November 2009 Archives

So I'm wrapping up the designs for our January release. I've timed myself over the course of the past few weeks, as I've hammered through the design process from start to finish. Just for the record, posterity's sake, and my benefit, here are the numbers:

• Sketching - 20 hours. A few lengthy, crampy stints where I found myself gripping the pencil so hard I thought my hand was about to fall off. I also always use some sketches from previous drawing sessions, so it's hard to determine exactly how many drawing hours go into building a release.


• Outling - two very intensive 8 hour days = 16 hours.


• Scanning - 6 hours. You wouldn't think scanning would take that long, but remember, we're talking PAGES of stuff.


• Photoshop - 4 hours. It's about a half a days work, a lot of button clicking, but pretty easy. Just gotta be done.


• Coloring and layout - I'm still in the middle of this process, but I'd say I can average completing about 15 designs a day. So, if I want 90 designs, that's going to take 6 days, as long as I have enough sketches.


• Grand total: 94 hours. If I had to start from scratch, and not use previous sketches, I'd say we're probably talking about 120 hours. Two or three weeks from start to finish.

Good to know.

I've always said I'm a questionable candidate for motherhood. I never wanted a child, at least not in the way some people desperately do. I never not wanted children either, though. When I was single, I was going to live in the single moment, realizing marriage needed to be conquered before children. After I was married, I refused to let myself fall in love with the notion of parenting, just in case we were never able to conceive, carry, or adopt.

So when people asked if I wanted kids, I always replied with the reminder that I was a questionable candidate for motherhood.

When I found myself rather unexpectedly pregnant, I was hesitant. In all honesty, I was more concerned about the pregnancy than I was the parenting. I went through the entire nine months worrying about every kick, still spell, the whole labor and delivery process, and never once thought about what I would do with Kiddo once he arrived. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I think I thought it would still be possible to resume life as I had once lived it--out with Hubs on Saturday nights, over at friends houses until two in the morning, and quick jaunts down to Dallas whenever we wanted. I wondered what Kiddo looked like, but aside from that, I didn't think about anything beyond just making sure he arrived safely.

When Kiddo arrived, all that changed in an instant. I'm not exaggerating. Immediately, I wanted to hold him, and I've never particularly liked holding babies. I wanted to feed him, and I've always thought nursing was gross. Now that he's two months old, I know instinctively how to make him stop crying, how to get him to go to sleep, and how to make him smile. When I was pregnant, it didn't dawn on me that we would be up on hours on end for sleepless nights, that he would have a small share of health issues (turns out all children do), or that I'd be totally paranoid about people holding him, and obsessive compulsive about hand sanitizer.

I'm still not the best candidate for Mother of the Year, and I know I will make lots of mistakes in the long run. But my perspective on mothering has changed drastically. I'm more touched by the stories of other mothers than I have ever been. Recently, I've read two blog posts, both of which have moved me to tears. Click on over and read these: at Kelly's Korner, she discusses her recent trip to El Salvador, from a mother's perspective. I honestly cannot imagine what these mothers go through. And on Rebecca's blog, she talks about her little Eli's birth mother, and what an agonizing decision she made to give Eli up. Both of these gals inspire me because of their sensitivity to those in need.

In addition, both stories are reminders of how much I've been blessed with, as well as how much responsibility I've been given. People ask if we want more kids, and my answer is the same as it was before--I don't know. I'm not going to be the greatest mother; I will make mistakes. I don't have undivided attention for one, let alone more. But if someone called me tomorrow and said, "I know a child who needs a family," I would be hard pressed to tell them no.

What I do know is that it is important that Kiddo knows and understands the plights of other children, and that we need to do everything we can to reach out to help those in our community and around the world. And in the meantime, I'm grateful that I have a better understanding of what those kiddos and their mothers are going through.

So, according to Rebecca, it's national blog-a-lot-month or something like that. She's doing a good job. I'm obviously not trying too hard. But I've been thinking about the whole blogosphere/twittersphere/online world ad infinitum lately.

Indulge me a few recollections.

I remember moving back from Dallas and starting a business that allowed me to keep the splendid hours of noon to four a.m. I spent all night googling (the internet was small then) and found Alex the Girl's blog, and was amazed at the thought that someone could put it ALL out there.

I remember when Ash and I randomly traipsed down to the Wormy Dog Saloon one night, and talked about blogging, and met Ragan and Kevin, and both decided this whole blogging thing would be worth a try. We both reincarnate easily, which turns out, is an excellent ability to maintain if you're going to put it ALL out there.

I remember blogging almost daily the nuances, frustrations and joys of starting a business. I was a little obsessed with Pamela Barsky at this point, who mostly taught me that no one wants to read a negative blog. Keep it real, but always maintain the ability to see the glass half full, instead of half empty.

