Boys are different.

Scene: A wife comes in after a long day at work. She puts her arms around her husband and kisses him on the cheek.

Wife: (reeling backward.) Oh my gosh, your ear has been bleeding.

Husband: Really?

Wife: There is some dried blood on your ear lobe and behind your ear. Does it hurt? Did something happen?

Husband: Oh no, that's tomato sauce.

On 'Mothering'...and other failures

Okay, so no one around here is pregnant. Though yesterday, my sister accused me of the condition when I made her wash off the moisturizer that she was wearing because it made me want to puke. In the nicest possible way.

I'm still nobody's mother and if you asked my husband (and he consulted our current bank balance), you would know that I am likely (though not certain, never certain) to stay that way for a while.

In fact, I realized this week that I am the only woman in his family that isn't a mother. I figured this out when I found out that we had missed "Mothering Sunday" or Mother's Day in the UK. Oh, we had the gifts and cards. They'd been stashed away for an age in the "present closet" or rather the "black hole at the back of the house." But where they addressed? Postage affixed? Mailed?

Absolutely not.

The reason for this was simple. I don't know when Mothering Sunday is. And if I had had to guess, I would have said that it was always the third weekend of March--not the fourth week of Lent. Why would you celebrate mother's day during lent? Why would you celebrate anything during lent? Or so my own mother--the preacher--wondered when I told her that I discovered we had missed it. No presents for Rich's mom. No phone call. Nothing.

Sure, Richard should have remembered, but in our family the division of labor goes like this:
Rich--dishes, laundry, vacuuming. Rach--holiday celebrating, bringing home the big bucks, looking pretty. Not sure that this is a formula that I am willing to mess with too much at the moment.

I might have remembered Mothering Sunday if I were British. Unfortunately, as much as I feel British on the inside (and I've drunk enough tea to make it so), I understand that this just doesn't count. Other evidence that betrays my alien nature: I hate marmite, ribena and branston 'pickle,' I always always look left-right-left when crossing the street, and I still laugh nervously when people say, "toilet" instead of "restroom."

Maybe I would have known about the day if I were someone's mother. I might have gotten a card and a well-wish or two from across the pond myself. But childless is tantamount to holiday-less. And being the only woman in the family who isn't a mother makes me, like the fourth wife in the Joy Luck Club, beholden.

Luckily, I have been forgiven. Someday, I'll know how important this holiday is. Or maybe I won't. After all, I am only an American.

So I am off to the post office to airmail my well wishes to the mothers in the family and there will only be the gentlest of weeping on the way.


P.S. Here's the gift I picked out. A sweet posy ring from Anthropologie (or Anthro as those in the know--aka Richard the employee--say.) What I lack in grandchild-production I make up for in funky-ring gifting, no?

S*T*I*T*C*Hin Good Time

This weekend (yes, I know it is Wednesday. yes, life is occasionally a little overwhelming.) I attended the Stitch Austin Guerilla Craft Bazaar at the Austin Convention Center.

Like lots of people I know--well, lots of etsy people--I am trying to complete a large part of my holiday shopping by buying from independent artists and sellers. Like lots of etsy people I know, I have been trying to talk up this plan with friends and family who are yet to catch on to the handmade revolution.

Stitch was heaven for an independently minded buyer.

Not only was I able to procure a He-Man necktie for Katie's brother (will definitely post pics if ever i get my hands on any), but I was also G*I*V*E*N TWO awesome bumper stickers, one for me and one for Katie, that said:

Don't blame me, I voted for Etsy and My handknit sweater is an honor student at www.etsy.com

I have a very well loved car that is currently completely free of embellishments. I think that one of these is an appropriate first. I will pass the second one along to someone else who loves etsy--and drives all over town.

Another highlight was when I met Fort Cloudy in person.

Well, actually, I swung by her booth, told my husband, "Oh my god, that is Fort Cloudy. I recognize her from the etsy forums," hid behind him like a I was that a kid who is both scared and excited to see the cool babysitter coming, and finally browsed her racks. He had a nice conversation with her about her participation in Stitch and other craft bazaars.

Fort Cloudy had a wonderful assortment of garments for grown ups and little people. I particularly liked the bibs for babies with an imagination. Fort Cloudy has the ability to create an image that is almost cliche--and then completely upend one's expectations. The perfect example is the mer-bunny on the bag pictured. As Fort Cloudy says in the listing, "Don't let his fangs scar you. He's swimming his way right out of the seaweed bed and into our hearts."

