Safronified

Methinks I need a good cry. A good ol' end-o-my-rope, can't take any more, it's gotta get better from here, cry. I'm not good at that, though. And as I get older, the only thing I think I'm actually improving on is an art to bury my emotions under a layer of pretend apathy. I'm not sure if that's because I've learned that there isn't really that much in life worth getting that upset over, or if it's because it makes me feel better to act nonchalant.

I can't (won't) go into it here. It wouldn't be chic, or polished, or temperate of me to get into the details. I've tried to define the emotions over the past week, and I can't land on one that's just right. To say "devastated" would sound melodramatic. "Frustrated" doesn't seem to go far enough. "Disappointed" is trite, in comparison to the details. And I know better than to let anger take hold, but there might actually be a touch of plain old "angry" in there.

So, I'm left without answers, and the classic stand-in for a lack of answers is, "Everything happens for a reason." Talk about trite. I feel like I'm just patting myself on the head and telling myself to "run along, now". But there are no other answers. No other solutions. No (clear) options. No magic wands. No rainbows, and definitely no pots o' gold.

There is probably a lesson to be learned in here somewhere. I can't find it yet, aside from a solid reminder of "do unto others as you would have done unto you."

That leaves me with forward motion. One foot. In front. Of the other. And repeat. With the hope that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a train.

Dear Kiddo,

Where do I even begin? Next week you turn eleven months old. It's hard to believe that we will soon be celebrating your first birthday, when it seems like we have just barely had you home from the hospital. I haven't kept up with milestones, like a good mother should, but I have random photos on my phone and funny videos here and there that I can work on piecing together someday.

Lately, when I come home, you hear my voice, and start crawling towards me, making very loud almost-crying, but really just give-me-attention noises. When I pick you up, you just relax and start looking around. You're not interested in talking to me, but insist on being held by me. In the nursery at church on Sunday, you relaxed a little bit when you realized I wasn't going anywhere, but would occasionally turn around to make sure I was still there. Sometimes, when I'm sitting on the floor with you, you just crawl over and start crawling all over me, like I'm your jungle-gym. You love to be held, are just fine with being smothered with kisses, and love to know that I'm near.

You've been pulling up and crawling since almost nine months old. You are starting to form sounds, and have lately been saying a lot of "dah-dah-dah" and "neh-neh-neh". Sometimes you say "neh-neh-neh" when we are trying to dress you, and I've actually speculated that your telling us, "no, I don't want to put pants on". In that regard, you are SO boy. All about the playtime and food. Really not so concerned with much else. A couple of weeks ago we were out in the front yard, and across the street a neighbor started a pick-up truck. You got so excited, and a little bit nervous, and I thought it was so funny to see your reaction to a truck at such a young age. On a similar note, you're not sure what you think of the garage door mechanics just yet, but find it very fascinating.

Your face is starting to get rounder, like your dad's. You have darling cheeks, and a "very large brain", as one of your older friends called it the other night. Your expressions are so telling, and constantly make us laugh. When you don't want what we are feeding you, you purse your lips and put your wrists up to your face. When we tell you "no", your lower lip puckers out. You know exactly what getting in trouble entails, and sometimes decide to proceed anyway, even with warning. We've already had several conversations about consequences and making good decisions, and I'm actually convinced that it hasn't been too early for us to chat about those things.

This week, you've been all about a very random lobster rattle. You haul it EVERYWHERE. All across the family room, entry way, and bedroom. I found you dipping it into the toilet this past weekend, and couldn't get it pulled away from you to try to sterilize it. We can't exactly figure out what your fascination with it is, but it is definitely the first thing you go for every morning.

At your nine month check-up, your doctor told us not to give you dairy products, chocolate, peanut butter or strawberries. This has been difficult. It is hysterical watching you eat ice cream, which to date has been by far your favorite food. I'm also not hesitant to let you try a little of almost anything. Last night you had a few bites of mild salsa, last week, some sausage pizza, a little syrup in your oatmeal (that was your dad--and you said "yhmmmmm" after every bite), pieces of ham or chicken. I think you somehow survive almost solely on "Organic Puffs", these little cereal-type, fruit-flavored things that melt to mush in your mouth. I don't think I could exist without Puffs at this point.

