(grand)mama monday: scarves, aprons and hankies!

Sometimes, in order to understand motherhood, it's helpful to go back a generation.  To grandmamas.

I grew up quite close to my mother, who became a sister-mom to me in later years, in a way that many girls-with-only-brothers do.  Other than mom, and Dodie, I had few other close female relatives.  My paternal grandparents (along with an uncle and aunt) lived in Halifax and visited annually, another uncle and aunt, along with their kids - my first cousins - lived in London, Ontario and we didn't grow up celebrating birthdays, holidays and occasional for-no-other-reason-than-we-haven't-eaten-together-in-a-while get togethers like Andrew's Italian family.

So boys were my main point of social contact.  Boys were great.  They were funny.  They liked to build things with Lego*.  They were uncomplicated.  Well, until I hit puberty (ie: my 20s) and then boys became very complicated.  But I digress.  My Sistas From Otha Mistas will attest to my initial awkwardness towards a girl until I feel like I can jump in to girlfriendship without falling flat on my face, as with double-Dutch.  Which I was also crap at.

* Lego is, and forever will be, an uncountable noun.  Like money, cutlery or hair.  You do not "brush your hairs".  You do not "play with your Legos".  If you say this, I reserve the right to punch you.

Incidentally, this may be why I have only pictured having boys.  When I dream about a baby, it's always a baby boy.  When I think about designing about a baby's room, I think blues and greens and trains and Lego.

However, my mother's mother - grandma Grace - and I were close until her death in 1988.  And my memories with her were decidedly girly.

I am the eldest of my cousins and was eight when grandma passed away, which meant that I was lucky to have spent the most number of years with her.  But, at age eight, I didn't fully understand how much we had in common or, indeed, how much we would have in common as I matured.

Last week, I acquired a tote bag of her old things and went through it delicately, neatly, documenting each item like an archeological discovery.  The contents of the bag were scraps of my own DNA, preserved for over 20 years.

First the scarves, which (from what I can surmise) are vintage from the 50s, 60s and 70s.

Detail of one scarf.  Who puts coral, mint green, khaki and azure blue together anymore?

What surprised me was the colour scheme.  Grandma and I had the same "seasonal colour" (does anyone go by this anymore?), Spring, and, if these scarves are any indication, we also shared the same taste in patterns and tones.

Then the aprons!

COULD THESE BE ANY CUTER?!!

Finally the hankies.  O, the hankies...

One was delicately monogrammed with an "L", for Lois: my little mom's little hanky.

As I took the last photo and stared at the hankies - fine linen, lace, floral-patterned, embellished, embroidered in pinks, lilacs and spring greens - I thought about my mom's little hanky, and her mom's choice in hankies, and how much I adored them both.  I thought to myself, I'd like to pass these hankies on and tastes on.  I might even like to pass them on to a little girl.

Solomon crept up to comfort me and I took a decorative hanky to use.  A hanky that, as I brought it to my eyes, still smelled of grandma's perfume.  I felt as consoled as if grandma had offered it to me herself.  A mother who, as only mothers can, understood what it was like to wait for motherhood.

wifercize wednesday: BANG

When Andrew and I go away for a week or weekend we have a friend, Matt, come to stay at our house and look after our pets.  Matt has performed this duty on many occasions, being a fan of both cats and dogs (rare) and a clean, responsible house guest (rarer still, for a bachelor). 

LADIES, MATT LOVES CATS AND DOGS AND BABIES AND IS SINGLE.  You can stalk him more efficiently on his blogs here: imattchell.tumblr.com and here: thebachelorguide.tumblr.com.

Matt quite often makes comments, via Twitter, about our house when we are away which we then read in airport gates or hotel rooms and chuckle, because they are usually about the substantial amount of pasta we keep in the pantry or the substantial number of quotes we have written on our fridge.  The last time Matt came to stay he made a quip regarding the substantial volume of hair products I collect in the upstairs bathroom.

Volume being the operative word.

