Being Realistic Instead of Perfectionistic

Whenever someone has asked about my website recently, I've given them the address followed by a disclaimer. "It's in dire need of updating - I'm going to try to get to it this weekend," I'd say.

The problem? I've been issuing that disclaimer for about 6 months. Next weekend has turned into the next weekend, which has turned into the next weekend... you get the picture.

While the sitebuilder product I used to build my store is extraordinarily easy to use, it's much better for someone who has lots of stuff or lots of time - someone who can load the products and let it go or, alternatively, someone who has the time to manage it more than once every 6 months. Given the way I work (probably a result of slight ADD and a propensity toward boredom if required to make the same thing too many times), I found myself struggling to keep my store updated - to circulate inventory in and out of the shop, set up new products, and just maintain it in a way that kept up with my 'everything must be perfect or the world will stop' nature.

So, instead, this weekend I caught up with my good friend Etsy. Sure, it's not as fancy-schmantzy as a storefront but, given that lately I barely have time to fit in showers and meals, Etsy is perfect. Shoot a few pictures, write a quick description, name your price and, BAM: 20 cents later, your item is posted in a pretty little listing. For sellers like me - with only a few items and continually revolving inventory, it's a great option.

At the request of friends, family and the kind people who stopped by my booth at the Strut, I've posted a ton of my leftover inventory and re-directed my site to my Etsy Store.

Now maybe I'll be able to find some time to sew!

Falling Behind

I've always been one to bit of more than I can chew, burn the candle at both ends, put too much on my plate - whatever idiom you choose to use for someone who tries to do too much, chances are it applies to me.

It's 9:00 pm and as I sit here frustrated; although I realize that I probably couldn't ever accomplish everything on my overly-ambitious to-do lists, even if weekends were 4 days long, I'm angry with myself for not being able to accomplish more.

Of the things on my list: packing up a custom order dress for my friend Daniella and putting together some fabric samples for a very sweet, very patient woman who has asked me to help design a crib skirt for her baby. Yet, here I sit, at 9 pm, exhausted after putting in a long day at the office, cooking dinner, checking email and trying to squeeze in a little exercise.

I have great visions of what I want to do for our first child - of the scrapbook pages I'll make, the clothing I'll sew, the super cool projects that will decorate the baby's room. But, I wonder if I'll ever get around to all of it.

I'd like to blame it on the baby - to think that my lack of energy is the result of this thing growing inside of me - but quite honestly, I can't think of a single period in my life in which I haven't felt like I was behind the proverbial 8-ball. Perhaps I thrive on this type of self-applied pressure - maybe it's my own form of motivation. But, damn, can it get exhausting.

I'm always amazed by those women - you know the ones I'm talking about. The ones who manage to put their photos in albums, complete scrapbook pages before the event being memorialized is over a year old, manage to cook, bake and garden, hit the gym every day and find time to write about it. Anyone know their secret?

Finally Able to Exhale

It's one of those perfect mornings. Every window in the house is open and the only thing I hear is the rustle of the trees in the wind and an occasional dog bark or train whistle. The dog is curled up on the couch next to me and I'm savoring the scent of the coffee brewing in the kitchen. It finally feels like fall - a slight bit of chill in the air and a significant drop in humidity. An ideal day to do what I'd planned: relax.

The past few weeks have been a blur. So many events, surprises and tests of my strength (tests that, I must admit, I didn't always pass with flying colors.)

Of all of the events, yesterday marked the one that's kept me the busiest, the one that had me in tears into the early, early hours of Saturday morning: the East Atlanta Strut.

Remember when I'd sworn off craft shows? I did it again - at 9 pm Friday night. And again at 11 pm. And again at midnight. And, again, complete with crying fit, at 2 am. Even after spending every spare minute of the past month locked in my sewing room, half of the items I'd hoped to finish were scattered throughout the room unfinished. I didn't have time to update my website or make a banner - although not necessities, things I hoped I would have done by 2 am the day of the show.

Nevertheless, I woke just a few hours later, packed up what little inventory (or, as my husband likes to call it, 'product') I had, and went to the show. I also packed up and put away my perfectionistic nature and made myself promise to do the one thing I'd entered this show to do: have fun.

