my best accomplishment
When the phone rings at my house, it starts the next round of the newest family game. Kind of like “Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral,” we play “Playdate, Baby, or Fiber” on a daily basis. There’s never a question of who the call is for – it’s always for me. Anyone calling for my husband just calls his cell phone. He doesn’t even bother answering the house phone anymore.
Playdate
Sometimes, it’s a girlfriend of mine wanting to get together for a girlie playdate (usually involves sushi, beer, shoes, yarn, or all of the above.) Sometimes, it’s a girlfriend calling for a kiddie playdate (it’s an odd thing with kids – its almost easier handle a ton of them together than to deal with just a couple. They fend for themselves and each other if there’s a herd.) Sometimes, it’s my dear friend, JP, looking for an adults only dinner (she and her husband with me and my husband.) Elvis, those nights are so fun -but few and far between.
But, mostly, the phone ringing means work. And the phone’s been ringing off the hook.
BABY
As my business partner says, “look at us -getting all the attention!” We’ve been contacted by oodles and gobs of gestating women in the last couple of weeks. We’ve had a couple of births, a couple of interviews, a million prenatals, and the calendar is getting full. It’s good, what we do. We love it. We’re good at it. And people know it. (SMOOCH, DDFF!)
Sometimes I have to take a step back and think, “Whoa, how the hell did this happen?” I’ll tell you how – years of hard work and sacrifice. I have been into birthwork now for 12 years, in some form or another. I never imagined that someday I would be noticed on the street as “That doula Sarah,” that folks would come up to me and say, “I’ve heard so much about you – I’m so glad to finally meet you,” that people would honestly say to me, “It’s an honor to finally meet you. I cannot wait to have a baby so you can be my doula.” (I swear to Elvis, someone said that to me. I couldn’t believe it.) Just this morning, I got a phone call from an old friend from whom I haven’t heard in years. She said, “I Googled you to see if I could find anything at all about you and you’re fucking all over the place!” Yep. All over the place – in more ways than you can imagine.
Fiber
Last night, I sat back and realized that you could theoretically find my fiber creations (sewn, knitted, etc.) in several states. Missouri, Colorado, California, Minnesota, Ohio, Illinois, Kansas, Texas to name a few. A few weeks ago, I attempted to make a new bag, but it wasn’t looking right, so I finished it up as a hat. It just wanted to be a hat – stupid me for trying to force it to be a bag. Anyway – the hat became a birthday gift. At the birthday party, I got 2 orders for that hat! So, I made several to let the buyer have a choice. They all sold before the buyer got to pick. My husband, in his brilliance, held 2 back so that the buyer would still have his, but he no longer had a choice. I now have orders backed up for this hat that started out as a bag. It’s highly likely that my stuff will be selling in a couple of our local shops by fall. I’m getting phone calls or emails everyday from folks who are asking how much I charge for this shirt, that skirt, this hat, that bag, these pants – and how much do I charge for shipping because they live in a different state! Where the hell are these folks hearing about me? I don’t have a wesbite up yet. I don’t really much care how they’re hearing about me – I’m just stoked that they are!
Again, how did this happen? We grew up poor. Sincerely, I don’t think I had real butter until I was 17 years old, had no idea that cheese should be made mostly of milk instead of vegetable oil, and wheat bread? Forget about it. We were poor, but my parents busted their ass to give us the best we could manage. My Mom made most of my clothes and I grew up at the side of her old Singer sewing machine. I used to design clothes and then tell Mom, “Here’s what I want – you make it.” And she always tried her best, but I could see that she was thinking, “Make it yourself, you little freak! There’s no pattern for that!” So, I started making for myself. Crochet came out of desperation in my late teens and early 20’s. I’m telling you, when you’re in the desert and you’re tripping your tits off, it gets COLD at night. Hats are handy. I’m no longer in my early 20’s and I no longer trip (except over toys,) but crochet still serves me well. Knitting was just a short leap from there.
I’ve done so much more than I ever anticipated. I work for myself. I love what I do. I’m good at it. And no one, NO ONE, tells me what to do, how to do it, and no one does it just like me. Not bad for a gal who never finished college, who lived a rootless existence, who made some foul choices in my days.
I’m accomplished. I’m a business woman. I’m well known and recognized. I’m succesful. But that’s not what makes me most proud.
I’m most proud of the family I’ve built. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if it’s animal, vegetable, mineral, playdate, baby, or fiber. It doesn’t matter when the baby is due, who’s house we’re playing at, what color that baby sling needs to be. At the end of the day, I look at my sleeping sons and think, “those amazing creatures came from me!” As I slide into bed and curl up behind my beloved husband, I think, “This is my partner for life,” and I fall asleep dreaming of what we can accomplish, the four of us, together.
Windows of My Mind 