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Lucky 20.

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Nineteen posts. 19. That’s how long it took me to kill my blog. I should really start over, maybe write about something I do on a more regular basis than crafting. Like wiping baby tucheses*.

So here goes:

Hia all! I’m Sophie. I’m a part time crafter, part time idler, part time crazy, part time cynic, full time double-header mom. Yes indeedy! at 36 I suddenly find my juvenile self a mother of two. The responsible adult. The woman who fears not puke nor snot nor technicolor poop. I hope I’ll still be able to contribute some trifles about cooking and crafting and suchlike, but I think it’s better to post about my kid singing both verses of “twinkle twinkle little star” than not posting at all. I mean – this is the internet. If you’re not there, you’re not anywhere. Or sommink.

I’m not as funny or as witty as my favorite woman bloggers, but hey! I more desperate for human contact!

So hang in there. I’ll see you tomorrow.

*tuches:   butt.

p.s. I’ve decided to freshen up the looks of the blog – you know, new clothes make a new woman blah blah, anyhow – I’d appreciate comments or advice for looks improvement. Of the blog’s face. My own face is already as improved as it’s gonna get.

Everybody’s Doing It

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Yes, they are. I swear to you, and I can even back my words, if you push me hard enough for linkographic evidence. I think that’s the reason I haven’t done it until now. See, I have this thing: If everybody’s doing it, than I don’t. Or I do, but much much later, when it’s no longer and issue to be done by everyone. I even joined Facebook only when it became a boring, mundane thing, where you friend your parents and your in-laws (hey, G!) and really have to keep your language.

The only reason I’m doing it at all is because of all the wonderful blogging material that is going to waste by not doing it. Shin said she didn’t think I’d like it, because I’m such a private cat and don’t like to be told stuff or asked questions, and it’s sort of true, but on the other hand, I WRITE A BLOG. I mean, I guess I’m only private for a given value of “private”.

This is also a sort of a reason why I haven’t written all that often in the past few months. It’s hard to post about stuff when there’s this big lump of thing stuck in your brain with the title “not to use on the blog”. It kind of darkens the path to writinghood, sort of thing.

So, here goes.

What? What is it that everybody’s doing but me, I hear you ask? Oh, right. The thing everybody’s doing is tell the world about important personal stuff. Specifically, this:

Junior is about to become a big brother, and this time I’m not talking about getting a new cat. It’s the other kind, where you get good skin, excellent nails, and lush, supple hair, on your head as well as on the rest of your body. Yep, I’m it. Pregnant. There, the secret is told to the world of internets.

And I forgot all the funny bits I had to say about that.

Mustn’t Grumble (Yeah, Right)

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Well, hello there! Hi! Fancy meeting you all here, I didn’t think anybody came to this part of the desert anymore!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Sure, I can start piling on the excuses, but you all know the truth: I’m a lazy slob, and worse, I’m afraid to write stuff that doesn’t look interesting enough. I really don’t know what I have to complain about. Many things have happened since April, mostly good and interesting, with the bags and with the life and the family, but somehow reading about other people’s fights with their kids or about the summer vacation dread seems always more interesting than my own. But man, things are happening!

First of all – my good and trusty ole’ laptop died. Albert the second was 5 years old at the time of his death, which would be like an 80-year-old man in laptop years. I guess he felt there was no more need to keep pulling along once the PhD business was over. Little did poor Albert know how much I relied on him for storing pictures ,  keeping countless bookmarks, mobility around the house (ever tried surfing the net from the bathroom?  Er… no, me neither… ), not to mention he was my big, digital inspiration board. Now my desk is Albert-less, and is being filled instead by Mr. Photographer’s laptop when he comes home from work, to do some more work.

In short, I’ve been reduced to communicating with the world on a regular desktop, surrounded by way too many joysticks, used batteries, pieces of paper with undecipherable writing on them, cables, screwdrivers of various sizes etc. And I don’t even know if any of my pictures are saved on this beast. I’ll have to dig in and look. If not, I’m going to have to make Mr. Photographer take pictures of all the bags, again. Oh, bother!

Well, enough with the whine. Big day today, and there’s lots of interesting stuff to do outside the air-conditioned protection of home. I hope there WILL be another post tomorrow. If not, I deserve to get shot.

Surfacing.

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Hello? Hellooooo???

Anybody out there? Have I still got a reader left? Who knows. I’ll pretend there’s a huge audience in front of me, all waiting for me to start talking. Or writing. Wait, not that large an audience.

So, how have you all been? Taking good care of yourselves? Everybody survived the various spring festivities? Good.

Last time I was here, I was all excited about the big artists’ fair in Gedera. Well, it happened. Practically a month ago, I’m ashamed to say. It was a lot of fun. My host was Orna, a very talented painter/photographer, and other ladies there were selling pretty glass art, ceramics, mosaic art and women’s clothes. A lot of people came by on the two days of the fair, and I even managed to sell a few of my bags, not only to friends and relatives, but to a complete stranger, too!  The weather was good, the music was fine, the company was pleasing – what else could I have asked for? It really makes me want to participate in more fairs like that.

In the picture is  moi, wearing an amazingly silky-soft button-up shirt I got from a second-hand sale, messing around with my receipt book. I am surrounded by my beautiful bags, and hanging in the front of the table is the I-spy quilt, that my son (chocolate face, lower right hand corner) kept wanting to call his own, even though he already has one.