Your hair is starting to come in as a very pale strawberry-blonde red head, and your eyes are hinting just a little bit grayer than they used to be. You don't laugh, but when we're entertaining you and you're happy, you emit a sort of "eh-eh" giggle, that is more kin to a machine gun than a belly laugh. You're pretty serious, sort of shy, and, even though I know you're not, very mine. When we found out we were having a boy, EVERYONE (literally--everyone I talked to from one side of the country to the other) told me that "little boys love their mamas", and Kiddo, you do. You and me, we're thick as thieves.

I can't even begin to explain how you do my heart good. I always enjoyed babysitting because it made me stop and enjoy the simple things in life, like coloring with a box of crayons, or digging in a sandbox, and I feel the same way when I'm with you. The computer closes, the phone stays in the next room over, and we just hang. I love walking into the room and have you reach out for me, with those very insistent, pick-me-up-now sounds. I know that all too quickly, you are going to be a giant kid, starting sports, getting a driver's permit, and texting friends. It makes me sad, to realize how fleeting this time is. I know it's impossible for you to understand that, now, and possibly ever--since it really is something only a mother knows how to cherish. But all it means is that I love you more than you could ever know. And that's that.

Love always,
Momma

I need a decorator in the worst way. Have had several opportunities lately to submit my house to big blogs and magazines, and it's not cutting it. It has me feeling down. I gravitate way too easily towards that Oklahoma "let me put toile everywhere and then top it with MacKenzie Childs" look. UGH. I need someone to push me towards modern, but help me balance it with family antiques and classic.

The look I'm going for is Hamptons modern meets old school (meaning, I have stuff I can't get rid of). We'll see how this goes.

I don't know what it is about weekends, but it leaves me with a hankering to DIY. Having no energy to DIY after chasing a 10 month old around all day, I've sufficiently satisfied my DIY urges through the use of Photoshop. Tour with me, my dining room, in its current state:

Blah walls. The paint color is Pratt & Lambert's Contemplation, flat finish. It's the same color as in our bedroom, but the north facing light and shaded front yard doesn't do it any favors in our living and dining room. It has bugged me since the day we painted it, I just thought I could work around it or live with it. I cannot. Enter Photoshop rendering number 1:

Ummm, NO. I know damask is a hot (fading?) trend, but it's never been a personal favorite of mine. It reminds me of all things Victorian, and ahem, we've been there, done that in decorating. It is fun for stationery (we have plenty of that to prove), but the interpretation here is old spaghetti western saloon meets French country. Gag. We are so not going there. Enter Photoshop exhibit number 2:

{Sigh.} This is SO much better. This is it. A tweak here, a tweak there, but this would be perfect. A little pinky-red (but not salmon), a little French blue. Until I can afford to get rid of the inherited dining room furniture (not gonna happen), or figure out how to modernize it, might as well work with it.

I've found myself creeping over to the side of negativity lately. Wanting to get all that off my chest, I found myself sitting here, trying to figure out who to call and heart-dump to. I couldn't think of anyone, and then I realized that the better approach would be to count my blessings. Find something positive in the negative, and focus on that. So, I'm going to implement the practice of counting blessings:

I'm grateful for a successful tradeshow recently.
I'm grateful for a team who is motivated to get the projects done in a timely fashion.
I'm grateful for the opportunities sitting just around the bend.
I'm grateful for the unexpected financing we received to help make some of this happen.
I'm grateful for good sales reps who see the potential and are out selling our lines.
I'm grateful that a co-worker recently had a perfectly healthy baby and is celebrating that new life!
I'm grateful for a shipping manager who could beat lightening if they were in a competition.
I'm grateful for an art director who knows how to kick booty.
I'm grateful for a production manager who goes the extra mile, and knows when to ask for help.
I'm grateful for a bookkeeper who keeps us all in line, whether we know it or not.
I'm grateful for a husband who knows how important my "alone time" is.
I'm grateful for a sales manager who can sell some socks off you.
I'm grateful for a marketing director who can also sell some socks off you.
I'm grateful for a collaborator who thinks win/win, and that energizes me.
I'm grateful for a talented graphic designer, who has an amazing knack for interpreting our brands.
I'm grateful for the positivity exuded by our main typesetter, whose positive attitude is hard to resist.
I'm grateful for the creativity brought to our team by current web manager.
I'm grateful for a customer service manager who believes in where we are going, and works so hard to make that happen.
I'm grateful for new opportunities.