The whimsical embroidery was refreshing after seeing lots of (admittedly amazing) silkscreened tees. The He-man tie had totally depleted my budget for the evening, but I have a feeling that I will be back by the etsy store sometime soon to complete my Christmas shopping.

Rarely does my husband express interest in a piece of clothing. When he does, I have to seize on it--and seize on the chance to replace any one of the holey (or is it holy?) t-shirts that he has been wearing since he was 12. Just kidding. Of course, I can't get rid of these treasures.

I guess I will just have to learn to S*T*I*T*C*H.

A Quickie...

Players: A young man and woman. They are married.

The Scene: a family room filled with "well-loved" furniture. The whole room has a broken-down, lived-in look. The girl inspects a package that has just arrived. She opens the outter box.

Girl: (Gasping). I think that this box is from Tiffany's.

Boy: Really? Who sent it?

Girl: (reading a small card) It's a belated wedding gift from K----.

Boy: Well, that's nice.

Girl: (holding the signature blue box up, marvelling) Seriously, I don't know that I have ever seen anything from Tiffany's in real life. Not ever.

Boy: (shrugging) Well, I guess I better put this frito bag down before I touch it, huh?

At First Sight

The following ad appeared in the most recent edition of the "shot in the dark" section of the fabulous Austin Chronicle :

Library Help?

@ Pinnacle campus, you were tall slender

with english accent in library.

Had trouble finding a book.

I was studying by the window.

We met eyes before U caught the lift.

Fancy a coffee sometime?

You: man. Me: Woman.

Hmm...

I happen to know a tall, slender English guy who studies at the Pinnacle Campus for his teaching certificate. He was at the library on the date in question. And here is the clincher...he often has trouble finding things!

Now, some women might be threatened by the fact that their husbands were just "called out" in a personals column. Some women might worry. But not me. I ooze self confidence.

And I *also* happen to know that my husband has never fancied a cup of coffee in his whole life.

Seriously, though, I know that Richard wasn't making eyes at this poor girl. And I do feel for her. In fact, I know exacty how she feels.

When I met my husband, I knew immediately that I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. He stood in a doorway, wearing jeans and a yellow t-shirt. He was indeed tall and slender with a beautiful accent. I loved him at first sight.

I spent this morning thinking a little about the woman who saw my husband and liked him enough to write a shot in the dark ad. I spent the morning thinking (and shopping) with love at first sight in mind.

I found this pair of hedgehog hair clips at Meeting Street Designs. Their names are Harry and Heidi and it was love at first sight--according to their maker.

I love Heidi's lipstick and flowery hair bow--or is it quill bow? As my sister and I often quote, "a lady needs a few things." Even a lady hedgehog. I think that any little lady would be lucky to own these darling hair clips.

Next, I ran across Annie and Olive, an adorable shop with an adorable name. I love everything in this store, but particularly liked the idea of the Surprise Heart listing. Annie and Olive list a number of small heart pendants, some in pretty paisleys and others in bright corduroy. Purchase this listing and Annie and Olive will send you a heart in a surprise style.

I just love this idea. On one hand, it is such a romantic notion--the surprise of a unique gift sent just for you, a small heart winging its way from another part of the world. On the other, it seems quite practical. Anyone who has loved another person knows that each heart is full of surprises.

Even married people find something new in each other sometimes.

When I read the ad seeking Richard out to him, he hugged me and said: "Me: man. You: woman in my arms. Fancy a life together?"

I met him and it was love at first sight. I followed him across Western Europe to win his heart. Now, that we're married I know that I would go to the ends of the earth. And so would he.

Twenty-Four Hour Potter People

What a Wonderful World...

Today, bloggers around the world have committed to taking up the cause of the environment. I decided to post some photos that Richard and I took while visiting the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. We took them so that we could send copies to our 2-year-old nephew, Kai. (Unfortunately, Auntie Rachel has been busy and Kai is yet to see them.)

He's going through a phase in which he is fascinated by photos and since we live on the other side of the world (Kai is a native of Wales), he sees us far more often in print than in person. Actually, there was an unfortunate period in which he had me a bit confused with Al Gore. Thank goodness it was mostly in the name and not in the look.

