By the Seat of my Pants

by Ava Cuvay

“I must have a big a$$, because people keep expecting me to pull things out of it.” 

I can’t claim that quote… a good friend said that in a moment of work-related frustration. Although I can’t claim the quote, I can certainly relate to it, in the best, self-depreciating sort of way. The older I get, the more I find myself having to fly by the seat of my pants, ill-prepared for what I need or want to do. As if life has become a Second City sort of Improvisational exercise. You’re a porcupine in a luxury retail store looking for flubby-fingers. Aaaaaand… go!

This life-epiphany started on Sunday when Wrangler Kristina reminded me this was my week to post and I replied that I would have to pull something out of my tuckus. That statement made me realize that I actually have to do this A LOT.

Old country lace window (with "supervisor")

You’ve been assigned to keep a classroom of high-energy kindergarteners alive and teach them something. Aaaaaand… go!

You just sent Book Three to the Editor and need to make fast tracks into Book Four. Aaaaaand… go!

You need to make a dinner that is healthy, well-balanced, and something everyone will like, but you only have box macaroni and cheese. Aaaaaand… go!



New, designed-by-the-seat-of-my-pants.

To be brutally honest, I do this to myself as much as outside forces. The house I live in came with country-ish lace window coverings, which isn’t my style. I finally tried to rectify this with some textured sheer cloth I found on sale at the fabric store. But, while I can weave an entertaining story, sewing is not my forte. I know my way around a sewing machine enough to be dangerous, and that’s where my skill ends. Yet, I spent Sunday pinning and sewing and measuring and measuring again and undoing my sewing to sew again and re-measuring. I finished one panel. Actually, I “finished” one panel, realized I’d mis-measured, then set it all aside to deal with another day. I haven’t given up, because… well, I have a large backside and will continue to try to pull new window coverings out of it.

 

Parenting is rife with "faking it." Being a parent requires vast amounts of making it up as I go. Even though I was once their age, it's a whole new ballgame. My experience does not mimic theirs in the least bit, so all my sage wisdom comes more from my imagination and gut (among other body parts) than it does actual knowledge. I impress myself with how good my advice sounds, and the kiddos haven't yet questioned the validity of it. So please don't tell them I'm full of it! 

And don’t get me started on how I’m going to accomplish Book Four ;-)