Welcome to my Sweatshop

I've been holed up in my sewing room for weeks.

My friends thought I fell off the face of the Earth.

At times, I thought I fell off the face of the Earth.

I took on way more Christmas orders than I could handle.

But that's life when a sista doesn't know how to say no.

This year seemed to be the year of the purples.

And thanks to my ever-growing fabric stash (courtesy of Damma Taffy's online fabric shopping addiction) my customers had a lot to choose from.

I took that picture last summer ... right after my amazing mother flew out here to organize my life.

I'm embarrassed to say it's a yearly trip for her.

She neatly folded and bagged (dust is a huge issue on the farm) all of my fabric. Then stacked it in color-coordinating order.

Since then, Damma Taffy's shopping habit has been alive and well. I just got (a lot) more fabric in the mail the other day.

We're talking several boxes.

Merry Christmas to me.

(Sidenote: She's so hip, she's on Facebook. Under occupation, she has listed: came out of retirement to become 2nd assistant to the President of the Apron Empire and to head the purchases and acquisitions dept.)

Love that woman.

Moving on.

This apron was for an LSU fan.

Just for the record, I will make an apron for any school except the University of Kansas.

I'm glad we got that out of the way.

This year was also the year of theme aprons.

So fun to make.

This one is obviously for a firefighter/mom.

Paws and bones for the dog lover.

Everyone chose such bright and fun color combinations this year.

A friend of mine ordered the two aprons above for her husband's mother and sister.

And wouldn't you know, he surprised her with an apron of her own on Christmas Day.

She modeled it for us as she cooked up a storm on New Year's Eve.

Hands down, little Olivia's apron was my favorite.

The silk taffeta bodice and tutu skirt hardly make it practical ... and that's exactly why it's fit for a little princess.

Jacob's mom ordered him an art smock to go with his new art set he asked Santa for.

And Elijah got personalized luggage from his Grandmother.

But somewhere around December 22nd, I was about to pull my hair out.

Most sewing machines these days just aren't meant for the amount of wear and tear I put on them.

Breakdown after breakdown ... machine and machine.

I finally resorted to Grandma Oleen's good ol' Pfaff.

Although I'm sure she's snickering up in heaven because I managed to break the otherwise indestructible hunk of metal.

Thankfully just the spool holder, as you can see I rednecked it out with my own little fix.

Add that to the list of machines going into the shop next week.

As a last resort my good old trusty Featherweight was on standby, but thankfully I never had to use it.

Fortunately, my baby, my main embroidery machine, worked like a charm through it all.

If that thing breaks, I will have no reason to live.

Okay, that's a lie.

And super dramatic.

But there are some truths to it.

Meanwhile, my little furball assistants were in no way any help.

The farm office couch is cursed.

The minute anyone, man or beast, sits down on it they are destined to fall asleep.

Glad to see you found a use for my quilt Woodrow.

Aprons weren't the only thing on my list this year.

I got lots of embroidery orders.

I made dozens of these kitchen towels for various orders.

I also got lots of orders for personalized napkins.

Santa got a lot of these with his cookies this year.

And to break up the monotony of it all, a football order.

A friend of Virginia Tech's quarterback had this jersey personalized for him.

And this towel went to the cutest little blue-eyed baby girl this side of the Mississippi.

Another customer ordered a casserole carrier.

And nothing makes my day better than when someone brings me a 31 bag and asks me to jazz it up a bit.

Take that 31.

Christmas 2011

Christmas was a whirlwind this year.

Isn't it always?

This year was our turn to spend the holidays with J's family.

Since we stuck relatively close to home, I thought I would put up a few decorations.

I even decorated the farm office for once.

And that's when I found out my husband was a closet Clark Griswold.

10 foot ceilings + 12 foot tree = not happening.

But thanks to a handsaw, a step ladder and some extra-long grilling tongs to reach ornaments on top ... we got the tree trimmed and decorated.

(Pay no attention to the floor. It's a farm office. There is no hope.)

The decorations are a tad guido for a farm, I know.

But that's how we roll.

Add in scented candles in every room and Christmas music blaring 24/7 and it definitely sucked all of the testosterone out of the building.

Woodrow was not impressed.

He just wanted out.

And of course I had to host a Christmas dinner party for friends as an excuse to get my holiday dishes out.

(As soon as I find my silly camera, I will post actual pics from the dinner)

But until then, Merry Christmas and happy 2012!

Deer Camp

It's kind of like summer camp.

Except they are grown men.

It's a week that is heavy on food and friendship, yet light on showers and manners.

Manliness, in its purest form.

No girls allowed.

Unless they bring food.

And leave shortly thereafter.

But an exception can be made for snuggly dogs.

Like Woodrow.

Because he thinks he's one of the guys.

Somebody get this dog a beer.

He may not act real manly, but they let Eli come anyway.

And because boys love their accessories too...

my husband had me stitch up some limited edition Mossy Oak farm hats for his hunting buddies.

So basically, I was allowed at deer camp simply because I came bearing gifts of gourmet and I know how to stitch a hat.

In other words, they hunt and gather. I stay home to cook and sew.

It's a good thing I'm not a progressive feminist.

Otherwise they just might find themselves on the wrong end of one of those guns they tote around.

But when trouble strikes, guess which housewife they had to call to come and rescue them?

That's right, I had to fire up the tractor and go save the day.

Because these idiots managed to get two trucks stuck in the field.

Not gonna lie. It felt good to be on my end of things.

We ended the week with a feast.

I think we started a new tradition with our cookout last year.

This year our friend Corey outdid himself.

He made crab legs, quail, sausage and duck.

(By the way, I never realized how friggin' awesome duck is.)

And he whipped it all out without breaking a sweat.

I got stressed over the small task of baking pumpkin pies in the toaster oven at the farm shop.

This dude is cool as a cucumber in the kitchen.

Even when that kitchen is in a barn and includes only a grill, toaster oven and refrigerator.

If you cook it, they will come.

Corey's food is gaining a following here in our area, despite the fact that his catering business is several hours away.

My favorite part of any gathering is when the guys break out their guitars.

And my second favorite part is hanging out with our friends' dogs.

Meet Mahala.

The sweetest baby you'll ever come across.

She can soften the hearts of even the manliest men.

Are you in love yet?

As usual, the party carried well into the night.

Long after my expiration date.

I'm ready for bed and these guys are just now bringing out the cornhole boards.

But I wasn't the only one who couldn't hang all night.

I ended up giving a couple of our guests a ride back to the house.

Except I forgot that I hadn't cleared my car of my unintended Black Friday loot from earlier in the day.

This is the result of grocery shopping at Wal-mart the day after Thanksgiving.

We don't even need another TV.

But now we have one.

So much for restricting my impulse buys to gum and checkout aisle lint rollers.