Don't get me wrong--I think Al Gore looks pretty good for a middle-aged man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. But while I am somewhat flattered that my nephew confused me with a Nobel Prize winner, I do want Kai to think that I look slightly more--feminine.

Apparently, the confusion was never about look but about sounds. The names Rach-el and Al Gore sound a bit alike to a very clever young Welsh boy. I don't really hear it myself, but I have a hard time making my own voice or the voice of my interior monologue stretch to a Welsh accent.

Oh I hope that Kai someday understands what work Al Gore has inspired, the work that is yet to be done. I hope Kai lives in a world where we value the future--his future--as much as we value our own creature comforts. I hope Kai lives in a world where all the creatures pictured still exist.

After all, I may live on the other side of the world from my nephew, but it is such a small planet.

Come on Eng-a-land.

Today we practiced the other other religion--RUGBY.

Richard, Lizzie (my sister), and I headed to Fado, a local Irish pub that claims to have the best Guiness in North America, for the England v France semi-final game of the Rugby World Cup. For our part, we stuck with lager and ale. None of that Irish stuff today. We were channeling England all the way.

Before the game, Richard gave Lizzie a long tutorial in the rules. Before the game, I tried on four different outfits until I landed on the one that a) best represented the flag of St. George, the symbol of England and b) did not make me look fat. Hence, I still don't know the difference between a prop and a flanker. Nor do I appreciate the significance of the 22 yard (or is it meter?) line.

But, I am sure that Lizzie and I were the cutest ones in the pub.

Before you get worried that I have developed a big head, please understand that there were maybe 5 women in the place because most wives/girlfriends/sisters of the rugby fans at Fado would probably not have been caught dead in the mosh pit of men, sweating and screaming, "Come on England!" One guy scootched past me and the ripe stench that hung on the air after he was long gone suggested that he had been playing International Rugby, not watching it in an air-conditioned pub.

Even my darling mild-mannered husband transforms into a hooligan when it comes to Rugby. Once, when we were dating, he screamed in anger at my flatmate who changed the station while Rich was watching the rugby. I had run upstairs to put on a sweater and by the time I got back, Richard said, "Get your coat, Rach, we're going home." In that moment, he was Clark Gable or Humphrey Bogart--some classic Hollywood leading man, taking charge and taking care of the little woman. It might have been really romantic. Except I was already at home.

Today, Richard encouraged his team in his usual sweet way--most of the time. He was the only one in the pub saying, "Good play, lads. Keep it up" But when a Welsh man dained to cheer on France at a pivotal moment, I heard my darling husband yell back: "Traitor!"

I must say that this is not his normal attitude. In fact, we got home from the game this evening to find that a gift we'd bought for our newest nephew, Finnlay--who is a native of Abergavenny, Wales--was waiting for us in the "post box." Charlie and Sarah created this custom long-sleeved onesie for the little guy using a block printed design from their British Flashcard collection and I couldn't be happier with the way it turned out. I plan to buy a matching one for Rich soon so that he and one of his favorite Welsh citizens will match.




Finn--just remember that you may be "mini" now, but someday you'll be bigger and when the time comes, we'll be happy to watch you play rugby, even if you do play for Wales! (Well, at least Auntie Rachel will...)

But back to the game...after 80+ brutal minutes, England won! This is the face of a boy who has just pulled his wife to him in excited revelry (nothing to do with the beers he had--absolutely NOTHING):

I am now quite the fan of Rugby, myself. Anything that makes a man grab his wife like this has got to be good. Next weekend, we'll be back at Fado's for the finals and I'll be screaming, "Come on, England" with best of them.

-----

P.S. I know that I married the right man because of the following conversation:

Me: That number 11 guy is pretty hot!

Rich: Who, Josh Lewsey? Yeah, he reminds me of the guy on the Gilmore Girls that you are in love with.

What do you think?

Dirty. Dirty. Dirty.

Well no, not really. My latest treasury at etsy is devoted to laundry day.

To be honest, I haven't had to participate in laundry day at my house lately. I have a stay-at-home husband at present and he is kind enough to take care of this routinely. I am a very lucky girl.

So in honor of him--the man who refuses to use anything but a clothesline, much better for the environment that way--and in hopes of passing along my good karma, I am featuring several sellers with laundry related products.

Some of them even make the process look fun.