And, guess what?

I did it.

For 10 hours yesterday, my friend Paige and I chatted while thousands and thousands of people admired our goods. The organizer told me it was the largest crowd they've ever had: the police estimated around 15,000 people in total.

Some of the nicest 15,000 people I've ever encountered. It was a beautiful day - mild temperatures, bright sun and a certain excitement in the air that's hard to describe.

It was an experience I will remember forever and, around 3 pm that afternoon, I'd taken back my decision to swear off craft shows forever. By 8 pm, as the sun began to set and we packed up the booth, I couldn't sign up for the next show fast enough.

Thanks to all of you who made it such a great experience - for my mom who helped with some of the sewing, for my booth-mate Paige and my friend Larry for making it such a fun day, for every single person who stopped by - a girl could get a big head if she listened to all of the comments, and finally to my husband who from the very beginning has been one of my biggest supporters. The list of what he did is endless: time spent researching displays, errands run for me, set-up dry runs, and an eager willingness to tend to everything around the house so I could sew.

I can't wait to do it again.

Getting Back that Swing

Last night I plugged in my iPod, put in my favorite playlist an got to work on a special order blanket. Again, while slip-stitching the edge of the blanket, as Joni Mitchell sang about a river and the Counting Crows sang about Elisabeth, I was calm, relaxed.

While I took photos of the blanket, I belted out 'Midnight Train to Georgia' with Gladys. I didn't care about how I sounded - it felt good to play, to be myself. Many guilty pleasures - songs that I wouldn't ever admit to liking or owning, let alone play around others - streamed from my iPod. Each time they brought a smile to my face and most times I sang along.

It's been a while since I sewed but it felt really, really good to get back into the swing of things. At the end of the night I tidied up my room, turned off all of the lights except for my parasol lamp and sat there. One of my favorite songs played in the background and I felt better than I have in ages. It's been way too long since I spent some time doing things for myself - since I indulged in activities that I love to do. And life it too short to spend all of your time organizing the basement or cleaning the windows.

It feels good to be back.

Be Careful What You Wish For

So, we're in.

My friend Paige and I will be hanging out and hocking our stuff at the East Atlanta Strut on September 15th.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that all of the projects I've started must be put on hold. My old vinyl gym bag - a Clinique freebie that has served me well for almost 8 years - is finally falling apart and, although I'm so close to finishing a new bag out of pink oilcloth printed with oranges, with yellow gingham oilcloth straps, I'm going to have to put it aside. Amy Butler Barcelona Skirt? On hold. Amy Butler Weekender Travel Bag that I want to make so badly it makes me hurt? In the 'once I get done with the show' queue. Some trapeze-style blouses and flowery, airy dresses? By the time I get to them they'll be out of fashion. And the list of presents I need to make for friends who continue to pop out babies a seemingly daily rate? I've given up.

All is not lost though. This show really has me thinking. I've pulled out lots of great fabric and I'm really excited to experiment - to try some of the things I've been jotting down on paper for weeks and others that have come to me in the past few days as the proverbial creative juices have started to flow again.

It's also a good lesson in discipline: to rebuild my inventory and finish some of the staples - always a hard thing to do when faced with the exciting prospect of designing something new.

It's all so great, yet equally challenging: a recurring theme in my life lately. But I've never been one to shy away from a good challenge. Time to roll up the sleeves, put on the gloves, and dig in.

The Things You Do For Love

I did manage to use my sewing machine this weekend and, even better, I finished up a present for friends who will be in town for the next few weeks. I blame the belated nature of the gift (their son was born in February) on the fabric - each time I see it, I feel my eyes beginning to melt and my hands start to burn. But, since my friend was some big-time basketball player at Auburn, I had to make sure his son had an appropriate present.

Instead of the regular 'taggies' that I've made for several friends at their request (as much as it has killed me to do so since - although I know kids love them - I find the whole concept of them (and the whole 'patented' idea) silly), I went with sports-themed ribbon and, as always, made sure it was backed with something super soft.

