The 7 steps toward Pinterest nirvana

This month I’ve been planning a first birthday party for my firstborn. As with most first-child experiences, I’m probably way overthinking it, so of course I turned to Pinterest for inspiration. Which can sometimes be dangerous if you’re even slightly type A or insecure. But I made it out alive, and through the endless scrolling, I dare say I have made peace with Pinterest. This is a lengthy (yet slightly Buzzfeedy) look at the thought process that has led me to Pinterest nirvana*:

1. Ain’t nobody got time (or money) for that.

“Her oral report was phenomenal, but it was the embers of burning francs billowing through the air that earned Quinoa an A+++ on Famous Consumers Day.” Via
My Imaginary Well-Dressed Daughter

When I first scrolled through Pinterest for ideas on my chosen theme, I felt overwhelmed. I found articles featuring parties of the same theme that were beyond elaborately decorated. They had transformed the entire space: an alternate universe completely reigned by The Birthday Party Theme. How could I ever compare? I still use two Rubbermaids for living room side tables. No amount of chevron is going to make up for that. Le sigh.

2. But don’t hate the crafty people.

That said, I’m no Pinterest hater. I recently saw this article bashing Pinterest-worthy parties and this one criticizing the obsession over capturing perfectly staged memories, and although they have some good points, I don’t like the us-vs.-them approach. I’m sorry that some parents feel guilty or judged for not meeting a certain ideal of craftiness, but that doesn’t mean people who genuinely enjoy crafty endeavors should feel guilty either. And although I agree that we shouldn’t prioritize how things look over authentic experiences (more on that in a minute), that doesn’t mean that memories that happen to involve adorable crafts aren’t authentic.

I thought of my mom, who threw tons of creative, festive parties before the age of Pinterest. I have fond memories of the crafty aspects of those parties: my friends bedecked in chef’s hats and aprons for my cooking birthday party, the cake decorated with a popsicle-stick picket fence for my garden birthday party, and the sweet Lego-brick cake for my brother’s Lego birthday party.

My mom had a knack for creativity and cuteness, and she masterminded cool kid parties not because she was trying to impress anyone, but because she enjoyed doing it. And she always made sure to involve me, so it was an opportunity to create something together, and today I’m grateful she passed that joy of creativity on to me.

I don’t throw extravagant parties, but I consider myself pretty crafty. I was the kid that would rather spend time creating, say, a dollhouse out of recycled materials than playing outside. I was also the kid who toted a glue gun just about everywhere I went (how did I have friends??). If it wasn’t for obsessive-compulsive late-night crafting, I wouldn’t have met my husband (but that’s a story for another day). So, I am a firm defender of earnest, ambitious crafting endeavors.

3. Repeat after me: It’s curated.

Photo illustration by me. Original image via
ctj71081/Flickr

The key to not getting depressed by Pinterest and other social media is to remember that everything is highly curated. I know my online self is decidedly more together than my face-to-face, 24/7 self. We are viewing only a small, carefully presented piece of someone’s life. Sometimes those pieces paint a picture of an unattainably beautiful life. But we all have problems. Those problems don’t need to play a starring role on social media, although I do appreciate it when people are candid (especially like this). It’s just helpful to keep in mind that behind every “perfect” pin is a real person with her own mix of triumphs and talents, challenges and anxieties.

4. Photograph less, experience more.

One point I agreed with in the second article mentioned above is that we can become so preoccupied with capturing a memory (and then sharing it on social media) that we fail to actually enjoy the moment. In a fascinating series from NPR about photography and memory, one story cited research showing that we actually remember fewer details about the things we photograph. As a source in the article says, photos can be “rich retrieval clues,” but photographs are not memories. So although I hope to catch a video of my little guy demolishing his first cupcake, I’ll try to spend more time enjoying the day than trying to catalog every moment to post on Facebook. (There’s also this NPR story about how parents absorbed with their smartphones have a heartbreaking effect on their kids–seriously, put down the smartphone, people!)

