Introducing Clyde the Camel

It's been an insane week in life and in the land of Moose Threads.

Considering that in the year I have been selling on ETSY most of my sales have been locally word-of-mouth and not always translated to online.

If I sold one thing a month I was happy.

Well this week I ran a Monday Madness Special of 20% off and free shipping. To some it would seem a bit extreme but in reality I was still making money off each item, just not as much as I normally would.


To my surprise I ended up with four custom hat orders, some inquiries about custom applique's and then I also sold an applique.

I was in shock and my husband thrilled because he is not only supportive of what I do but he knows how giddy I get when it comes to custom orders. I LOVE THEM.

One such order was from someone wanting a brimmed beanie for her camel-obsessed toddler.

He calls them "Clyde" and it had to have one hump - not two.

I was excited for the challenge and this weekend went about creating "Clyde."

Getting the overall shape was pretty simple, thanks to a rough sketch from my husband. I tried adding blue hair to the hump and it just didn't work. I tried to add hair to his head and he morphed into a deformed horse.

Finally I settled for a blue tuft of hair on his tail.

Let me know what you think. A for right now I'm starting to like the little bugger.

Moose Musings

Here are silly annoying things that keep the hamster from calling it quits at night.

Cups

Yep... Cups.

Any cup without a lid or sippy attachment would drive me to drink if alcohol didn't make my face resemble that of a puffer fish.

My son is 2 1/2 and can use a fork better than George Hamilton uses self-tanner.
He can run faster than a crowd fleeing a Jessica Simpson concert and climb higher than the Snoop Dogg after a three-day bender.

Yet how is it that I can't get him to drink out of a cup without dumping it down the front of him, or drink out of a straw without deciding it serves a better purpose as a chew toy?


Laundry

Yep... Laundry is the bane of my existence.

I swear it breeds at night. I swear the socks all line up like little soldiers and decide who will sacrifice themselves in the dryer for the sake of all laundry piles everywhere.

I believe that if I did not do laundry everyday that it would eventually smother me in my sleep.


Feet

Yep....feet

Forget weapons development by the government. Just find a way to bottle up the stench that my husband and son's feet emit after a day of shoe wearing and we'll have one of the deadliest weapons known to man.
I swear I've seen flies just up and kill themselves versus coming near a pair of my husband's socks.

He once lovingly forgot his gym clothes in the car for two weeks. When he delivered them to me I thought for sure they'd taken on a life of their own. I swear that gym bag smelled worse than a monkey's butt after an all-day rotten banana binge.

That's just wrong.....

One step forward

I don't know what it is but I feel like I've been on the go the past few weeks.

I don't think there has been one day where I haven't had to be somewhere or was doing something.

In a way it feels pretty good. It tells me that I don't need so-called social groups to make me feel worthy or popular. But in other ways it's just dang exhausting! I can not get enough sleep!


But what's been the best part about all of this is that I'm finding myself less self-critical during this time and more socially outgoing. I'm not so afraid anymore of meeting new people, though you can bet your bum that I'm not going to stick myself right into the fire.

Though I like the warmth that a good friendship can provide... I'm not too fond of getting burned.

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.....

Well actually the one project that gave me a run for my money is.

My dear friend Fray aka Liz ordered a helicopter sweater for her son. It was an applique sweater - my specialty - no problem right?

WRONG

I don't know if it's because of how I've been feeling emotionally lately, or that I hadn't had a sweater commissioned in nearly 10 months, but darnit to Pete this sweater took me forever to get it right.





I had to do the hood three times, undo the trim once. Redo most of the sweater's body once. (please exuse my gross double chin in this picture..... I've hit th bon bons more than the barbells lately)




Why? Because it wasn't perfect and well when it comes to my craft, my friends who respect my craft and well all of my customers in general I refuse to send something out with my Moose Threads name on it unless it's PERFECT

I just hope Fray thinks it's perfect as well.

So please leave your comments and let me know what you think. I'm sending it off to her in Germany later today.