So, driving to work one day, it struck me that the difference between mediocrity and excellence was a little bit of effort. I was inspired by Loobylu and Alicia Paulson on this front. So I put in a little bit of effort. People reached out, embraced. I met Hope from Paper Relics and fell in love with Yvestown.

And then it snowballed into something I wasn't willing to maintain. I had 500 readers a day--I knew a few of them, but not nearly all, and that started to get scary. I had diligently worked to keep the blog separate from my business, but it had grown to the point where that was no longer feasible. Besides that, blogging was still something people in Oklahoma talked about in hushed tones, because it was so, well, so Dooce. So, I shut it down.

I should have laughed at the naysayers and kept going. I could describe the demise of the blog as regret, and categorize it with the disappointment that came from not rushing as a freshman in college, when I had a decent grade point average and a better chance at pledging Pi Phi. In reality, though, neither of these things falls fairly into the regret category, but rather more of a c'est la vie category. Note to self: don't beat yourself up. Pi Phis and bloggers are NOT the be-all, end-all.

Lately, I've been fascinated with The Pioneer Woman. Not in a, "hey, I'm just going to sit here and read this blog all day every day" creepy way, but more from the standpoint that I really respect her ability to put it ALL out there, with grace and aplomb, wit and great pictures. I wish I had that kind of time.

One last recollection: the same Kevin Ash and I met at the Wormy Dog once told me, "When the grass is greener, water your yard." And it is November, month of thanksgiving and gratitude. It's not a time to regret.

Sometimes I dig through the archives. This pictures are gone, the line breaks are crunky, and the titles are all missing, thanks to my lack of programming skills. But the posts tell a choppy version of my adventures of the past few years. The Boy Who Adores Me, (now my husband), the day I found Sophie on the internet (her name was Cassie then), the emotions of designing one of the early releases, some odd periods of silence when there was more going on than needed to be published to the Internets, and even a quick post from Mexico on our honeymoon.

Happy or sad, these stories make up the moments that have brought me to where I am today, and for that I am grateful.

Dear Kiddo,

Today you turned two months old. You smiled at us this month. We had the camera out when it happened, and I caught a shot. Promptly after that I grabbed the video camera and you smiled again, and we caught it. You've never seen two bigger dorks than we, your parents, that evening. We stayed up until midnight, editing the video, and then sent it out to your Nana and Poppa and Mimi and Carpa. They loved it.

You didn't smile very much again after that. From time to time, you'd crack a smile in your sleep, like you were dreaming of fountains of milk or a baby swing with batteries that never die. In the past few days, you've been smiling at us more, and once again, we work like fools every time you do to make you smile more. Usually, at that point, you stop smiling and look at us in a way that says, "In all seriousness, 'rents, you really think those googly eyes are going to make me laugh? Puh-lease."

But we're going to keep trying.

You went to your first football-watching party. The OSU Cowboys lost, as has been their streak of late. But friends love to hold you and cuddle you and keep you happy.

I went back to work at the beginning of this month. It was hard at first, but I eased into it. As I sit here and write this, at the end of the second month, I realize how hard it actually was. I missed out on hours of your life because I was away, in an office, trying to figure out a way to fund the private education we want to give you. Oh, and college. Finding the balance has been hard for me.

At night though, I would come home and pull the camera out, just to capture how tiny and sweet you are.

And Francie has now dubbed you an appropriate human to maintain contact with.

Your daddy has been home with you lots. We decided the front yard needed landscaping, so one weekend, we went to the tree farm and walked around and looked at trees. I put you in your Baby Bjorn carrier and you slept the entire time.

We went to Dallas so that you could meet Lily. Your daddy and I stayed up until three in the morning, laughing with friends. We needed that so much, but we should have been sleeping, since you were. You slept in this fabulous travel bed that Ashly gave us--I highly recommend it for traveling parents.

You celebrated your first Halloween. We really don't celebrate Halloween, actually, so let's just say we dressed you up like a monkey and took you to the Harvest Hoe-Down at church. You made an adorable monkey.

It was a busy Halloween week. We took you to the office to visit and hang out with everyone. And then your Uncle Toothpick came to visit.

About halfway through the month, you started to hold your head up more, and here, towards the very end, it seems you want to do nothing but hold your head up and look around. You've cooed at us, charming your way into our hearts. And your eyes notched up just one shade from the navy they were when you were born, to a slightly clearer shade of blue. You had your first round of vaccinations at the very end of your second month. You did great with the shots, but managed to scream for the rest of the afternoon and night.

Kiddo, in case I haven't told you lately, I love you bunches. Bunches, and bunches and bunches. I can't wait to come home and scoop you into my arms. You are no less kissable this month than you were last. In fact, you're probably more kissable. We can't imagine life without you.

Love always,
Momma