And I pray that the Lord would grant me the wisdom to manage all of these assets to their advantage and His glory.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and talk about something that's very close to my heart: the industry I operate in. Lately, we've been experiencing quite the shake up. A major chain has gone under, and we've all felt the brunt of that collapse--manufacturers and reps perhaps more than other retailers. In the shortest term, brick and mortar retailers can hope to experience some of the traffic that would have gone to big chain to have their printing needs met. In the longer term, and I'd like to clear the air here: THE MANUFACTURERS WILL BE FINE. Those who closed "due to the pressure" of a failing big chain were suffering from other bad business moves long before the big chain fell.

Retailers who are angry at other manufacturers for leaving them out in the cold, should be. Manufacturers who have closed had other choices--they just chose not to take those roads. In my very humble opinion, you can't do business like that and expect to survive, let alone rebound. As a business owner, I believe it's my responsibility to communicate openly with my retailers about our long term plans as a business. After that, integrity tells me that I need to operate on those words. And, just for the record: the long term on our business strategy is that we're not going anywhere.

Another common misconception that I'm noticing is the retailers tend to think that hundreds of thousands of dollars of invoices accumulate over an extended period of time. While on many occasions, this is the case, many times it is also not. And a big store has the capabilities to place hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of orders in one sitting. And here's the catch: as manufacturers, we're crazy to refuse them.

I often say that the reason I don't gamble at the casinos is because I feel like my life is one big gamble on a daily basis. As a small manufacturer, we have tools that we can use to check credit, but they are exorbitantly expensive. The cost of checking a stores/individuals credit can often be well over the investment of an opening order. So, we ask for a credit card, and hope to build a strong enough relationship with the vendor, so that by the time the third order rolls around and they ask for terms, we feel like we know them well enough to say OK.

In other words, we're operating on the good ol' fashioned honor system, a handshake, and a gut feeling. And in all honesty, if I want to pay myself a decent living, that's what we'll have to continue to operate on until we're much, much bigger.

But here's the thing: I never say OK on any order, combination of orders, or business relationship that would jeopardize my company, my ability to pay my employees, or pay their benefits.

I remember back to a "collection call" I made once when I was just getting started. The store owner had the guts to tell me that she hadn't even been able to afford to have a pedicure that month. As a literal starving artist (my parents were gracious enough to feed me dinner each night), I had no qualms about reminding her that I hadn't had a pedicure in 6 months. I wanted to go on about the fact that if she paid her invoice, I would be able to pay my reps, my electricity bill, my printer, but still would not be able to afford a pedicure. I bit my tongue. But I have gone on to remind a few customers that our lack of pedicures aren't the worst thing in the world--quite a few children the world over have it much worse.

So, at the end of today, I sat and paid our bills. I carefully balanced an allotment of funds that would go towards paying down our loans. For the most part, we operate in the black, but due to the economy over the past year, we've leaned up and relied on a line of credit, and the good ol' Amex. I crunched numbers, spreadsheets, marketing ideas, and strategy, giving everything I could to the people I have given my word to. At the end of the day, there isn't a whole lot left over for me, but that's not why I'm in this business.

I'm in this business, this industry, because I love creating moments of exuberant happiness for people. I love knowing that a first time mom is thrilled with her birth announcements, or that a friend had a well-attended party because of a fabulous invitation, or an coworker went home with a smile on her face because she's proud of what she accomplished that day, or a retailer looks like a knight in shining armor to her customer because we've over-delivered on an order. And I'll admit that it makes me feel good when I can look at someone and say "if it makes your life easier, let's take care of that," and they have one less thing to worry about at the end of the day.

It's all about those moments. And I'm in it to create them for the long haul.

Dear Kiddo,

You just turned seven months old. Tonight, as I fed you a bottle, and rocked you, you fell asleep in my arms. Your hand remained suspended in mid air, and I had to stare at it for a good five minutes. So tiny, so precious, and getting bigger so fast. I can't believe you are already over half a year old! It seemed like just yesterday that we brought you home from the hospital, sat you in your carrier in the middle of the family room, and stepped back and said, "Now what?"

It's been an adventurous past month. You've started eating real food--fruit is a thumbs up; peas are a thumbs down, as is the "vegetables and beef" medley. I actually tasted the beef concoction. It was the blandest thing I've ever tasted in my life, and I don't blame you for not liking it. Your bottle, on the other hand, you love. You watch us patiently while we make it, and reach out EXCITEDLY to grasp it with both hands after we are finished fixing it. You can almost hold it on your own, but I think you're spoiled, and you know you don't have to.

