Skip to main content

Return to Archivalfest

The last time I picked up any scrapbooking materials to design picture pages, Henry was 3 and I was working on his 2-year-old book. Now, I can't even remember which of the pictures I have stuffed in my folders are from which year(s) of his life. What a mess. It all feels very overwhelming.

So I decided I'd take a different approach. Instead of solely working the chronological order method, I'm going to start on a "Kindergarten" scrapbook and work on it throughout the year, as Tim prints pics for me. In between those pages, I'll work some on catching up with the past three or four years.

My new approach begins in earnest tonight, when my friend Dena and I head to a Moms Club crop. Last night I prepared by reorganizing all of my scrapping supplies. I didn't sort paper down to colors or organize my stickers according to theme...yet...but I at least got a sense of what I have to work with. I also have photos from preschool graduation and the first day of kindergarten to work with. Baby steps. Something's better than nothing. All those pseudo-inspirational mottos to recite in my head while I'm kicking myself for getting so behind.

Stickers. Die cuts. Brads. Ribbons. Specialty papers. Chipboard accessories. Gel pens. MMMMMM I've missed my addiction! It's nice to get back to preserving memories; we've made a lot of them since the last time I cut and pasted. At least I know I won't be bored during the long winter months; I'll have plenty of work to do.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ho, Ho, Ho, How Many Times Can I Use "I'm too busy" as an Excuse?

I haven't had time to write. Work, swim meet volunteering, holiday decorating and shopping. But truthfully, I've not been in much of a mood to write anything anyway. Last night we put up the tree and Santa chachkies, and I drank my first egg nog of the season, so perhaps I'll be in a cheerier mood. Also, I have spent some time writing the annual Schoon holiday newsletter. If you happen to get a copy, treat it like a drinking game. Every time I make you roll your eyes, take a drink. Nog, wassail, Everclear. Whatever gets you through. One sure way to assist with merriment motivation is listening to Christmas carols. I'm not going to get into a debate over what truly constitutes a carol. You can "Jesus is the reason for the season" yourself until you turn blue; I generally lean toward the secular end of the holiday tune spectrum. And if you just gasped at my use of holiday instead of Christmas, go suck on a candy cane. It's my blog and my opinions. Deal. ...

IHATE IHOP Update

Tim went a few rounds, verbally, with the IHOP manager on Sunday and ended up getting our meal for half price. He still had to pay, though. I do not think that these people understand the severity of their incompetence. Or perhaps they just do not care. Someone commented to us that perhaps we should tell the IHOP folks what happened to the last restaurant that did us wrong. Recall the lactating masses who came out in support of us when we were booted from Hoover House restaurant in West Branch because I refused to breastfeed my baby in the bathroom? Remember the stories that ran in every newspaper and on every TV news show in the state -- and beyond? I'd like to point out that the Hoover House (which interestingly enough doubled as a venue for wet T-shirt contests on weekends) went out of business after our little incident. And for those of you who were befuddled and wondering how the police got involved on Sunday...someone from IHOP took the time to run out and write down our lice...

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...