5. To thine own self be true.

After spending awhile on Pinterest, I start to get irritated by the stream of images cluttered with my pet peeves: superfluously outfitted “tablescapes”, sloppily typeset posters, and any variation of keep-calm-and-carry-on. Pass.

NOOOOO. So many things wrong here. Image via
Turn Up Gear

Just because it’s on Pinterest doesn’t mean it’s awesome or that it’s right for you. I know my style and my strengths and weaknesses, so I say yes to some crazy craft projects, no to elaborate or labor-intensive recipes. For our upcoming party, there will be several frozen foods on the menu. And that’s OK.

6. Reminisce about pre-Pinterest pinning.

Image via
Sarah London

As I said, my mom was crafty and cool before there was Pinterest. I remember we would both scour issues of Family Fun magazine for project ideas, and sometimes we would even go on model-home tours just to get some home-decorating ideas (like hot-gluing silk flowers all over a lampshade!). She had a drawer full of file folders with categorized ideas for holidays, parties, gifts, and other projects. I asked my mom about how she felt about the old-school files compared to Pinterest, and she reassured me she is definitely a Pinterest fan–she loves the ready access to ideas and inspiration. She said it does seem like moms today feel more pressure to have “Pinterest-worthy” homes and lives, but that we should remember it’s just a tool.

My mom also told me about her grandma’s version of Pinterest: “She had a scrapbook which was filled with clippings of various things, but a lot of them were poems that she liked. I think that was a popular thing of the day. I feel like there’s something inherently satisfying about preserving things, whether it’s ideas or pictures or whatever, and maybe it’s just part of our DNA.”

7. Stop pinning, start doing.

I recalled this talk from a few years ago; I love President Uchtdorf’s insights on creativity:

Once I stepped away from the screen and started working on my own projects, I stopped worrying about what some stranger on the Internet had accomplished and learned to love what I was accomplishing–I felt the thrill, the satisfaction, of creation.

 

* I’m using the term “nirvana” generically here–I really hope this isn’t offensive to those of the Buddhist persuasion.

A Father’s Day gift for a rockin’ grandpa

My dad is awesome. He is hardworking, faithful, and wise. He is caring and supportive. And he is a pretty cool grandpa.

His daily uniform consists of Chuck Taylors, cargo shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt or tie-dye shirt. He was an English major in college, but his speech is primarily composed of references from Monty Python, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and old SNL skits. And he could tell you a detailed history of just about every rock band in existence.

To honor his singular rockin’ style, I decided to design an album cover as a Father’s Day gift. On the wall of his office, Dad has a grid of framed album covers from some favorite bands. Last time we visited my family, my mom got some great pictures of Lars and Grandpa rocking out on the drums (mostly Lars enjoyed tapping the drumsticks together), and I knew it would make the perfect album cover. I decided to channel the style of the Beatles and other albums in the early ’60s. I even modeled my VW/Munson Records logo on the Capitol Records logo. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out.

Happy Father’s Day, Grandpa VW!

If anyone else out there wants to make their own vintage rock ‘n’ roll Father’s Day album cover, here’s how I did it in Photoshop (it’s pretty simple if you have moderate Photoshop skills):

1. Create a canvas of 12 x 12 inches.
2. Paste the photo you want to use, and size it as you like.
3. If the background is cluttered, use the Polygonal Lasso tool to clear it (here’s a tutorial for that process if you’re not familiar)
4. Add text layers. The typeface for “Lars & Grandpa” is Stereofidelic; “The First Album” and “Father’s Day 2014” is Tandelle; “VW/Munson” is Lakesight.
5. Create an oval around the record label text. Create five stars and align them in a row.
6. Make a copy of all the text layers, then make them invisible.
7. Resize canvas (with anchor in center) to 14 x 14 inches (I did this to keep the action in the next step from blurring the image edges too much).
8. Run the Pioneer Woman Vintage action (download the action set for free here).
9. Crop the canvas back to 12 x 12 inches (with anchor in center).
10. The text in the corners has probably gotten too fuzzy to read. Make the copy layers of the text visible now, and make sure it’s above the other layers. Play with the opacity (I had mine around 50%) of the layer until it looks less fuzzy.
11. Print it! I printed mine at mpix.com, since they do a 12 x 12 size.
12. You’re done! If you have any questions, feel free to comment and I’ll do my best to help.

