I met Amber when I was working at the nation’s largest video game retailer. She, Amy, and I were all expecting at the same time. Three months apart each, Amber had Breanna, then Amy had Bel, and I had Thor. And ping, ping, ping, we came back to work. Then, Amy left, I left, and Amber left, and we’ve all been doing various things since then. One of the things Amber has been doing, is making jewelry with Breanna. Creative and amazing on her own, when you add Breanna to the mix, you get a duo of fantastic artists, making one-of-a-kind jewelry. I love it!
The beautiful Breanna and her red crab resin pendant.
I asked Amber to write up the story behind GreyGyrl, the name of their Etsy store, so I could share it with you all. I think you’ll love the jewelry! It ranges from sweet-enough-to-eat, to truly sentimental.
Great advice. Great jewelry.
GreyGyrl – Star Makers is a mother daughter team Amber & Breanna Barnes (age 34 and 7) creating and
designing jewelry pieces.
The idea behind it was to find something fun to do as a hobby that both mommy and daughter enjoyed.
More times than they will actually admit, involved trips to Michaels & Hobby Lobby for weekend art
projects. It was actually Breanna (age 7) who asked the question maybe we can try to make stuff people
wanna buy. Then we can have more money for even more art stuff.
Stuff people might want to buy. I love this one–I think it looks like tattoo art.
So then Amber (age 34) began surfing the world of Google and researched some ideas. Starting
with Resin seemed the most fun. Both mommy and daughter looked at the various charms, shells, and
ideas and began designing. Once a few of the pendants were made with only a dozen or so causalities,
next step was to set up an Etsy Store. Breanna named the store and up went the listings of handmade
pieces for sale. The first few sales however did come from Grandma but the mother daughter duo was
not picky! Now random strangers are finding the little shop and more and more items are being added
all the time!
Some of Amber’s metal stamping work.
Also the types of pendants include Custom and ready-made metal stamped pendants, the latest favorite
etsy style scrabble tiles turned charms, resin and more. It’s a great hobby and a way to make a few extra
bucks while being home with the kids, but the best part is hearing how much someone loves the piece
designed by Breanna (age 7).
I know you know someone who would love to have this one!
I keep trying and trying to write this post. It shouldn’t be that hard! See, a coworker/friend of mine complimented my confidence the other day, and while I was flattered and appreciative, it made me start to think about what confidence is and isn’t. Or maybe what confidence should be? Or why it is so difficult to appear confident?
Society makes it difficult because we live in a world where we raise people up, just to tear them down. Take a woman like Giselle. Stunning. Great legs. Gorgeous hair. Perfect skin. We can look and appreciate how stunning she is. We can tell her she is stunning all day long, and so long as she says thank you, we’re good. But the moment she says, “I know,” we are in trouble. The moment she says, “I have great legs, gorgeous hair, and perfect skin,” we will be out for blood. How dare she acknowledge her own gorgeousity?! How dare she enjoy her good looks?!
Why is it like that?
Because confidence in others shows us our insecurities. Nothing shines a spotlight on how I feel about my belly fat like someone saying, “My abs are looking good!” And if I feel bad about myself, it hurts to hear someone else feeling good about themselves. I have choices there. I can choose to celebrate my friend’s abs, acknowledging that my belly looks like it does because of my lack of interest in doing crunches and my affection for donuts. Then, I can take myself out of the equation and appreciate my friend’s hard work, or I can choose to wallow in my jiggle and be offended that my friend has made me aware of my jiggle by pointing out her rock solidness, and lash out at her, calling her an arrogant so-and-so for daring to bring up the fact of her fitness.
Arrogance only comes in to play when we start believing that what makes us sensational, also makes us superior. I am confident that I have good skin. My good skin doesn’t make me superior in any way. It’s just a fact, like the grass being green. You can be Mother Theresa and someone will find a reason to call you arrogant. You can’t pay attention to that. Haters gonna hate is another grass-is-green fact.
But all that is beside the point. The thing I really want to say is that I have great friends. I have friends in my life who are secure and confident in themselves, so it doesn’t bother them that I am secure and confident in myself. My friends celebrate my victories far more than they enjoy my failures–and honeys, let me tell you, you will know who your true friends are when you achieve something. It’s easy to be the hero and swoop in to help someone when they are down. You get to feel good about yourself for doing something. But when someone is standing in the limelight, and all you can do is stand in their shadow and applaud their success? It takes a strong, confident person to be that friend.
