pointysticks.net

Reasons why you have to mentally prepare for a craft fair; small children with muddy hands, large adults with muddy hands, people looking to ‘ghost’ projects, people looking to barter/haggle/trade/or sell you something, thumbnail marks on candles (yes, it’s really wax people, why do you have to test it?), people that smoosh stuff in hope of a discount, people that complain (loudly) that you:
a) don’t have the colors they like
b) don’t have the sizes they like
c) are just too darned expensive
d) only have non-holiday themes
e) only have holiday themes
f) combination of any or all of the above

And the old favorite “justify your existence” games with potential customers. Ooh– another one– I don’t sell my display pieces which just gets people twisted up in knots. Like people are so desperately uncreative that they can’t assemble their own little vingette or display at home, they must use mine? Actually I just lied, I’ve been known to sell displays if the price is right and it’s the last day of a show, but in general I don’t.

Fun justify your existence questions are beyond the typical “Why does this cost so much?” My favorites are “Where did you find the instructions to this?” (This is my absolute favorite– primarily it not only implies that I’m incapable of doing something truly unique and creative, but also implies that I’m violating someone’s copyright.) “You made this?” (No. I leave milk and bread out for the pixies, they make them. I inflate the prices and sell them to you.) “How much did it cost you to make this?” (I had to perform a blood sacrifice– does that include the cost of a live pig or just the thread and hot glue?) “Where do you get these?” (See pixie answer above.) “Do you make this in ______ (fill in the blank)?” (If you pay me enough I’ll make them in human skin.)
I really wish I could give my snarky answers, I wish I could– if for no other reason to spare fellow artisans the pain of hearing those questions or their endless variations. Now despite what I wrote above, 99% of the people that go to craft shows are nice people with fairly well behaved children and husbands in tow– I’m only referring to a small but vocal irritating minority.

I’ve also learned to do things like put chunks of representative wax in front of the candles so people can mark them with thumbnails to their hearts delight, keep baby-wipes handy for light colored soft goods, and smile indulgently. The indulgent smiles (and a quick mapquest search of all the local bars within walking distance) are essential.

The indulgent smile is one part “Really?” one part “Ah, oui?” with a good splash of “Oh boy!” and a twist of lime. One must not include “STFU!” with the indulgent smile or the happy facade that the smile presents will be shattered.

The husband and I have a few communication problems around this time of year. About 2-3 years ago I ran out of essential oils which I use for candles. Sure, I have a huge honkin’ thing of clove oil, and a small smattering of cedar oil– but the clove and cedar oils are not for soap and candle making, they are for household stuff (like refreshing those little fat goddess ceramic thingies I use instead of sachets and not things that actually get eaten, burned, or bathed with.)

So I haven’t made soap, candles or anything that required essential oils for a long time since I was completely out. The exception was a Christmas exchange where my recipient had specifically said she had a desire for clove soap, I think so she could use it as a satchet. That was two holiday seasons ago.

I have gone too long without stocking up. I knew in theory that Stayton had a health food store, I’d never been in there. Matt says we’ll just visit one of the larger ones in Salem, but somehow in the six or so years we’ve lived here we’ve never gone. Yesterday we finally made it to the little one here in Stayton. I bought my oils.

I think Matt has a fear of herb and healthfood stores (like suddenly I’m going to wake up and say “You know, I think we need to be on some hippy macrobiotic vegetarian diet. I hate bacon.”) Either that or he knows of precious jewels hidden somewhere in the house and he’s driving me crazy intentionally so that he can search for them (ala Angel Street or Gaslight)– just a theory.< /p>

Anyway this makes me extremely happy to at last have the oils, but it also means that I’m going to have to twist my husband’s arm a little to go on two more teeny tiny supply runs, one for wax and one for lye and olive oil. For some reason when time is limited (and it is) he decides he’s too busy up until the eleventh hour, then lectures me on doing things at the last minute. It’s very passive agressive of him.

I informed him that it’s easy enough to buy these things without me, then he claims he doesn’t know what to get. Buy a big chunk of wax, it’s just @#$!ing wax! You know wax?! It comes in big ten pound blocks, don’t worry about the hardness, just get out the wallet pay for it and bring it home!

It’s just wax.

It’s just olive oil– I have a plethora of soap recipes, I swear you can’t buy the wrong stuff. It’s just lye. Both can come from the grocery store with little or no ceremony at all.

I don’t want to hear how I do everything at the last minute for the g’zillionth time because when I have a choice about things I do most things well ahead of time. Lately, I haven’t had a reasonable alternative, if I order my supplies online the we pay oodles and gobbles for shipping which is ridiculous to pay when the stuff can come from the grocery store.

If I start now I’ll have plenty of time to make the soap and candles I need for both Christmas goodies and craft fair goodies. Otherwise, there won’t be enough time for the soap to cure even if I stick it in the closet with a dehumidifier, and I’ll be up the night before the craft fair topping off the candles and sticking them in the freezer– and nobody wants to buy goodies from a surly sleep deprived woman bearing pointy sticks.

