It's just that when my kids are small and require so much of my time I long for a couple hours of the day just for me. Now that my kids are growing up and I've got those couple hours I long to fill them with my kids.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the one who is really growing up.

Molly's Rule of Life #51

When life gives you freckled bananas, make banana bread.

Teeth Tally

So, do you want to know what I've been doing all week?

Cuddling, wiping, and medicating this blue-eyed bundle.

I promise, I just wiped her nose like five minutes before this picture was taken. It was a never-ending leaky faucet that just turned off today. My kids always get a runny nose a week before any new teeth show up. Turns out Daisy likes to grow teeth in multiples. Last month came the top four and now she's growing two more on the bottom. Making the teeth tally a total of eight. She seems pretty proud of her teeth, too. If you're not paying attention to her climbing up your leg when she wants to be held she'll take a nip out of your calf that you can't ignore. Then she laughs that this gets such a quick reaction. Oh yes, she thinks she's got it all figured out. 

Flashback Friday

Molly on the first day of third grade, 1989, age 8.

Porter on the first day of third grade, 2010, age 8.

My sister Bethany was the first to spot the similarities in the matching sets of brown eyes on these two kids and she put the pictures together side by side for easier comparison.

Porter will often make a worried face or sarcastically roll his eyes in a way that looks familiar and reminds me of something, now I know what it is. Me.

Last week I started taking a creative writing class at Mesa Community College. The show Community might have been involved in my decision. Mostly I felt like I was forgetting what it was about me that made me be me and like that person. I needed a place where I wasn't "Sweetheart" or "Mommy" but just Molly. It was a spontaneous decision that I had been thinking of making for a while.

I absolutely love my class. We have a handful of people in their mid to late 50's coming after work to get help on their novels or to just expand their hobby of writing short stories. One guy is almost done with his sci-fi novel and hopes to make it a trilogy with the thought of someday becoming a movie. Another guy is writing a screenplay and just taking the class for feedback. There are a couple girls that sit by each other but I'm not sure if it's because they already know one another or because they have the same amount of body piercings and love for zombies. One girl has black hair with bright blue roots and wears foundation makeup that's two shades too light for her skin. I think I'm the only girl in the class that wears lipstick and a bra. I sit by a man that texts so much throughout the three hours he probably could have written several small stories by the end of class. There's this guy that works for Google and he sets up his laptop right in front of him and types notes the whole time with his boney fingers. He has long hair that droops over one eye and he talks the same way I imagine a Shetland pony would. If Shetland ponies could talk. One man is an English teacher by day and knows the title and author of just about anything. I like this guy because he has a pregnant wife who will have her baby before the end of the course and he's proud of her. Last night he shared something he said to his wife that rhymed on accident. He said, "I love the way you make me smile, whenever I see you in profile." I think he'd be a cool teacher.

My teacher is in her mid to late 30s, I estimate. She has strawberry-blond hair that I think is natural because she's also got the freckles that go with it. Her teeth are very straight and her eyelashes unusually long. I stayed late after class last night to ask what literary magazines she would recommend and almost felt comfortable enough to ask if she has her eyelashes done. Maybe two more classes and I could pull off that question without offending. She has a tattoo on her right leg just above the ankle of an Indian band and feather. It looks about as classy as permanent body graffiti goes and I like it. She casually drops cuss words as easily as you and I would say "if", "and" or "but" and refers to herself in the third person. It works, though. I sit with pen in hand and jot notes on everything interesting and even not-so-interesting. My reading wish list is twelve books longer than it was two weeks ago and I'm planning a trip to the library tomorrow.