Bobbi Lately

• Lately, I've been savoring the last bits of fall. 

• Lately, I've been an eBay hustler. I've sold 5 bridesmaid dresses, and 10 other items.

• Lately, I've been adding to the gallery of frames in my stairwell. It's winding up the stairs!

• Lately, I've been sucking down India Spice Yogi Tea. 

I've also been taking the quotes as signs:

• Lately, I've been catching up with my Neglected People List. Aunts, cousins, friends. A busy summer had me putting many of my people on the back burner. It's been fun catching up!

What a Hoot!

This past weekend I was in Chicago visiting friends for Halloween. I was originally going to go as Ariel from the Little Mermaid, but the weekend prior, I had a free Saturday in which I ended up at Starbucks for some internet, which led to caffeine, which led to Goodwill, which led to Michael's, which led to my glue gun, which, well, led to an owl costume. Caffeine + Bobbi = some pretty interesting things.

But not before some Pinspiration:

First stop: Goodwill. 

Did you know that at Goodwill there is a tag color of the day...and that items with that color tag are 99 cents?! This is bananas. I got a little distracted searching for pink tags on items I wanted for myself, but after about 45 minutes (coincidentally when I had finished sucking down my Venti half-caff latte), I returned to the task at hand. 

My plan was to find clothing items that I could salvage for "feathers"... but the plan quickly became finding clothing items with pink tags that I could salvage for "feathers". I managed to find 6 shirts with various colors, patterns and textures. I added these to 3 fabric remnants that I had at home, for a total of 9 different 'feathers'.

Clockwise from top left: (1) zig-zaggy remnants from my entryway bench project, (2) a pink-tag shirt, a majority of which I used for the base of the costume, (3) remnant from a dress I had shortened into a tunic, (3) a pink-tag khaki jumper, (4) a $3.99 investment from GW... because I loved the plaid pattern, (5) a pink-tag shirt, (6) more remnants from the #3 dress. Inside: two pink-tag items. 

I spent a total of $8.94 at Goodwill, or $9.93 if you count the belt I used to cinch the waist. Bonus belt because it's totally cute enough to wear again.

Next stop: Michaels. I think the caffeine really kicked in here because I bought waaaaay too many embellishments for my mask. Including gold pipe cleaners, jewels, feathers and puffy paint. 

When I got home, I dumped out the goodies and my heart fluttered because I loveeee these colors. 

I played around with different things, including H-to-the-Izzo:

Yuuuup, that's a spit bubble. 

Poor Henley. She didn't ask for a crazy mama. But, smart monkey that she is, she puts up with it because, well, I give her treats and cuddles and walks. 

I used a cardboard template to cut the "feathers" you saw above with my brand new fabric scissors. This took the bulk of the time, but it was kind of meditative and soothing. I also blasted Mandy Moore on Pandora, so that might have had something to do with my zone. 

You know you found something you love when even your scrap pile is pretty. 

I then fired up my hot glue gun and settled in for a good time. I started at the bottom and glued on rows of feathers to a tunic-length shirt (99-cent pink tag, baby). This shirt had some stretch to it, which I think was the key reason all the different types of fabric glued nicely to it. The rows were perfectly imperfect. I made sure to let the bottom row of 'feathers' hang off of the shirt so you couldn't see the bottom hem. 

Then, I kept going (and jamming, because, let's face it, Mandy Moore is under-appreciated as a musical artist), remembering to alternate patterns. I only had a handful of the feathers made out of the remnants I had from other projects, so I made sure to spread those throughout the costume. As I went, I glued down the feathers on top of the row below them, making sure that the feathers would lay flat but still have some texture to them. 

You can't really see it above, but one of the pink-tag shirts had a cute applique, which I glued on to the tunic as a cute neckline. Then I just kept going with the feathers, making note of how they laid around the neckline. I planned to wear a cardigan with it, so I didn't fret too much about the sides of the shirt or the shoulders. 