The Auburn applique was an afterthought (so much so that I had to run to the store to buy 12-month onesies because I was quite certain that the 3-month sized stash I have wouldn't work for a 5-month old son of a basketball player. After a few false starts, I stuck a little tear-away interfacing behind the applique and Bam! Talk about night and day - where has that stuff been all of my life? I definitely recommend using interfacing when doing applique if you, like me, have a less-than-perfect, slightly finicky machine.

Although I was excited to finish the present and to give it to friends, more than that, I'm just happy that damn Auburn fabric is out of my house.

On forgetfulness

Last year I spent every spare minute of November sewing. After work? Sewing. Between bites of turkey? Sewing. While everyone else was at the mall for Black Friday? Sewing. My back hurt, my arms hurt, my mind hurt. But, I grew excited as I watched as the bedding sets, burp cloths and blankets pile up and, for the first time since I started my tiny little business, I had a serious inventory stash.

Then, on the first weekend in December, for a few hours on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, I set up my table in a perfect sunny corner, put on a smile and manned my craft booth. And, although I'd been up until 4 am the night before, the thrill of being surrounded by other crafty people gave me the adrenaline I needed to get through the long day.

I had a great day but, at the end of it, I swore I'd never do another craft fair. The business was great and the experience was exhilarating but trying to manage a more-than full-time job and prepare for a show was just too much.

When I ran my first marathon a few years ago I made the same proclamation. I spent a good portion of the last 5 miles of my marathon pissing and moaning repeatedly to my husband. "This is asinine - why in the world am I doing this?" I groaned between strains of "I don't ever need to do this again. NEVER. EVER. AGAIN."

But, when I hit mile 26, the tears started flowing. I realize that's not much coming from me - the woman who cries at everything - but there was something about the experience that was completely awe inspiring. It was miserable and awful yet also amazing - all at once.

When talking with my neighbor a few days after the marathon about which race I'd do next, she made the perfect comparison: running a marathon is like childbirth. When you're in the middle of it, you're so miserable that you swear you'll never do it again but, once it's over and you've forgotten about the pain, you realize it's one of the most amazing experiences. Six to nine months later, you're ready to do it again.

Apparently craft fairs are the same way.

I'd love to blame my friend Paige (an amazing jewelry designer with whom I will hopefully share a booth) for what may be the end of all free time between now and September but, truth be told, applying for the East Atlanta Village Strut Artists' Market was all my idea - she willingly went along when I insisted I needed a booth-mate to help share in the pulling-your-hair-out will-it-ever-get-done preparation and to keep me company during a fun but long day of booth-manning.

It's a fun, laid-back festival and one of my favorites (which is quite a feat considering I live in a town where just about every neighborhood has a festival). I just hope that if we get in, I can channel some of that laid-back East Atlanta vibe.

Wish us luck!

A Welcome Note

Little Baby W,

Just in case they forget to tell you, before you were born, your parents called you ‘Cletus the Fetus’. I know it doesn’t have the ring of ‘Cletus the Fetus’ but I always thought of you as Baby W - I like that the W can stand for so many great words: wonderful, wishful, whimsical.

Months ago, when you were an itty bitty thing, your mom asked if I would make your bedding. She knew you’d be special and wanted to be sure that everything that surrounds you – especially the first thing you see when you wake and the last thing you see before you drift off into dreamland – is just right. As we scoured through fabric she knew what she wanted the minute she saw it: Elvis.

It might take a while to learn that not everyone is lucky enough to grow up with an Elvis crib bumper but once you do, you’ll know what a great set of parents you’ve got. They’ve spent so much time planning for you and are so eager to let you be who you are – not some cookie-cutter kid who goes with the flow. And that, Baby W, is way cool.

Old people like me like me sometimes have odd beliefs. Mine is that all of the thoughts you have while making handmade things are transferred to those items.

While making your bedding, I heard a song by David Ryan Harris – a song offering his son wisdom that sometimes brings tears to my eyes (if you’re a girl one day you’ll understand this; if you’re a boy, you’ll learn that crying is one of those things us girls sometimes do). When I heard that song, I said a little prayer that it, in addition to lots of love and tons of ambition, was in some strange, crazy-old-woman-who-believes-in-weird-things way transferred to your bedding.

Welcome to the world Baby W. You’re very, very loved.

-Robin

Finally!

