almost up and running....
light green with rose.
Originally uploaded by quietly is my favorite word.
thanks to being almost-unemployed, i've had a bunch of time to get things ready for goodnight irene baby's debut at the bizarre bazaar this december. there are a few pictures up on flickr, etsy will be working again before the end of the week, we're in the process of updating the website...busy busy busy. if only i were getting paid.
should you go to flickr to look, featured are 5 sets (out of 12 now done). the 3-6 monthers and 6-9 monthers will have little mary jane slippers to match, but those are at grandma's house.
it has been an adventure, this decision to include irene and evelyn. people have asked how we don't kill each other, if i'm worried about lawsuits (?!), wondering how it all works.
the truth of the matter is, my grandmother and my mother and i, are, yes, three very strong-minded women. we are opinionated (my grandmother looking at buttons: "NO. cheap. uch. and UGLY. not on MY sweater".), stubborn (me shaking my head at appliques "no. No. NO. no, because i said so!"), we are artistic, creative and imaginative (my mother, on construction, "what if i did this here? and then it could close that way? and then, what do you think? a ribbon? there?"). we inspire each other, we make each laugh, we compliment each other's ideas and raise the well-timed eyebrow at mistakes.
we (aside from the one outburst i had in the parking lot of joanne's, wherein i stopped and yelled, "that's it! that's it! i'm firing 2/3 of the workforce!" to which my grandmother yelled back, "oh grow up!" while my mother got in the car and attempted to leave us behind) work swimmingly together because...
well, a lot of reasons. we are, really, cut from the same cloth. anything i know, i know because my mom taught me, anything she knows, her mom taught her. grandma is still the high authority and who we go to for all queries. there is no mediator, no middle man, we don't need one. its not like we always get along (see above), but we respect and admire and love one another.
almost every sunday night we find ourselves in my grandma's bedroom, the trunk at the foot of her bed open and nearly overflowing with yarn, sweaters, hats and slippers strewn on the bed, my mom kneeling over the trunk, my grandma picking through the booty, and me, with my ever-present notebook, chewing on a pencil.
"what about slippers for the oatmeal?", i say, pointing my pencil to the general area of the bed.
"the oatmeal?" my mom asks, digging through the trunk.
"yeah, the oatmeal"
"what oatmeal, lisa?" my grandma asks.
everyone starts digging.
"this", i hold up a sweater. "this. this is oatmeal, it needs slippers".
"that's oatmeal to you?! that's beige!" my grandmother says.
"can we call it oatmeal? beige is not even a color. lets just call it oatmeal", i say.
"but its not oatmeal, its beige. what are you, re-naming colors now?"
"sh, mother! she'll fire you..." my mom warns.