Ever since I took a pair of child-safety scissors in first grade and cut off an inch-long lock of hair (they can't cut fingers but oh! how marvelously they cut hair!), which my mother found out about, and I may have denied, the details are fuzzy, but it was harder still to deny the hole I later snipped in the front of my private school pinafore, because they marvelously cut fabric too! I just had to know! and I was strictly informed to only use scissors on paper or crafts or other such constructive activities, ever since THEN I have been fascinated with the ability to change my hair.

As you will remember, my earliest memories of hair fantasy began with Princess Aurora's long, full curls.  I had straight, flat hair so it was difficult to achieve but I'm still trying.  Hence, shampoos and conditioners marching along every available ledge of our shower promising "volume", "extra volume", and "maximum volume". 

I suppose one could conduct a study in the number and type of toiletries a person collected and the corresponding lack of confidence in the area those products guarantee to cure.  Moisturizing products for the self-consciously dry.  Bronzing products for the self-consciously pale.  Smoothing products for the self-consciously rough.

For me, it's hair products.  Armies of hair products.

Last night, for date night, Andrew and I watched "High Fidelity" and it reminded me of another hair-related obsession I have struggled with, third only to volume and curls: bangs.  In honour of Rob Gordon (played brilliantly by John Cusack), I give you...

THE TOP 5 LIST OF MOVIES THAT INSPIRED ME TO CUT MY BANGS EXTREMELY SHORT:

#5:  It started innocently, with Julie Andrews in "The Sound of Music".

#4:  Then not-so-innocently, with Angelina Jolie in "Girl, Interrupted". 

#3:  Then Iben Hjejle's character in "High Fidelity".

#2:  And, always and forever, Audrey Hepburn in "Breakfast at Tiffany's".

#1:  But the most influential, most desired, and most illusive cinematic bangs, for me, were Audrey Tautou's in "Amélie".

No matter how hard I tried, my baby-fine hair wouldn't conform to the forehead fringe I saw on the silver screen.  It probably didn't help that whenever my stubborn bangs would rebel, I simply cut them shorter. 

And all this ties into Wifercize Wednesday because Andrew knew me when I had crazy bangs and crushed on me anyhow.  That's when you know you have a winner, ladies.

wifercize wednesday: princess hair

I'd like to tell you of a time before wifedom.

When I was but a wee thing, my parents would read me Disney's Sleeping Beauty before bed.  The version, published by Disney Editions, included the original 1959 illustrations:

And, yes, I was a die-hard romantic at age 4 (although I really had a thing for Snow White's Prince Charming instead, because of the whole "Prince Buckethead" thing...anyone with me?)

(click to enlarge)

And, yes, I loved the mice and the fairy godmothers and the dragon-slaying and such, but what I was really fascinated by was Princess Aurora's hair:

The big honey-coloured locks, tapered down into a finely sculpted curl.  THIS was princess hair.  I had to have it.  Problem was: I had fine, pin-straight hair that defied all curl.

I became obsessed with princess hair for a 6-8 year period after that, sketching page after page of princesses with hair that I began to call "eight curls".  This was, simply, because I drew them using figure eights:

(I'm not making any of this up)

When I was eight years old I persuaded my mother to give me a perm* and gave her the strictest of instructions: "I want it to look like princess-eight-hair." 

* Error message: do not perm your hair if you only have a bob to start with and expect it to look like long, flowing Princess Aurora hair afterwards.  It will, instead, resemble Little Orphan Annie:

While I waited a few years for my clown curls to grow out, I resigned myself to the fact that I was born to have straight hair.  Not princess hair.  Not eight curls.  Just straight, straight hair.

. . .

UNTIL MY WEDDING DAY when Melissa attacked my mane for a few hours and unloaded half a bottle of hairspray on it and I came away looking as close to Princess Aurora as I ever had previously:

It was obviously perfect timing to celebrate the fact that I had found my Prince Buckethead Charming:

Most days, I use a curling iron to keep my princess-eight-hair looking princessy:

I have been officially approved by Adelaide Hardy, age two-and-a-half, who came to our church one Sunday and pointed to me throughout the service, whispering to her parents, "Princess!  Princess!"

Thanks, Addie.  xoxo