For the mask, I used a plastic mask that came in a group of 3 for $1.00 (read: LEFTOVER MASKS, PEOPLE). I hot glued light pink foam to it, cutting off the nose and making sure to be careful as I trimmed it smaller to fit my face. I cut the eye-holes bigger and glued hot pink felt around them. I used a 99-cent felt Halloween pumpkin to cut the owl nose out. I then glued gold pipe cleaners around the outside, feathers to the side of the eyes, and jewels to the eyes. I had to stop myself before I went crazy with the puffy paint. I wanted it to be simple, but I was have so much damn fun with arts and crafts time. Again, LEFTOVER MASKS. Who wants to have fun on New Years?

This is pretty much the best photo I have of me in the costume (Bobbi + vodka, after all). Yep, I'm wearing a jacket, but just use your imagination if you can. That's Eric. He's a keeper.

This really got me itching to learn to sew. 

Girl Crush: Maggie Mason: Personal Dos and Don'ts

I've been recovering from weekends upon weekends on the go, allowing my body adequate time to rest and rebuild. Which means, I've been reading a lot of blogs. Blogs about food. Blogs about life. Blogs about doing things.

Which leads me to an introduction. Friends, Maggie Mason. Maggie is an amazing blogger who has a life list worthy of some serious jealously. (Some serious inspiration right there, folks.)

She recently wrote a post about her personal Dos and Don'ts. In Maggie's words, a reminder to herself: "When I feel cruddy, I add whatever got me there to the Stop It List, and when I feel happy, I add to the Do Its." You all know how I am about reminders.

So here is my first drafts of my personal reminders:

Dos
Cook for yourself.
Read on the porch with your pooch by your side.
Have catch-up lunches with friends and family members. (Don't forget to tally them.)
Call your mom.
Sit in the garage with your dad.
Relish in clean sheets once a week.
Try making new Kombucha flavors.
Play some Tetris every once and a while.
Visit the Lake.
Take a class. The weirder the better.
Snuggle Henley's face at least twice per day.
Wear your hair down if you have an important meeting. It bolsters your confidence.
For even more confidence, use the lip stain, wear the heels and remember to clean your fingernails.
Wear the brown boots. You like those.
If you need to cry, try Sheryl Crow.
If you need to smile, try the Beatles.
Roll your towels like a fancy hotel.
Learn.
Write. (Seriously.)
Reach.
Question.

Don'ts
Don't push yourself when you know you need to rest.
Don't read the news for more than 10 minutes per day.
Avoid cable at all costs.
Don't listen to too much Damien Rice. You'll know when you're getting to too much.
Never, ever listen to Yellowcard.
Don't text that boy. Or that one.
Don't over-layer. Heat makes you cuh-rabby!
Stop texting all of the boys.
Never stray from the vodka. The shots will bite you in the butt.
Don't stop communicating until you feel heard. You must feel heard.
Don't eat the cheese. That won't end well.


You guys, I'm really proud that my Do list is longer than my Don't list!

Remnants

My mom is pretty jazzed that I have my own storage area in my basement. Her excitement is palpable--she's reclaiming her own basement and sending me home with bins and boxes when I visit. Each bin is a reminder that I am as sentimental as they come. Case in point: I only recently decided it was an acceptable time to throw away my box of notes from seventh grade. Toni Wachter, I'm sorry. Our history is now undocumented. Your folding skills are still unprecedented.

When I went to take a sauna last night at my parents' house, the sauna changing room was filled with what I think are the final three bins: My porcelain doll collection, my Beanie Babies and my baseball cards.

I received a porcelain doll each Christmas morning for years. It started around age 7, when I tired of getting a Cabbage Patch doll each Christmas morning. (By the time I was 7, I had triplets. Kind of explains why I always thought I'd have 5 kids...) I loved those porcelain dolls: I loved their glossy curls, I loved their painted freckles, I love the delicate ruffles on their dresses. I loved seeing them standing all fancy on my dresser. They made me feel special and girly, and I realized last night that while I favored the blonde ones, wishing I had their yellow curls, my mom always made sure there were a few brunettes in the mix for good measure. I favor the brunettes now.