When the husband/daddy’s away…

Dave was out of town for the past two weeks on a business trip. For his last business trip, I got to fly to California to spend time with my family, but this time, I held down the fort at home. So, when the husband/daddy was away …

… the wife/mama:

Missed the husband super much.

Finally caved and bought an iPhone. Not a substitute for a husband, but it’s a makeshift substitute for husband’s directions when I am out and about and desperately lost.

Dumb phone vs. smartphone.

Made a batch of cookie dough and feasted upon it after baby’s bedtime (and made it last one and a half weeks… impressive?).

If this is what rock bottom looks like, then life isn’t too bad.

Invited the sister missionaries from church over for dinner and relished the good company (they even took out the trash for me!).

Opened jars without manly help (there was a close call with that jar of applesauce, but I scratched by with a victory).

Tried to spread other adult interactions throughout the week like a play group at the park and a trip to the National Archives with Sydney (alas, earlier plans to visit the zoo were rained out).

Aaah such a big boy!

Neglected blogging (sorry).

Scrapbooked it up for the first time in a long while, and loved it.

A creative mess is preferable to idle neatness.

Wanted to write a thank-you note to every military mom in the country (I’m writing one today for a start).

… the baby:

Was on his best behavior. Seriously, Lars was simply a peach the whole time. (Not to say it wasn’t tiring, of course, but he was about as good as a nearly-one-year-old can be.)

Stood on his own a few times (for a few seconds) and got super fast at his hybrid mobililty technique of rolling + crawling + walking along stuff + sitting + pivoting.

Enjoyed Skyping with the grandparents.

Chilled at the pool (a much more enjoyable experience than last summer, when he screamed at me for dunking him into the not-warm-enough water).

Waved “night night” to Daddy’s spot on the couch every night before bed (because of the time difference and Dave’s work schedule, we usually couldn’t Skype with baby).

And today…

DADDY CAME HOME!

 

I’ll sit with you

Image via independentman/Flickr

It was one of my first Sundays attending our new ward (congregation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), and Lars had been a bit too squirmy to sit in the chapel, so I took him out to play in the foyer. I chose a seat in an armchair. On the couch next to it sat a woman from the ward–I’ll call her Nancy.

“Come over here and sit by me!” she said.

“Sure,” I said, and scooted next to her.

We introduced ourselves and chatted briefly. Then another woman came into the foyer.

“Excuse me,” Nancy said, and walked up to the woman–I’ll call her Beth.

“Beth,” she said, emphatically.

I hadn’t met Beth, but I recognized her name–the bishop had recently announced over the pulpit that her father had passed away.

“Beth,” Nancy said. “I’m so, so sorry.” She took her in for a long hug.

I wish I had been able to take diligent notes (or have better memory) of the conversation that followed, but a few things stood out as I observed from the background.

Nancy asked how Beth was doing. She asked how her family was doing. Beth was open about her feelings. “It’s hard,” she said. (It’s hard to wade through grief. It’s also hard to honestly express your sorrow and graciously receive sympathy.)

Nancy responded with openness as well. She mentioned a similar personal situation–the death of one of her own parents–but didn’t try to compare or give advice. She used it to validate Beth’s feelings. “You’re right, it is hard.”

Nancy asked about funeral arrangements and asked if help was needed. “It will be just a graveside service,” Beth said. “That’s just fine,” Nancy said.

