"OUT OF MY WAY! I have an idea, move it!"
Off they go scattering like dry leaves on a breezy
fall day, four kids, a dog, a cat and a husband—who know
those words mean business. Mom is scrapbooking and
inspiration has struck! Well, to be honest, inspiration may
come at any moment over anything, usually in the
shower, which is why I have been known to scrap in a
towel, Abandon the computer, don't get near the scrapspace,
"everyone out," she is "at it again"!
OK, so I am half nuts—my family would say "more than
half," but when inspiration smacks me in the nose, getting
out of the way is the best, and safest, idea. Not moving fast
enough has been known to cause frustration and grief.
There was the time my toddler did not get away from me
with all due haste, and I took a pair of scissors to get a lock
of his hair. It would have been OK if he hadn't moved.
I suppose the bald spot can be combed over till it
grows back.
My seven-year-old knows that when I have the
camera in hand, he better be on his best behavior or his
worst will be caught on film, notated and scrapped. I am
certain future generations will want to know all about his
fart jokes, really. My poor infant can't crawl yet so he is
made the subject of all sorts of odd layouts. All I can say
for him is that perhaps he should thank his lucky stars
that I have not been motivated to do a layout about a diaper
change yet.
My husband has learned that nothing is sacred in this
house when it comes to his "obsessed wife." Duct tape, a
screen door repair kit, hinges he bought to fix the bathroom
door, even playing cards have all been sacrificed to
the scrapbook demon living inside me (who I have named
"Mo"). My poor husband doesn't even ask anymore when
some implement is missing from his toolbox; he just heads
to my scrap spot—which is very well organized, I swear.
Just because no one else can figure out where anything is
does not mean I am not the Queen of Organization.
Anything and everything is fair game when I am on a
scrapbooking tear. There is not a store I have been to that
has not had items placed on my pages. From the grocery
store . . . a scan of a bag containing coffee for an "Addiction
Page." From the hardware store . . . easy, practically every
aisle is represented (one of these days I am going to do a
layout with a carpet remnant, I just need the right "spin").
From the Animal Feed store . . . well, in pages about our
pets, of course. The rare store that does not have actual
product in my books is represented by photographs; after
all, what is a book in relation to our lives without pages
regarding an average day?
Fonts are another "problem area" of mine. When complaints
started registering in my beleaguered husband's
brain about the slowness of my computer, a quick peek
(OK, OK, it took three minutes for the file to open, it was
so large) into my font folder illuminated the problem. I am
not sure why four thousand fonts would slow things
down so badly. I think Microsoft Word should be able to
handle all those, don't you? I am now limited to one thousand
active fonts at a time. Dire warnings about consequences
having to do with my ability to journal and print
were levied in my general direction from my techie husband,
who was trying to look stern. He was so adorable I
grabbed the camera and took several photos to scrap
later. I can see the title now "Why You Should Not
Have 4,000 Fonts" or "Font-O-Holics Anonymous."
By the way, limiting fonts is completely unfair! How
I can find the perfect look for my journaling with such
a small selection to choose from? Perhaps I should start a
letter-writing campaign.
Time seems to be another issue. Because we have four
small children I am often too busy with them during the
week to scrapbook, which means I play "catch up" on the
weekends. Translated, that means I go into long scrap sessions
that you cannot pull me out of even with the promise
of fresh-brewed coffee and Krispy Kremes. I suspect if
the house was on fire I would not notice till some hunky
firefighter dragged me out, and even then I would have to
take notes for later scrapbooking—it is not every day you
are saved by a hunky firefighter. Often I look down at 10
a.m. only to look up again at 5 p.m. wondering where the
time went. Since I am the chief cook and bottle washer
around these parts that means that I still have to make
dinner. Rachel Ray and her "30-Minute Meals" have nothing
on me. I can prepare a five-course dinner in fifteen
minutes, and that includes the time it takes to open the
cans and start the microwave!
Why is this so important to me? Why do I get excited on
days I plan to attack the local scrap store? Despite the
many references to a "midlife crisis" by close friends and
family (who all get scrap projects for birthdays and
Christmas), it is more than that. Scrapbooking allows me a
creative outlet. It gives this forty-one-year-old mother of
four, two of whom are in diapers, time to grow and learn
something precious about her. It offers me a break from
"Mommy, he is looking at me" and "The Wiggles."
Scrapbooking inspires me to reach beyond who I am
expected to be and attain something that is simple, special
and sacred—creation itself.
-Nancy Ann Liedel
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