You love bouncing. You bounce in the monkey, you bounce in the johnny-jump-up, you bounce on our laps, and you bounce in our arms. If the bouncing is any indication of how much chasing we have to do once you start walking, we are going to have our work cut out for us.

You are BUSY, rarely stopping to sit still. You play patiently by yourself in the mornings. We're eternally grateful to Aunt Janky for sending you the "Monkey", aka Planet Jumparoo. We have no idea how we would survive without it. That Monkey is the reason we can squeeze showers in in the mornings.

You'll listen to books, if there is a storyline, or if they rhyme, but you have NO patience for books with no plot. You are increasingly frustrated with the books about words--they seem to be boring and tasteless to you, much like the mixed veggies and beef. You like the books that rhyme, and have a story line. It seems like Goodnight, Moon is your current favorite, and I have it almost memorized. Sometimes I quote it when I'm talking to you, and you stop looking around the room and just stare at me while I whisper "Goodnight, mush, goodnight old lady whispering hush."

You have the bluest eyes we've ever seen. The doctor said to wait until six months to see if the color would change, but if anything, your eyes have gotten more blue, not less. We don't have any idea where you got the blue eyes from--maybe Pop--but we love them. Sometimes I whisper the words to Goodnight, Moon just to get you to look at me.

You've started holding your arms out anytime you want us to pick you up, which is hysterical on one hand, spoiled on the other, but indicates that you know you are well loved, which I don't mind at all. You are a snuggler--when you are tired, or when you just wake up from your naps. While you sleep, you snuggle with the softest blankets that your friends have given you, burying your face in the furriness.

You're almost laughing. Almost. I can't wait to hear that first giggle.

I love you bunches, Kiddo. More than you'll ever know.

Love always,
Momma

On the Myers-Briggs, I'm an "I". Introvert. Occasionally, I vacillate over to the "E"s and turn on my outgoing self, but for the most part, I'm pretty content with my "I" status. The Myers-Briggs test defines an "I" as someone who gets her energy from being alone, as opposed to someone who gets recharged from being around other people, the extrovert "E".

I've been at a photography conference for the past three days, and what little "E" I have is all used up. I've stayed up late, chatting, gotten up early to work and learn, and I've had little time to recharge. On top of that, I'm frustrating myself, trying to master in three days an art that has taken the phenomenal artists here years to perfect. To boot, photography requires a certain technical savvy, which I would like to think that I'm pretty handsy about catching on to, and I'm not catching. It's not clicking. GRRRRRRRR.

I have enjoyed having a king size bed to myself for three nights. I have enjoyed the Frette bathrobe, and the heated tile floors in the mornings. I have enjoyed the roaring fires in every room, the New England waterfront, the spotless and invisible service. My towels have been changed three times a day, the apples in the bowl in my room have been changed out daily, my curtains have been drawn, my bed has been turned down--all by some invisible goddess who deserves to be tipped very, very, very well.

But I needed to find my energy, so I left the group and came upstairs to pack. And reflect. And, I'll be honest, sink into a little bit of selfishness. (Although I'd really like to sink into that bathtub one more time.)

I've worked since I arrived here. Not non-stop, but I've stepped out of meetings to take phone calls, I've answered texts in the middle of important conversations, I've sent emails instead of connecting with those around me. During one of the sessions, Melanie Mauer spoke on the disciplines of balancing career and home life.

And honestly, lately, there hasn't been much home life, let alone me life. What it looks like on the outside isn't what it's like on the inside. In my heart, part of the reason I want to be a better photographer is because it gives me a hobby that allows me to focus on my son and husband. It's something we can do together, and then I can go back to my "I"-ness in the post-processing stages and garner some energy.

But stopping (oh, that word: STOPPING) to do that is going to take work on my part. Turning OFF the cell phone, CLOSING the computer, detaching from all things electronic and internet. Even thinking about it sends my blood pressure up.

But I've got to do it. I have to. There is no point in working this hard if I can't stop to enjoy my family, if I can't stop to rejuvenate and rebuild my energy.

This will require more effort from me in some areas. I will have to clearly communicate my expectations to others. I will have to live by deadlines (UGH--the other part of my Myers-Briggs is that I'm a "P", and "P"s do NOT like deadlines).

My inbox is calling. Checkout is at noon. I've got to say my goodbyes.

Taken with iPhone. Might try to take a few more with some of my new-found knowledge of Nikon settings before I leave.