My husband is dancing a jig right now

I’ve finally given all of my scrapbooking supplies over to the kids for art projects. I haven’t scrapbooked in years – since before we moved into this house, I think. That was five years ago. I think it was kind of a fad that passed, the embellished, hand-decorated scrapbooks of the late 90s/early 2000s. I truly enjoyed it, though.

I loved cutting the pictures just so to get rid of excess and highlight the good parts. I had fun finding new ways to cut and arrange the acid-free paper that served as a backdrop; striking the balance between using pretty stickers and making the page look too cluttered. I have a big stack of albums in my basement, chronicling my whole life up until my freshman year of college or so – plus a few half-started ones afterward that are mostly just piles of cut photos.


These days I make digital albums on Shutterfly or Snapfish or whomever has the best sale going on. I love them, too, in some ways more than handmade albums. I certainly love that they’re out there, on the internet, should my house blow away in a tornado or something. I can just order a new copy! (This train of thought always makes me want to go get a safety deposit box or waterproof safe for my old albums.)

I often feel like just when I get really rolling on a good fad, it’s over. (You should see all the Beanie Babies I’ve got.) My scrapbooking supplies take (took?) up three plastic boxes and a couple big bags. I’ve got every color paper, style of alphabet sticker, and fine-point acid-free marker you could wish for. All useless now, because I suppose I don’t really want to start up again. I just miss it.

(You know one fad I don’t miss? Hand-stamped cards. Ordering personalized cards off the internet is waaaay better. Anyone want some embossing ink and glitter? Hair dryer not included.)

Today, at Sam’s Club

“Aww, a baby! How old?”
“Two months.”
“Oh, and another one on the way?!”

I could see the horror in the sample lady’s* eyes as the words left her mouth and she realized what she was saying. Then she kept digging. “Oh, just a mommy pooch, ha ha! That’s what I call it! A mommy pooch! Ha!”

In her defense, I was laughing, too, because of course I still look pregnant-ish. It doesn’t bother me that people notice. But who assumes there’s a baby in there after ascertaining that I gave birth two months ago? How could I be showing with another? She’s lucky I’m such a fan of witnessing social awkwardness.


*Yes, this woman was trying to sell me something as she called me fat. Soda, as it happens, to make the whole thing more absurd.