Nancy asked if there was anything else she could do. Meals? Cleaning? Watching or picking up kids? Beth reassured her that she and her family would be fine in that regard.

“Well, if you ever want me to come over and just sit with you, I would love to do that. When my dad died it helped me to have someone to talk to and distract me. We can go out and get frozen yogurt if you want. Whatever you want to do, whatever you need. Call me this week and let’s do something.”

Again, a gracious, welcome response: “You know, I think I would like that. I think I will call you.”

The next time I feel at a loss at how to help someone grieving or struggling, I will remember that line, that offer of a woman who knew just what her friend might need: I’ll sit with you. I will remember her friend’s gracious acceptance. And I will be grateful that I had the privilege to eavesdrop on this exemplary interaction between two sisters.

Lost mommy status updates

Facebook is an awful temptation for time-wasting and triviality, but when you’re a stay-at-home parent, it’s a nice way to share your ups and downs and feel solidarity with other parents and support from friends and acquaintances. For the sake of everyone, I try not to flood my newsfeed with baby-related posts. Here’s a random smattering of posts that I have spared the Internet from over the past year (until now). You’re welcome/I’m sorry.

1. Motherhood is hard.

2. I completely understand how sleep deprivation is used for torture.

3. I was trying to nurse Lars to sleep (desperate times…). Once he was mostly asleep, I gently pulled him off, then slipped in the pacifier. “Sucker!” I grinned to myself—satisfied with both the sneaky move and the clever pun.

4. “Super Baby” is all fun and games until someone gets puked on in the face.

5. We need to have an “It Gets Better” campaign for parenthood.

6. Baby cuddles are the best.

7. Sometimes, in lieu of meaningful adult interactions, I try to work in snarky references to pop culture and current events into my conversation with baby. I am always very impressed with myself.

8. WHY are parents so fascinated with their kids’ poop? Is it because they’re so infatuated with their baby that they love anything about them? Is it a lack of other stimulating topics of concern? Is it ingrained by society? By biology? I don’t understand it, but Dave and I find ourselves discussing it more frequently than we would like to admit.

9. When we were at the National Museum of American History, I had to find a quite spot to nurse. The best bet seemed to be the Star-Spangled Banner exhibit, since it’s really dark and has a bench. It turned out to be perfect—no one noticed us. Plus, a family with two young kids came to sit next to me, and they all quietly sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” together. It was so tenderly patriotic, and I was grateful to be in that place at that moment.

10. I remember reading once that asbestos is generally only dangerous when ingested or inhaled. Well, good thing kids don’t lick or try to eat walls, right? WRONG. THAT IS TOTALLY A THING THEY DO. (Thank goodness we don’t have asbestos in our current abode.)

11. To the designers at DK who slacked off on Photoshopping around the fur of that panda bear and the shadow of those ducklings: I am judging you.

12. Your life isn’t over when your baby starts crawling/walking. It’s over when you can no longer eat a chocolate chip cookie in front of said baby without him understanding that it is something he wants to eat too (and yet he still doesn’t understand after several attempts that bark is not food).

13. Motherhood is the best.

The ’90s kid equivalent of Facebook

On a visit home recently I sorted through boxes upon boxes of old, sentimental clutter, and found this:

They’re called friendship cards, kids. You could pick up a pack at the Hello Kitty store at the mall, fill them out with the details of your likes and dislikes, add a sticker or two, and trade them with your friends.

For example, in the card that I saved, I had revealed the following personal information:

Food I like: cheez-its

Food I hate: spinach

Color I like: magenta

Color I hate: baby poop brown

Famous people I like: Douglas Adams, Jesse Bradford

Things I collect: rulers, socks, stuff

My future dreams: be an interior decorator

It’s a wonderful reminder of what a silly adolescent I once was (as I often wonder, how did I have friends??) and of a simpler time. No newsfeed to troll through, just delightfully analog pieces of paper. They were a fleeting fad, but they sure were fun.

Anyone else remember these (or have some around)?