My Mount Everest (well, one of 'em)

Like many of you, I grew up as the daughter of a very talented mother. She could sing, dance, cook, bake, play multiple instruments, sew clothes for her family, earn money from home, chauffeur, direct a choir, teach little kids, and my siblings and I were particularly proud that she could eat breakfast AND nurse a baby while driving the kids to early morning seminary... in a stickshift.

As the 6th of 10 kids, I didn't get to benefit from any of my mom's signature hand-made clothing (showers and laundry were more of a priority), so I really didn't have any idea about how good she is with a sewing machine. I spent many a Saturday over at my friend Shannon's house, whose mother is an interior designer and decorator and therefore had a workroom with a half dozen different sewing machines that rivaled the local downtown LA sweatshop. Shannon, being the fearless talent that she is, learned to sew on them from a young age and intimidated me with her mad scrunchy-making skillz. I remember being crazy jealous at the time, but didn't act positively to my jealousy until I was about 14. I told my mom I wanted to make a pair of pajama pants - a project I decided on because I figured if they didn't turn out well, I was only wearing them to bed anyway. So we bought a pattern and thread and she helped me begin. In my naivete, however, I didn't realize how difficult it would be to begin sewing on a knit, and to begin with a pair of pants, even if they did have an elastic waist. The result before I even got to the waistband was a pair of "pants" that MAYBE a human-sized penguin could wear, but would probably be very embarrassed. I didn't know what happened! But in my frustration and embarrassment, I threw the whole thing away and didn't look at another sewing machine until I was much older.

Fast forward to a post-mission love affair and suddenly I wanted to make a sassy patchwork quilt for a boy. Love makes you do crazy things. Like revisit a black spot from your past. Well, by golly, the quilt turned out just like I wanted it, so I started to teach myself how to make pillows to match it - with my own piping! I had no idea at the time that I was making progress because I sure did break a lot of needles.

Rather than jumping off from that point, the boy and I broke up before I had a chance to give him the goods, so I kept them for myself and to this day, they adorn our guest bed in what Ted likes to call my "boudoir". With the boy gone, and me back at college and without access to Mom's machine (and never thinking to ever ask or save for one), sewing went by the wayside, and after several years, I began to be in awe of others' talents and claim I didn't have any sewing know-how to speak of. Yes, I am the epitome of burying one's talents.

Then our move to NC with a 6 month-old meant I became a stay-at-home mom, and I spent her naptimes (and much of what should have been my own sleep time) FINALLY reading one of the several thousand crafty blogs out in cyberworld. This particular one belonged to a girl I knew in my old ward but was afraid to get to know better because I was so intimidated by her many talents and personality traits. At the time, I remember wanting to be just like her (a common feeling for me regarding many people who excel in areas I don't...yet) but didn't know where to start. It took me a few weeks, but I read that blog from beginning to end, and with such a concentration of creativity and goodness, I was inspired to get over my sewing fears, stop telling myself I didn't know how, and deal with any discouragement or disappointment along the way.

It all began when we were having a meeting with all the leaders of our church's girls' group. We were planning a Halloween activity that required some "gunny sacks" to be sewn out of thick fabric, and none of the four leaders piped up. I sheepishly volunteered, but said I didn't have a machine (thinking that would get me off the hook). No dice. Another leader had a machine, but didn't know how to use it. Turns out the other three had less experience with a sewing machine than I did, and that ain't sayin' much.

I made six gunny sacks, showed up with them all cute and what-not to the activity, then during the first race, two of them popped open at the bottom, allowing huge feet to sprout forth. I was SO disappointed. I wouldn't allow them to go into storage at the end of the activity until I fixed them, so I took them home and reinforced the bottoms of ALL the sacks. We'll see if they work next year.

After that debacle and the fixing of it (I hope), I decided to revisit this sewing business for good. Basically, I told myself "there's absolutely NO reason why I can't do this. It's a learnable skill, I am a learned person, and I even taught others how to learn, so I can teach myself this." I borrowed books from the library on the subject, visited a fabric store or two, found a pattern I loved for Tessa and made sure it had the word "Easy!" plastered somewhere on it, and proceeded. I laugh at myself when I think I brought the pattern and pieces of the dress to various church activities over the next few weeks to try and corner anyone I knew who could interpret the hieroglyphics that is a sewing pattern. Pockets, bias tape, zippers - what the F? But I did it. I didn't give up - I conquered my mountain. And here is the fruit of my labors.