The Beanie Babies were a fad, yes, but totally exciting and all-consuming too. I remember serious discussions with my brother, about which ones were mine, and which ones were his, and which ones we wanted to put on our wish list. We were running a Beanie Baby business, him and I, and damn it if I wasn't going to run a tight ship. I'm fairly certain that had I had access to Excel, I would have had some serious spreadsheets going on.  I think the box contains both his and mine, our inventory thrown together after a year or two in business.

When I opened the bin containing the baseball cards, memories flooded back to me. In my painstakingly bubbly second-grade penmanship, the cards were labeled in albums by team. "Angels/Dodgers" was crossed out, probably when I made a big trade with the neighbor boys and gained more Angels cards. One book, I noticed, was alphabetized by first name. I'm telling you, I am who I am. Even when I was 10.

I'll be doing some market research on the cards and animals on eBay. Here's hoping Eric McQuaid and the boy across the street didn't end up trading me out of all the good cards. Jakey, don't worry, you'll receive dividends on the Beanie Bag dynasty. The porcelain dolls will get a corner of my own basement, next to the yearbooks and bin of goodies (orange dress and all).

It's funny, what remains from your childhood. It's a delicate balance, learning what to hold on to and what to let go.

we would heal, be humbled, and be unstoppable
we'd hold close and let go and know when to do which
we'd release and disarm and stand up and feel safe
this is my utopia
this is my ideal, my end in sight
this is my utopia
--Alanis Morissette

The Upswing

My last post was a bit depressing, yes, but pretty indicative of the last year, and pretty cathartic to write. While my pain has gone up and down, in the worst of it I went from bed to work to store to bed, rinse and repeat. Thankfully, after a few weeks of pool therapy (and jet massages!), I am feeling pretty good, and am able to move on to some more full-body strengthening in addition to some more pool time.

Two things that have helped tremendously this time around is walking with my friend Allison in the mornings and listening to my body. When I'm tired, I rest. When I need to expend some energy, I walk on the beach with Henley. When I'm hungry, I eat. When I'm not, I read. Breaking up others' (read: doctors') expectations and settling into my own non-rhythm has been, I think, what is key to getting me to a place in physical therapy where I can strengthen without overdoing it, seizing up or having spasms. That, or the irritated nerve is healing. Either way.

Either way really is fine (I'll take any progress I can get!), but the lesson is not lost on me. How can it be? It keeps popping up over and over. Hey, Bobbi, chill a little. Let it happen. Take it slowly.

I'm on the upswing. My muscles are sore (in a good way). My heart is light. I'm going to try to gain some momentum this time.

How To: The Pursuit of Better

Call your retired father in the middle of the day to ask him a question you already know the answer to. Bristle when he answers the phone in a crabby tone. Take it personally. Walk into your next meeting feeling anxious. Remember the time your co-worker commented, "You just take things so personally!"

Take a deep breath, like the experts say to. Take three more for good measure. Remind yourself that taking it personally is what makes you human, makes you empathetic, makes you you. Watch your boss's mouth move but have no idea what she is saying. Focus on making your face as neutral as possible. Nod and laugh when appropriate.

Trudge through the rest of your day. Feel bad that you took it personally; he is in a lot of pain, after all. Do your back exercises on your grungy office carpeting and try to believe they work. Close your eyes really hard and try to believe that you will be better soon.

Hop back up to your top-of-the-line office chair, position your lumber support pillow and sit. Sit some more. Try not to flinch. Try to believe this chair makes it better.

Arrive home without remembering the drive. Silently but solemnly hope that you obeyed the new traffic signs at the intersection by your office. Tell yourself, 'No one honked. You must have done it right.' Tell yourself you're tired, you're doing your best. Try to believe it.

Hug your dog while she perches in that familiar spot on the couch. Breathe her in. Try to remember the last time your heart beat like hers is now. Remind yourself those moments come in waves. It might be a while, but you'll feel it again.

Chop up some carrots for dinner. Give your mom short answers when she calls. Tell her not to take it personally. Feel bad when you hang up the phone.

Eat half of your dinner. Put the other half in a Ziploc container for tomorrow. Lie down. Kiss your dog's face. Smile for the first time in hours when her tail goes thump-thump-thump. Be thankful that those moments do not come in waves for her. Take it personally.

