I found out today that I was not accepted into the Handmade Arcade show in Pittsburgh. Though I sort of expected it, and though I can absolutely use the $70 that I will be getting back, it makes me sad. They said that 3 times as many people applied as they could accomodate, which means that I'm not in the top third. I am not accustomed to being worse than the top third. I have never been turned down for anything based on the quality of my work, and it's depressing. A little humbling, but mostly depressing. I was hoping that doing that event would bankroll Christmas around here. It kills me that my last full car payment is due five days before Christmas.
So what does this mean? It means that instead of doing one open house, I will maybe do two. It means that (this is a good thing) I can push the open house back to the first week of December rather than trying to cram it into my schedule before Thanksgiving. It also means (bad thing) that I don't realistically expect to have any disposable income before the weather goes to hell.
Last year, a friend who also has a little girl and I would go places all the time. We'd take the girls to orchards with petting zoos, go shopping, go out to eat, go to museums. . . And I had breakfast dates every week with another dear friend who has since moved across the country. I have not been able to do those things for months because I simply can't afford it.
The car payment is the big culprit here. I only bought it to get me to and from a job that I was guaranteed to have through December. That, folks, turned out to be a huge lie. I bought the car in February and by April that job was no more. The lesson here is to never, ever work for family without getting everything that was agreed upon in very detailed, legal writing before you agree to anything or risk any of your personal assets.
That being said, however, my daughter just turned two. She won't remember not getting the Mickey Mouse train she keeps pointing at when she sees it in magazines. She won't remember that I didn't buy anyone anything. What she will remember as she gets older is this: That she is loved. That her mother and grandmother, that her "aunts," that her sort-of grandpa figure loves her. She will have the stuffed spiders and owls that I made her, the hand-appliqued apron I made her, all the jackets and hats my mom crocheted for her. She will remember that throughout her childhood we exchanged handmade gifts because they are more thoughtful and personal than purchased items, not because mom couldn't afford store-bought toys. It might take a few years, of course, because kids want bought toys. They all do, it's part of childhood, and I wish I could give her that wooden Mickey train set she covets. But she will look back when she's older and see photographs of herself sticking bows to her head and getting piggyback rides from Mommy. She will remember waking Grandma up and making pancakes together. That's what's important.