Tessa opened it up on Christmas morning in front of my family, and the people who were most proud were my mom and my used-to-make-a-living-as-a-seamstress sister-in-law. I'm going to pretend it's Tessa's favorite thing to wear.

Miss Ririe Regrets

I've been feeling regrets lately. Not huge life-decision-making-gone-awry kinds of regrets - just things I wish I had done or said or handled better. This is not a very common thing for me to feel, since long ago I adopted the mantra "Live so you never have to look back and think, 'I wish I would have...'", but I admit I do reflect every now and again about what could have been different in my life (for better or worse) had I chosen a slightly different path.

These feelings began some weeks ago, but came to a head last weekend when I went back to California to help my wonderful mom with the final phase of their move. She's been working for the last two years clearing out the house they lived in for 43 1/2 years, selling, packing, sorting, delivering, tossing, donating, and deciding deciding deciding. During the weekend, Mom and I had a chance to have some really great heart-to-hearts about life, marriage, kids, futures, goals, and even dreams lost. My relationship with my mom has been especially strong the last decade or so, but this weekend I felt an even deeper sisterhood with this kindred spirit. We drew many parallels between our two lives, and are convinced we chose to be in the same family whenever our earthy time was supposed to begin. She said the conversation must have gone something like this:

Her: Hey, should we ask if we can be in the same family so we can talk to each other all the time?

Me: Totally. Do you think we should ask to be sisters?

Her: Nah. We need to learn more than that. Let's be mother and daughter! Which one do you want to be?

Me: Well, you're more bossy, so you should be the mom.

Her: It's not like you're going to do what I tell you anyway, so it doesn't matter, but okay, I'll go ask.

And that is how we came into the same family. Scout's honor. And as I was helping pack up memory after memory after memory, I got nostalgic and homesick and yes, even regretful about the times we had and the times we never did because I was too hard-headed and Miss Know-it-all to really know any better. And now I've been called to help in the Young Women program at church, so I find myself wanting to shake them and say "Do it this way!" so they don't fall into the same silly traps the rest of us did. Here were some of mine:

1. I'm sorry I didn't tell my dad about the oil light coming on in our 1984 Honda Civic hatchback before it was too late. Not only did I have to help pay to replace the entire engine because it had run dry, but I got busted because it broke down on my way back from my boyfriend's house, where I'd made an early morning visit instead of going to seminary.

2. I'm sorry I gave up sewing after I attempted one pair of pajama pants that a penguin would have been embarrassed to wear. It took me almost a decade to work up the courage again, and by then, it wasn't as easy to learn at my mother's knee.

3. I regret that I didn't keep a more consistent journal. We helped a couple move today, and I lugged a very heavy bin that had "all the journals" she's kept since she was 6. I have, count 'em, two journals other than my mission journal, and the second one isn't even half full. So all of you I've had conversations with over the years, recount to me what I said so I can write it all down and make this list longer. :)

4. I regret not following the incredibly strong prompting to send a Book of Mormon to my high school history teacher. Now I'll never know.

5. I'm sorry I was SO CLUELESS to so many friends who needed my help over the years. I shied away from tragedy because I never knew what to say or do, but working at a mortuary finally taught me that people just need someone to listen. I could have been that for so many, but was too insecure to realize it.

6. I regret never confronting Carol W. from high school about why she hated me so much. I still wonder about that. Maybe I made out with her crush or something - that's entirely possible.

7. I regret that I developed a bad habit of comparing myself to others for so many reasons. I know it's a cankerous way to live, but sometimes, I can't help myself. I make my jokes about hating them, but really, I'm just jealous. If you're reading this and I know you, go ahead and insert your name where you see "others". I'm positive it applies to you.

I need to stop there, or at least pause while I go find some Prozac somewhere.

To be fair, I have talents and happiness that I have fostered and nurtured through the years, so it's not like I'm that bad off. And one day, I will write about those. Today, though, I needed a little self-chiding to get myself back on a track I can look back on and think, "Well done." Mom, thanks for the inspiration. I think I'll start doing what you tell me to.