Something must be wrong with me because last night I couldn't sleep. Again, as with the Mai Tai's a few nights earlier, this is an odd phenomena given that there are few people who love their sleep as much as I do.

I tossed and turned all night and felt as though I were a kid the day before a big school field trip - the kind where you spend the night in your clothes because you're just that excited.

Maybe it's because I finished my studio last night. And, to say I love the space would be a gross understatement. It's totally inspiring to be surrounded by colors (thread, ribbon, fabric) and, although the amount of space in which I work hasn't increased, the functionality is so much better that it feels exponentially larger. I couldn't stop smiling last night - a big feat given that I'd had a grueling day at work.

Ready for some photos (including the horrible 'before' shots)? Just click on the photo to the left to launch the set - I tried to add lots of comments to keep you entertained. But I did leave out a few additional notes:

1. After seeing a friend's basement done in the perfect shade of turquoise about two years ago, I've been hoarding 'Tiffany blue' paint chips. That combined with all of the incredible turquoise studios I've seen lately made me really, really consider painting the room. But, my husband is a fanatic about painting - we're talking get out the tiny artist brushes and make sure the line between the molding and wall is exactly perfect kind of fanatic; that combined with the fact that the existing paint is still in great shape (Home Depot Behr paint is amazing - six years later it still looks perfect) and that I'm still quite fond of the color (very surprising for someone with fickle taste like mine), the room remained the same butter-cream 'Rotunda'.

2. Our house is small - 1948-type small. Since I decided to set up shop in the second of the two bedrooms on the main floor (our 'master' - if you can call our tiny room that - is the other bedroom on the main floor) the room had to remain functional as a guest room: which meant I had to work around a queen-sized bed and couldn't take over the closet.

I thought it might not be as much fun to work around those guidelines - that I might not get everything I wanted. I couldn't have been more wrong - my new space is perfect! Can't wait to put it to good use!

Life Lessons

Yesterday, I sat down to do some finishing hand-stitching on an item someone purchased from my Etsy store. As I started, I sighed and thought, Man, I hate hand stitching.

Maybe it’s the fast-paced environment in which I spend most of my days – the environment that would frown-upon the fact that it takes 15 minutes - 1/8 of the total time spent on the project – to do something that makes up a very, very small part of the whole. Or maybe it’s my perfectionistic nature – the way I feel a need for things to turn out neater, more exact than the human hand can produce. Whatever the reason, I always dread the hand-stitching or finishing stitching that often comes at the end of a project.

As part of my middle school home economics class we were assigned a hand-embroidery project. After trying the embroidery a few times and failing to get the stitches exactly even, I gave up. I whipped out my mom's sewing machine, machine-stitched the felt patches and was done in 5 minutes.

When I took my project to class the next day I was proud: my surfboard pillow with its machine-stitched felt stripes looked nicer than most of the projects there. Little did I know I’d cheated myself – the project wasn’t about making a perfect, pretty pillow, it was about learning various hand-embroidery stitches. I'm sure I made up some flimsy excuse as to why I didn't follow directions, but it didn't matter - I failed the project.

One of the women who taught me to knit was very spiritual. She impressed upon me the idea that knitting carries emotions - that whatever you're thinking about when you're knitting is woven into the fabric as you knit it. "Never knit while you're angry," she said "unless you're knitting something for your ex-husband!"

I thought of those words as I began to stitch up the side of the dress. A wave of guilt washed over me. I was making a dress for a little girl – a sweet little girl who will wear it while she runs through the yard or plays on the beach – and although the whole ‘incorporating emotions into your work’ thing might be a crock, I wanted to be sure my dress brought joy to someone’s life, not negative energy.

So, I relaxed and tried to enjoy the slip stitch. And a funny thing happened. I didn’t hear anything: no voices in my head reminding me of all of the things I had to do, no phones ringing, no new email reminders, nothing. It was peaceful and, for the first time in a very, very long time, I was relaxed. Not that ‘the minute I step out of this massage and shell over $70 my shoulders will tense up again’ or ‘yoga class was great but what the hell am I going to cook for dinner now’ relaxed – a very calming, inner peace kind of relaxation.