My friends don’t feel like they’ve lost anything when I gain something. My friends cheer me on when I’m feeling good about myself, and remind me of my wins when I am down. My friends want me at my best because it makes them better by proximity–and I feel that way, too. I want my friends to be at their best, and I am delighted for every gain they make. My friends make confidence easy.
That’s where a lot of confidence comes from, and I just wanted to take a moment to thank my friends for being those people. I’m not afraid of what’s said behind my back because I know what is said to my front. I love and appreciate you.
A few of my friends have suffered miscarriages and still births recently, and several of my friends have lost babies in the past. Losing a child is a heartbreaking, world changing thing no matter at what stage or age the child. When you are looking forward to life with this little person, moving ahead once that dream is shattered is a challenge for both mothers and fathers.
I thought we were losing Thor right after we found out we were expecting him. That’s part of how he got his nickname. Not only had he prevailed against birth control, he had prevailed against a flood of cough syrup and a Zpack–you know, because I thought I had the flu, not a case of the babies. He was a mighty Viking in the making, and I pictured him in there, wearing his horned helment and hanging on to my insides with his pic axe. The Mighty Thor was born, both figuratively and literally, healthy and wonderful. However, for those days I thought he might be losing his grip on the axe, I was frantic.
Like many women, I think I became a mother the moment the stripe turned pink on the pregnancy test. Immediately, I was someone’s mother. It was my job to protect and nurture this life. I changed my diet. I changed my patterns. I gave up coffee! I gave up coffee (which is probably why I was always so irritated with Ryan slurping his in the next cubicle–I had jealousy!)
When I thought I was losing my baby, I went to the doctor to find out what I could do to save it. Would I need to stand on my head? Did I need a cork? Could I drink something? Take a pill? Lie in bed for 8 more months? Yoga? Meditation? Animal sacrifice? Oh yeah, I’d have gone there.
The doctor was removed and pragmatic. He was pulling off his rubber gloves and he said, “At this poing, there’s nothing we can do. If you’re going to lose it, you’re going to lose it.” Then, he sent my shellshocked self to the nurse for bloodwork, and that poor girl was new. She told me all about how many pregnancies end in miscarriage, I guess hoping to make me feel not so alone in my probable fate? She figured out that was not helping when I burst into tears.
I found a new doctor. Thor hung in there. We have a lovely boy.
Back last September, I got a new pink stripe on a pregnancy test.
People ask me if we plan to have other children pretty frequently. I don’t think they are being rude. It’s just conversation. I have one child, so I must not be opposed to the idea of children, and if I am not, then might I not want more? I would love to have more children. It just hasn’t worked out that way.
So, back in September, we got excited. We had our moment of shock, and I did my dance of trying to pretend it wasn’t that big a deal because when things are really important to me, I am a weirdo. We had about 24 hours of being very excited, talking about names, and a new nickname–just enough time to fall in love with the idea and the potential for reality. It was a Saturday. I planned to call the doctor on Monday and make an appointment. But, on Sunday all the plans changed. It simply was not to be.
I was too sad to talk about it at the time. I told a couple of select people, but I didn’t even tell my therapist about it. I sat on her couch just a few days later and thought, “I should be talking about this, but it seems silly. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even a big enough deal to go to the hospital. It’s over and done, and nothing can change it. Why talk about it? Why trivialize what other women go through, when this was such a simple-to-lose loss?”
You all know that I’m not an “all things happen for a reason” person. I’m a “sometimes shit happens” person. I have faith in biology, and oddly enough, in natural selection. It simply was not to be. And, it was simply sad. And, quite simply, I was broken-hearted.
So why talk about it now? Because you all also know that I am a “talks about everything eventually” person. It all comes out sooner or later, and because my friends who have so recently suffered have said, it helps to know someone gets it. Because it’s the damnedest thing how attached you can get to something that isn’t the size of the head of a pin, and what a huge hole that pinprick leaves when it goes.
There is joy in remembering the excitement, though. And joy in the knowledge that the capacity to love is endless. And joy in other friends who are expecting.
Girls’ Night In tonight. It was a great party courtesy of Amanda, the amazing sugar waxer from Bella Bunni Spas, and her magical massage therapist, Brenda. Not only did they bring the spa to us, they brought gift certificate giveaways–really good ones, too.
Another great Girls Night In with these fantastic ladies. Some of my best friends in the world!
Amanda and Brenda bring the spa to your party, and make pretty delightful guests themselves!
Amanda and her sugar waxing set up–she turned our office into a spa!Brenda brought her massage chair and worked out all the knots.