Do your back exercises on your grungy bedroom carpeting. Vow to work vacuuming into your schedule tomorrow. Mentally move laundry to the next day, since you're vacuuming tomorrow. Wish there was someone to carry it up the stairs for you. Wish there was someone at all. Quickly strike that thought. You are an independent woman. You will feel it again soon. Believe it.

Three.

Happy Birthday Henley!

I don't care if this makes me a crazy dog lady--It is your birthday and I am writing you a letter. (Also, I'm pretty sure there are a lot of other things I do that make me a crazy dog lady. This letter is really just confirmation.)

It is pretty crazy how much I love you, though; crazy in the way that it is hard to contain, hard to quantify, hard to hide. But what I really love about you is the way that you are always teaching me something. (Such as: don't let 80% of the pictures you take of your puppy on the day you bring her home be pictures that also include a boyfriend who was soon to be an ex-boyfriend. Take some of just the puppy because on her third birthday you will want to write her a letter and it is tough to crop him out. Sometimes the lessons you teach me are very specific.)

I imagine that what you learn by having a dogbaby is about 1/100th of what you learn by having a humanbaby. But even through all of the struggles and "teachable moments", you taught me the one lesson I needed the most--you came along at the very precise moment that I needed to learn that love can reach a depth not yet known to me. That it's out there, and sometimes you just need to travel to a farm in Podunk, Wisconsin to find it.

But, really, I never knew that I could love you so much in spite of how you drive me crazy. Over the past three years, it's almost as if the things that you do that drive me crazy have become the things I love most about you.

Case in point: I love when you fart so loud that you startle yourself. I love it even more that you get up and drag yourself across the room as if the sound/smell that just came out of nowhere is the most offensive thing you can imagine. You look so put out that you needed to move to get away from the vile offense. I love that about you. You're really dramatic sometimes. And smelly.

I love that you are so excited when someone you know comes to the door that you cannot find it in yourself to behave. This I have come to understand about you: It's true when they say that dogs want to behave, they want to please their people. I see that in you in the average moment. But when Auntie Anna comes into the driveway with or without Apollo, or when you smell something that you. must. in. hale.,  or when you see a flipping bunny, you are overtaken. You always come around, though, and you know you deserve the little swat on the butt so you take it in stride.

I love the way you think sitting against any surface, means that you need to go out, even if its a wall on the second floor. I love that you eat the pulp after I make juice with gusto and enthusiasm--and I love the way your tail tap-tap-taps on the floor when I call you "healthy puppy!" (See also: wanting to please.)

My dad (your Grampy) used to say that he wanted to invent 'shrink pills' that would make me 2-years-old again whenever he wanted. He said it when I got my license, when I went to prom, at all three graduations, and on the day I closed on the house. He said I was growing up too fast--still does. I know what he means now. I wish someone would patent those pills, or a sister pill, that would let you live forever.

But when I really think about it, I am thankful too to your finiteness. You will only live another 10 or 11 years, max, and I think about that more often than is probably good for my mental health. But it means that I am keenly aware that I need to hug you, care for you, enjoy you each and every day, each and every minute, even if it's the minute you slobber on my black dress pants two minutes before I need to walk out the door to a meeting. I love that about you because it helps me learn to love my humans too--even when their proverbial slobber rears its ugly head. I'm thankful for that.

I promise that I will love you even in those moments, because even in those moments you are teaching me how to take life in stride and find the beauty in it.

I love you, beauty. You're my little plum.

(But seriously, enough with the fucking bunnies.)

Love, Mama

 I love that you have paws that are twice as big as they should be.

I love that you always want to be included.

(Last minute wedding planning. Doggone those details!)

I love that you've come to love bathes even though the first one didn't go so hot.

I love that you make me laugh just by being alive. You're pretty hilarious.

I love that you love your boyfriends with enthusiasm. (They love you back. I can tell.)

I love that you think you weigh 20lbs like you did when you were a pup.

I love you, Henley Boo Boo!