His answer to this? “Well I thought you’d want to knit the stuff.” Nice try Buddy.

He knows, and I know; this is not a high end craft fair. This is the sort of craft fair where little old ladies go and sell bunnies made from washcloths for barely enough to cover the price of the washcloth. This is the sort of craft fair where I’m constantly asked to justify my existence by customers, who are sincerely shocked that handmade items cost more than the stuff at Wally World. I go as a favor to the organizer kind of craft show.

Okay, so I’m in a surly mood already, that doesn’t help and to be fair Matt is busy with his own projects. However, I think it’s fair to be a little cranky about what is clearly a pattern of behavior. It’s the holiday season so I can try extra hard to be nice, I’ve been patient this far– I guess I can go a little farther.

If I have to.

In the meantime, just to be safe I’m going to [cringe] plug in the sewing machine and start making some small goodies at least for the craft fair.

This morning I took advantage of the age old housewife trick of sleeping in sweat pants and ratty t-shirt. Bless Flylady’s sweet heart, but there are times when baby steps are not the answer, there are times the answer involves two quarts of degreaser concentrate, an alarm clock, thick rubber gloves and sweatpants.

Earlier in the week I went up with the kids to stay with my mom, for as overwhelming as funerals are, imagine Thanksgiving Thursday, Memorial Service Friday, and Open House Saturday. My sister also flew in from Florida to help and to be here for the my Grandmother’s service. This meant that my husband was at home without proper spousal supervision for nearly 3 days. Evidence suggests that he spent the time working, eating things that require little or no preparation while going online, and just generally being a guy– letting food wrappers and laundry fall where they may. It’s quite festive actually.

It’s a dorm room sort of festive.

I bought the kids a gingerbread people kit, complete with candy and decorators frosting. There are four gingerbread people in the box so that should buy me at least half an hour of unadulterated knitting time after the housekeeping. In a move of sheer genius Matt bought me one of those chocolate oranges and took care of the garbage before I was even awake. I also took advantage of the grocery store’s StarBucks kiosk, it was a close call between the gingerbread mocha and the eggnog latte– eggnog latte was the lucky contestant.

I really just want to crawl back into bed right now. But I know I’ll feel better when things are clean and orderly (or what passes for orderly around here) again.

I absolutely love it when people who don’t know what they are talking about insist on talking about something as if they are total experts. It’s even more fun when they convince me that they are an expert in something and I act on their advice. I’m such a rook.

I just spent half an hour breathing rubbing alcohol fumes and learning that permanent marker does not come up out of a carpet, even if you say you believe in fairies and clap your hands and use baking soda with the rubbing alcohol. I could keep trying, however I’m convinced what the rubbing alcohol does is let out so many fumes as you are scrubbing that you catch a buzz and no longer care if there is permanent marker on the carpet.

Wouldn’t it just be more effective to use schnapps and drink it where I can’t see the permanent marker?

I suppose the larger question here is do I have to keep trying the rubbing alcohol with baking soda scrubbing (or schnapps drinking) every day until I have enough brain damage that I permanently don’t care about the carpet?

I imported the whole of http://pointysticks.blogspot.com over here, installed a nice wordpress theme (I think it’s pretty) and now I have lots of work ahead to go in and correct some pictures and what-not that didn’t quite transport as nicely as I’d have liked. Okay, I’m good with that– but this blog is mature, it’s big, there’s lots of stuff, and I’m a busy mom with things to do and people to poke with knitting needles.

It’s a little overwhelming and I keep asking myself “What did you get yourself into?” Which is usually only a question that I ask when I look at my children or try to work on a particularly complicated sweater pattern.

Eve is hosting the Confessions of a Housewife Carnival over at her blog. It’s a small yet tasty blog carnival and the first one that I’ve ever joined.

My confession is that I love being a mom and housewife, it’s the job that I was born to do, and it’s great– my big fear is retirement. When my kids are grown and off to college, I have the sneaking suspicion that my husband and I will be the parents that freak out, sell the house, build a yurt (or a ger) out in the desert and buy a herd of African hair goats (or are they sheep?) and a pet emu. At which point the kids may distance themselves a little from us.

More experienced moms pat me on the head and say “Wait until they are teenagers, then you’ll want them out.” While this might be true for them, I don’t think it will be for me. This is the first time in my life where I’m satisfied with what I’m doing, I think I parent well, and I am always shocked at how quickly the day goes. Not because I don’t have enough time to get things done, but because I really enjoy hanging out with my kids and being a mom.

I wish we were at the point of where, as a society, being a housewife and mother were acceptable and not looked at as a luxury or some kind of chauvinistic oppression tactic. My husband and I have a relationship that sings in harmony, my kids are confident and happy, even my dog seems happier and more secure in her world. And I wonder “Why don’t other people want this?”

And somewhere out there is Yednew (that’s the bizarro Wendy) who is asking why in the world someone wouldn’t like flipping burgers and interviewing babysitters.