I finally did it

I actually dialed the phone and scheduled an appointment with a therapist.

Why?

Because I was tired of feeling like I was riding a rollercoaster 24/7.

After so many highs and lows you find that either want to hurl or just get off the ride in general. Well since I hate throwing up - spewing my bad moods on all my friends- I figured a therapist was my best bet.

I've chosen to look at the therapist as a ride operator. Sometimes you just have to hand over the controls to someone else for a while in order to help things come to a stop.

I had a bit of an epiphany this weekend in terms of realizing that I couldn't get through this alone.

I found myself miles from home, camping with people I barely knew and a child who was testing my mental capacity with the upmost effort.

The moment came when David threw the biggest tantrum of his short life. Someone needed to move my car. With David standing next to me, watching the car inch away, the flip out began.

"Daddy?"
"Truck"
"Daddy...Bye?"
"Daddy"
"Daddy"
"DADDY"
DADDY!!!!!!"
"DADDY DADDY DADDY!!!!!"

For ONE HOUR he sat by the side of the car not wanting me to touch or talk to him. His body was rigid and kicking. He was screaming and crying. Nothing I could do or say made it better. And I didn't have anyone to help me through it.

I wanted to break down and cry. I felt like I couldn't breathe and I realized there was nothing I could do about it. He needed to WANT my help in order to feel better.

Though I've recognized I've been depressed I never really acknowledged that I had to really WANT help for it. To me, WANTING help was somehow acknowleding that I was a failure and somehow damaged.

It's funny that it took my two year old to help put things into perspective for me.

Hopefully this therapist will help me realize that I'm not as pathetic as I think I am.

Moose Musings

How do you know you've had TOO MUCH sleep?

When you wake up from a dream that was a wierd combination of Psycho meets, Grandma's Boy, meets Hot Fuzz.

My dream was very disturbing to say the least, but I actually woke up laughing. Partially from the absurdity of the whole situation, and partially because in some odd way I could see how my little spitfire of a Sicilian grandmother would be perfect for a role like this.

What was the dream?

Well, my dad and I were visiting my grandmother and her neighbors mysteriously start dissapearing.

The annoying teenager playing his drums in the garage across the street = stabbed to death with a fork in his ear.
The jerk with the junk cars and other assorted mess in his front yard = found run over by his lawnmower (it's amazing the details you remember when you aren't tired)
And lastly, the extremely overweight man next door found choked to death on a plate of meatballs.

Yeah trust me I was scratching my head too.

The kicker was that somehow I found myself the next target from my grandmother and woke up to her chasing me with a wrench because ....well I can't remember.

How absurd is that?

Note to self: do not drink or eat anything odd or new before going to bed.


Potty training and smart ass are not words you want to put together.
Why?
Because it makes you realize that you've been outsmarted by a 2 1/2 year old and well....that's not really a confidence booster.

David's shown some interest in the potty lately. Mainly because his cousin who is the same age and nearly potty trained have been spending a lot of time together.
Nothing in a two year old's mind is cooler than having more stickers up your arm than Tommy Lee has tattoos - for doing your business.

The other day he picked out Lightning McQueen underwear. He was so excited and couldn't wait to wear them, shouting "YEAH YEAH YEAH"
I proceeded to put the undies on him with the explanation that we couldn't get McQueen dirty. I said that if he had to go pee pee or poo poo we had to do it on the potty.

(it's amazing how basic a college-educated woman's vocabulary gets when she has a toddler)

He yells out "OK" and proceeds to go play. Ten minutes later he says he has to pee pee. The hubby puts him on the toilet and after 15 minutes............. nothing.
David shouts "ALL DONE" and proceeds to put his undies back on and return to playing. HOWEVER, 5 minutes later, he decides he really needs to go, and rather than taking a break from his playing he goes into the kitchen, PULLS DOWN HIS UNDERWEAR, and proceeds to pee all over the floor.

The kicker is, as soon as he was done. He PULLS HIS UNDIES BACK UP, runs over to me and shouts "MAMA, PEE PEE, MACKEEN ALL CLEAN"

If he keeps this up he'll be heading to college pampers in tow.


