RIP

Michael Blankhartz was a newlywed himself when he married me young. I decided he'd perform the ceremony as we stood on the bridge over Whatcom Falls, built by the WPA, 1939.
He said he was slick, he knew (I remember his phrasing). His options were few and most would leave him feeling shameful. He said he could see himself as a successful used car salesman. But instead of that, a joke of a career that would bring him more money, he fast-talked homeless kids and convinced them to come to just one meeting. Stay just one night. Maybe one more. Until they were no longer homeless.
The responsibility of facilitating a marriage was one he took seriously, almost comically so. He asked for advice on what to wear. Above, he is twenty one, and standing in a renovated cemetery, the location of my wedding (park space is hard to come by in San Diego, in December).
He was God-fearing, though that came later. He fathered three daughters. They are all beautiful. I sent his sister a note to say that I know how it feels to lose a brother.
If you're of a mind to donate to his surviving family of four -- three of whose life will be defined at least in part by their father's early death -- please do.
Catch you on the flip side, Mike.

girls' clothes

It's no secret that I love making clothes for my kid. For kids in general. You got a baby coming? Expect a package from me...eventually. I love trips to the post office significantly less than I love sewing.
I have a massive stash of fabric from when I worked years ago as the manager of a fabric store. One of the only craft-related things that brings me more joy than finding a good bit of fabric to add to my stash is using up a bit that I've squirreled away for the perfect project. Week before last I finally found use for my very-most-beautiful find of the century and made myself Anna Maria Horner's mariposa nursing tunic. I have since worn it like every other day. If you see me often you may get the impression that I wear the same thing all the time. That impression would be correct.
George has inherited this trait somewhat accidentally. As he's grown out of all of the clothes we got him while I was pregnant (except for what can only be generously described as "character" pieces) and before I was pregnant -- because yes, I am one of those women -- I've sort of frantically started replenishing his drawers so he's not stuck wearing green/blue plaid shorteralls and a brown/green homemade cardigan and black/red maple leaf legwarmers.* Because I wanted a gypsy baby, but not like this. NOT LIKE THIS! My chubby little guy who was so skinny when he was born is outgrowing his twelve month tshirts and wearing size 2T pants as we speak. The cloth diaper bum is mainly to blame, but let's just say that ghetto booties may run in the family (thanks, Nonna). He's growing faster than I can sew.
I never expected to have a son. I expected to have children, but in my mind, my destiny was a tribe of little girls with tangled hair and well-worn sundresses. My fabric collection reflects this -- dainty little calicos, big florals, pinky-purples. Silk. My constant question when looking for something suitable for George's next pair of pants or kimono is "is this too girly?" Why?
Let me be clear: I could not possibly care less if people mistake my son for a girl. I would put him in a skirt any day of the week, and not as a joke. If he gets older and asks me to make him a fancy dress I can safely say I will be stoked. I want him to be comfortable with his gender identity, whatever it turns out to be. But in the meantime, I admit that I'm a little self-conscious about people thinking I'm a weirdo and judging him as a result. (Incidentally, I don't necessarily think that couple in Sweden did anything wrong and letting people develop their own gender free of outside influence is an interesting idea.) I also don't want to dress him in stereotypically female clothes as some kind of counter-culture statement.
Is this something that anyone else struggles with and can't pin down why?

* "This outfit? But it's July!" You might be saying. Oh, dear reader, you must not live in the Pacific Northwest.

sugarcube

If I've ever driven you anywhere, you may have noticed that the music I listen to never changes. If I've driven you anywhere regularly, this may have annoyed you -- sorry. The thing is, I just don't want to put the effort into looking for new music to like when I have a pretty vast catalog of things I already like. This is the same logic I use when people tell me something is an "acquired taste." Beer, for example. I ALREADY like a lot of beverages, okay? Easy ones to like, such as water. And vodka.
When George was in utero, we went to see Yo La Tengo. My love for this band is steadfast and deep. In fact, George was almost named after Ira Kaplan, but was then named George. As in Georgia Hubley? You decide.
Whether or not music is actually recognizable to fetuses, I don't know (if someone can tell me definitively, please do), but Sugarcube is one of "my" songs. It goes on every mix I make for myself, for every roadtrip ever traveled, every exercise playlist, every everything. So George heard it as I drove to work each morning, after his ears started working. And darned if that baby didn't start kicking and punching me as the real, live Yo La Tengo played in front of us, as I sat on a stool in a cavernous bar and hoped my ankles weren't swelling.
It wasn't until after he was born and we drove somewhere, the same cd in the car stereo, that I decided this was no longer one of my songs, but one of our songs. I sing along, to him, in the car: a mantra for (my) good parenting:
try to be more assured
try to be more right there
try to be less uptight
try to be more aware
whatever you want from me
is what i want to do for you.
you're sweeter than a drop of blood on a sugarcube.

obsessed

Okay, I am officially obsessed with this pants pattern.

They are perfect for sitting around,

for lounging on mama,

for "tummy time" (oh how I hate that phrase please oh please someone give me an alternative), and, of course,

for modeling. I just made ANOTHER pair, but I will spare you the photos. Probably.

quick change trousers

George's six month well child check is today, replete with shots. I figured nothing softens the blow of unexpected pain and the corresponding confusion like a new outfit, right?! So, last night, I tried another pattern from Anna Maria Horner's book Handmade Beginnings. Like the other two projects I've made from this book, the quick change trousers turned out super cute and made up quickly. They're fully reversible which I could not love more and the back yoke detail is simple but adds a lot of interest to what would otherwise be really plain pants.
(In the morning light George is so pale he looks like he's glowing. Wonder where he gets that.)
They are undeniably hippy pants, but I love all the fabrics I used and I know I'll be sad when I have to pack them away for the next baby.

Now we just need to hop the ferry to Orcas for a little hippy vacation.