It was a simple spread tonight, just some snacky things to beat the munchies, and a few fun drinks. Tasha had specially requested a drink called Pink Panties, and I think we were all pretty glad she had! Mmmm.
Simple snack spread including summer sausage bites and cheese, asparagus tarts, hummus and pretzel chips, and chocolate covered almonds and malted milk balls.Angela brought margaritas, and Tasha requested the Pink Panties.
Pink Panties Recipe:
1 can of Pink Lemonade concentrate
2 scoops of vanilla ice cream
1 cup of frozen strawberries
3/4 cup top shelf Vodka
Drop your strawberries and pink lemonade in the blender, and liquefy, then add the ice cream and vodka and blend until smooth. Designate a driver, then Serve immediately.
Jamie (who can make ANYTHING) brought homemade limoncello that was fantastic! Halfed with lemonade, it was even tastier. Definitely need a designated driver for that one, though. Whoo!
Thank you so much to Brenda, Amanda, and Jacque for bringing the spa to the party, and we were wowed by the great gift certificates! Check out Bella Bunni and get the girls together at your place!
For Memorial Day, I was going to rehash my annual appreciations and talk about my military family’s service in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam again, but our friend, Jonathan (Bryan’s blogging buddy over at Free Air and Water), has been posting a series of remembrances of his fallen friends from our most current war. It is extremely important to remember that people, real people die in service. And usually, very young people. The military isn’t much on us Olds–young people can march farther, see better, and run faster.
We call these people soldiers, but other people call them son, daughter, brother, sister, husband, wife, dad, mom, uncle, aunt, friend. It does not negate their bravery or their sacrifice to remember them as such. Soldier, Troop, Airman, Marine, Sailor–those are descriptive of the duty, not the human being. Mine are/were Dad, Uncle Junebug, Uncle Kenny, Boom-Pa, Grandaddy, Pop, Uncle Bob, Uncle Joe, and Barbara. I cannot imagine my life without any of these people, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I don’t have to.
I asked Jonathan if he would mind me sharing his thoughts with you. I hope you won’t mind me posting them either. My family is insanely fortunate that all of our soldiers have come home, and have come home with all their body parts. It is extremely important to remember, as Jonathan said, “that every time politicians start calling for a war, there is some kid out there like Nick Crombie, young and brave and innocent to the ways of the world, who will believe what he is told about duty and country and will die halfway around the world instead of living his life.”
David Nicholas Crombie was 19 years old when he was killed by an IED on June 7, 2006. He was my best friend through basic training and also my bunkmate all through medic school. He once bet me I couldn’t finish a 64 ounce margarita in five minutes. He won that bet, but then bet me double or nothing that I could not finish another one in under five minutes. I do not remember if he won or lost that bet. I miss him. He was young and brave.
Joseph Gilmore was two bunks down from Crombie and I in AIT. I remember he had a TV and Xbox set up in his wall locker. On weekends he’d open it up and sit there playing like a kid, which we all were. He was killed by an IED on May 19, 2007, in Baghdad, Iraq. He was 26 years old, married with two children
Gabriel Figeroa also went to AIT with me. He was a quiet kid who was in the next platoon over, but when we all got to Ft. Hood together we naturally stuck together through inprocessing with those familiar faces we remembered from medic school. I got to know him a little; he had a goofy sense of humor and looked and sounded like a little kid. He was killed by small-arms fire In Baghdad, Iraq, on April 3, 2007, at age 20.
Christopher Kurth and Leroy Webster were members of my battalion, which is to say they lived for fifteen months in the same very small town as me, known as FOB Union III. I did not know them particularly well, but I made small talk with both on occasion. On their next deployment, after I had left the unit, they were both killed in action.
Marisol Heredia was 19 years old when she was mortally injured in an accident on our forward operating base. I did not know her well, but I try to remember her. She was so young.
Of course there are so many Iraqi civilians I saw killed. I wish I knew their names. The one I remember most clearly was the first. She was a woman, maybe in her mid-30s, walking along the side of the road in Al-Hillah, Iraq. She got in the way of an IED meant for us. She died instantly. I wish I could say something profound about all these deaths. I wish they added up to something lasting. All I can really do is remember them.
I want to thank Jonathan for sharing. For every person who loses his or her life in a war, there is a person who lives with the memory–who saw it, who felt it, who tried to patch it up, and who tries to sleep every night after it has happened. The dead have died, and the living live with their deaths. It takes a strong person to live through a war, and keep living. We shouldn’t forget that either.
Men and Women of the military, thank you.
Boom-Pa. I just had to get him in here. He was the bravest, best man I’ve ever known.
The Outside Lane 