What do you get when you take two cranky toddlers, two very hungry and tired moms and lack of sleep?
Two large cocktails from Red Robin.

My friend Beth and I have wonderful adventures together. The things Timothy and David can get into are boundless. David is notorious for being fine and then throwing a meltdown that can make the devil seem more frigid then Donna Martin.

Yesterday, was no exception as we found ourselves on the losing end of what I deemed Toddler Wars.

After David, threw, rolled, kicked, screamed, arched and climbed his way into the tantrum record books we found ourselves on the muggy back patio of Red Robin, with crappy service playing the "do not touch, throw, hit" Olympics.

I was starting to seriously contimplate handing David over to the Army Recruiter at the next table after my son managed to wack the guy twice in a row with various objects. (my Navy recruiter husband would have been proud).

Finally, about mid meal, Beth and I are exhausted and we haven't even gotton to the errands we needed to run that day. Our nerves are frazzles, the kids are covered in macaroni and cheese and well..... it's just plain hot.

You know it's bad when two women who NEVER drink order a round at 1 in the afternoon.

Sometimes you have to do what you have to do. I wonder if that's why my parents have such an extensive wine collection.........?

I can't let it get to me

So I finally got my referral to make an appointment with a counselor.

I've been staring at if for the past week and wavering back and forth as to when to call.

While I want to talk to someone who is a professional and unbiased I also am very cynical. Several fake friendships and a few trust betrayals have left me a bit lacking in the "openess" department.

A lot of why I'm hesistating is fear. I don't want to be made to think that what I'm feeling is trivial, all in my head, or just deemed anxiety and given Prozac as a quick-fix bandaid.

After having some good weeks I had a bit of a backslide in the confidence and depression department.

I stopped exercising. I starting sleeping a lot and I found myself dwelling on my failed friendships and the feeling of abandoment that comes along with those type of situations.

That, coupled with having Moose Threads subtly dissed by a few people, left me a little shaken and sad.

My husband has actually been a huge help in making sure I don't slide as far back into depression as I was a few months ago. He's been a good sounding board for when I'm feeling a bit lost and confused. He's backed up my decisions regarding taking stock in my relationships with people and helping me figure out what I need and how not to let myself get hurt again.

My big problem is that I came from a family where I was taught to be open and welcoming. I try to be there for people and show them the kind of support and treatment I would want out of life.

Unfortunatly, what tends to happen is I get used. People take take take and then ditch me once they get what they need.

But while my husband has helped me realize this, he's not a therapist and I shouldn't expect him to be.

One thing I did do the other day is make a point in deleting e-mails from people I no longer want anything to do with. I have to say, when once these mere simple little messages would have made me feel sad and a bit anxious, they now have no impact on me because I refuse to let them.

I cleaned out my Myspace page which I now think is pretty dumb to have at my age. I went through and deleted people I 1) don't talk to, 2) Don't care to talk to 3) Don't relate to. It was quite a liberating feeling.

I need to stop being angry and take charge of my own life and feelings. However, it's going to take a few falls before I learn how to ride that bike again.

Helicopter Help

Ok so I have a TON of stuff to blog about but that will have to wait as I promised and promised I'd post pics of my friend Fray's sweater.

Yet for some reason this sweater has been the biggest obstacle. I've never had trouble designing, sizing or creating but this sucker is testing my confidence and sanity.



I've had to rip and redo the hood three times. This is attempt NO.3 and I am scared it's too small when it used to be too big. I'll find out when my little guy can model it for everyone. He's about the same size at Fray's handsome man.



THEN I'm afraid the rest of the sweater is too big. It's longer than the measurements she gave me in the arms and the length, but I did that on purpose to attribute for crazy toddler growth spurts. And I made it a little roomier around just to account for layering.

UGGGGGGGGGGGG

NOTE: I have yet to tuck in my ends and to apply the applique design or add the rest of the snaps.