Other good news are I sold ALL of my Beagle bags. Yes, I know I only made three, but hey, I sold them all nevertheless. Worry not, though, more Beagle bags are to come soon, in more funky corduroy colors. And the brown diamond-shaped evening purse with the amazing vintage button. Some of my bags even made it as far as Chicago and San Francisco (OK, the SF purses were sent as gifts, but they still made it all the way there).

So that was it. Passover was a good rest, with lots of frolicking with beloved members of the family, and I’m just glad we’re back on daily schedule again, so I can go back to my sewing.

Have a good restful weekend, reader(s). Next week will be full of action again.

My son is shaming me.

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I never thought I’d say this about my kid before he turned 15. OK, 13. That he’s shaming his only mama. He’s only a bit older than 2, you know. Anyhow, we were at the shoe store the other day, unsuccessfully trying on pairs of sandals, but non the size that will last him more than a month. So after half an hour of a lot of patience on his side, I took him for a much deserved ice cream. We proceeded into the local McD, and got ourselves a cone of soft serve ice cream each. He finished his very nicely, being a very devout ice cream eater, and ate some of mine, too. On our way out we stopped at a table where a friend of his from daycare was sitting with her parents, having some kiddy meal. The friend’s mother offered him some corn nuggets and fries, while I protested “no, no, he just downed a whole ice cream!”. As I was speaking, he grabbed the nugget in one hand, and a french fry in the other and went on to gobble them up like there was no tomorrow. And then he asked for another fry, and for another and yet another. My son, who:

1. Just, as I said, ate a whole ice cream, plus some of mine.

2. Does NOT like potatoes, and never agreed to a french fry in his entire life.

Made me look like some disgusting person who doesn’t feed her kid, or at least doesn’t give him “treats”. Hah!

I did not know where to hide my face, no I did not. I could barely drag him out of there after he polished off a good part of the little girl’s fries, and all the families there were staring at us because it was, well, a small place and my kid has a big presence.

Next time I’m taking a cash box with me and am going to charge people money to look at us.

P.S. After we got home he had another supper. My son, the bottomless pit. I think we’re adopted.

I’ve been letting things slide

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Yeah, I know. It’s horrible. 12 days since my last post. You’re all probably thinking I offed to some distant Caribbean island with my latino lover. No such luck, I’m afraid. Have just been working on my men’s bag, doing some housework and cooking, since my kitchen is no longer as clean as it was 12 days ago. Also, inspired by the best of the sets, I decided I’ll try to do a video post. Upon trying my webcam, I came to the conclusion that it’s not that I’m such a video-monstrosity as the webcam makes grainy and yuck videos.

Anyway, stay tuned in a day or so for another installation of my life, including bags and Purim costumes, and in the meantime: Peace, dudes!

“I’m blogging this”

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My kitchen is too clean for me to cook in it. There, I said it. I am now officially the greatest excuse-inventor in the world. AND a lame blogger.

The day after.

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So I’m back from last night’s sale. Well, I’ve been back since last night, obviously, but it took me until now to defrost my extremities. It was SO cold last night, and the heating broke down and was cooling instead. Some of the people came over to my little table and looked at the bags, some of them even took cards, and I even managed to sell a bag! Too bad, it was one of those I had just finished a couple of days ago, so there is no picture of it to show.

So, to summarize the last week: three bags and a coin purse sold. Hurrah! I hope it continues this way.

And on to a burning question:

Why is it OK for people to send me mass emails with huge pictures of stuff that can be categorized as “cute. ok. next”, but it’s not ok for me to ask them to stop doing that? Why do they get offended? It’s not like I used any rude language and they sure didn’t compose that email with the humongous pictures themselves! So why are they insulted? and why can’t they simply send a link to whatever cuteness roams the net at the moment? Just saying.

Oh, and if any of my readers thinks I mean specifically them – then no. I mean more than half my close friends. Nobody specific. I love you all.

OK, can’t help it. Have some bag pictures. Why am I hiding these anyhow? As usual, thanks to the house photographer. He sure knows his work!

Look at that button!

You all have a good week, will you? Keep warm, stay away from dangerous roads and don’t sink in the snow!

The economy is flourishing.

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No, I still can’t believe it happened so fast. I had just opened my business officially, and what do I get if not a phone call from a friend of the family who wants to get a bag. “Friend of the family doesn’t count”, you say, but I say, she didn’t have to pick the not-so-cheap bag, and she most definitely didn’t have to get herself another one! Oh, the joy! But I’m telling the story backwards, because the house photographer and I are disagreeing  about whether the FIRST sale I had counts or not. Well, to start from the top:

1. Thanks, mom! Your “I want you to be lucky” purchase worked like magic! Because:

2. Thanks, B.! I hope you enjoy those bags. It was fun for me to make them, and I hope you have as much fun toting them around.

Here, let me show you what she got (I hope you don’t mind, B.):

The pre-Micki bag

and also this one:

The Beagle bag

As my late grandfather used to say, “only tomorrow is not the day after tomorrow”, and that means I have tomorrow left for making an updated  inventory list, ironing of the bags, packing of the accessories, acquiring of the small change etc. before Saturday night, my big début.

Wish me luck. I hope I don’t faint before then.

Don’t piss me off on a Sunday, please.

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A poem:

9AM.

You – in elaborate make-up,

hair, dress, boots.

Me – in excercise whatnot, hair, bag.

Can’t you find something

better to ask

than

“Don’t you have a job?”

P.S. I know you’re jealous.

Also, happythoughts: More bags are up in the shop, and 6 days to the Amit women sale countdown.

Layla Tov!