I don’t expect to trade in my sewing machine for an embroidery hoop anytime soon but it is nice to know that next time I might actually look forward to those few moments of hand-stitching.

Change Will Do You Good

I took a deep breath.

"I have to go to Ikea to return some stuff," I started as I made notes on the weekend to-do list, a list I usually make and complete myself because my husband is often out of town. Knowing that my husband likes shopping about as much as a colonoscopy and that reorganizing rooms is a close second, I hesitated to bring it up during one of his few weekend days at home - but I also knew that I would need his help.

"While I'm there I also want to take a look at some furniture - desks and shelves." Silence: no reaction. I wondered if he'd heard me - if he realized I was mentioning two activities on his 'I'd rather paint my toenails pink and run around the neighborhood naked with my hair on fire' list. "I'm thinking of moving my sewing area into the spare room."

I held my breath and waited for the 'Why do you need to do that?' or 'Why don't you just wait until we build-out the basement?' response.

"I think that's a great idea," my husband said with enthusiasm usually reserved for a Dallas Cowboys touchdown.

To say I was shocked was an understatement – I was giddy with excitement.

So, I did what any good wife would do - instead of questioning whether he was ill, I immediately grabbed my purse and, before he could change his mind, herded him to Ikea.

Yesterday we poured through Ikea. We spent hours walking every inch of the store at least 3 times, trying to find an affordable option for moving an obscene amount of fabric, notions and other crafting junk from a large living area into an already overcrowded bedroom.

Some pieces were to big, others too small, most didn't provide enough storage, and none gave me the flexibility of having a higher surface (for planning and cutting – and therefore saving my already-bad back from surgery) and a lower surface (for my sewing machine and desk space).

It wasn't until we pulled out the white flags, waved them in the air and acknowledged Ikea-defeat that we saw it. We were almost out the door when we both looked at each other and immediately knew we'd found the solution. Wondering if it was just the buy-something-so-we-can-end-it-already desperation speaking, we jotted down some notes, came home, re-measured the room, and jumped for joy upon realizing that our plan really was just as good as we'd hoped.

Last night and this morning I made copious notes - measurements, pricing, names - and got ready for the big shopping spree.

Today we went early, grabbed everything we needed and the boxes are now sitting in my 'old' studio (one - growing larger each day - side of our family room), tempting me - like presents to a child who wakes up before her parents on Christmas Day. The idea of having my very own workspace like the amazing spaces that have awed and inspired me over the past few weeks makes me completely and utterly ecstatic.

The 'before' pictures are loaded on the computer - just waiting to be a very distant memory. And I've freed up the memory card in anticipation of all of the 'after' photos.

Stay tuned - I can't wait!

Hot Child in the City

Each year when the weather turns warm I start to think about things like running through the sprinklers, the sweet sticky taste of mango and long evenings of sitting on the porch watching people play ring toss.

I grew up in Florida where the weather didn't differ much from spring to summer but there was one distinct difference: instead of being locked in a classroom we were allowed to roam free in every backyard within walking distance and splash for what felt like forever in our neighbors' pools.

When I was very young, before central air-conditioning was the norm and when my parents didn't have the money for huge electric bills, after our baths at night, my mother would dress us in nothing but our underwear (Wonder Woman in my case, Spiderman in my brother's). Later, at night after we slipped on our jammies, we'd huddle up in our parents’ bedroom - the one room in which they'd run the wall-unit air-conditioning – and all snuggle in bed together. In the morning, using sheets, comforters and pillows, we’d pitch a tent in their bedroom and watch cartoons while we ate our breakfast, waiting for our friends to beckon us from our house for a day under the Florida sun.

Those days didn't last long - eventually I got older and realized that 'big girls' don't walk around in just their underwear and my parents eventually installed central air-conditioning at which point my brother and I were relocated to our own bedrooms for the night. But, the memories are some of the fondest of my childhood.

Maybe it’s just a desperate attempt to back some of those memories but I've been really into experimenting with girls' dress patterns lately - the really open, airy kind; the kind you could just slip on over a diaper or that pair of underoos. The kind of dresses that would be just as comfortable as if wearing nothing at all. The kind that would be perfect for those, to steal the immortal words of Richard Marx, endless summer nights.