#my mom
Your daughters do not exist to give you grandchildren
Although I think my generation’s obsession with the handmade and the authentic in all things is a unique phenomenon, I certainly cannot take full credit for my love of all things bespoke. Because if I was to be honest with myself, this love of American folk-art and contemporary craft truly came from my mom.
And although it may seem trite to say it here, her work hooking primitive wool rugs is what makes her a true artist. Even if, in the words of my seventeen-year-old sister, “She’s just lowkey about it.”
It was my mom who introduced me to rug hooking at a young age. She often brought me with to her classes or to the store as she picked out wool and other supplies. From her, I learned how to appreciate the details of handmade work and began my fascination with American craft.Often wholly intricate, painterly, and overscale, she takes old strips of wool and weaves them into burlap fabric, usually following some design. Mostly her work is more figurative and pictoral, but after noticing my obsession with Native Chimayo weavings and Mexican folk art she has begun branching out into more geometric patterns that look vaguely southwestern.
Now, what does my mother and her rugs have to do with LA-based weaver Jay Palmer you ask? Well, nothing really, except for the fact that Jay Palmer’s work — the practice of weaving together old strips of fabric into something entirely new and beautiful — is not all that different from what my mother does with her own wool rugs.
I was lucky enough to meet Jay Palmer a few years ago during Levi’s Station to Station. He was in the Maker’s yurt, weaving old strips of indigo denim into something akin to a highly elegant rag-rug on a huge loom. I snapped this photo of his hands while he took a brief moment to rest.
It is the very human need for textiles that makes them such compelling pieces of art. Most always pieces like Jay’s indigo fabrics and my mothers woolen hooked rugs are incredibly time-intensive and crazy-laborious to create. Once finished, they are beautiful, as it’s almost as if a bit of the other person’s soul is captured in the custom piece you now hold in your hands.
I love the idea of incorporating these folk-art methods in with a piece of jeans or a trucker jacket. It imbues the piece with a sense of heritage, place, and artfulness that is wholly special and so, so unique.
I’ve experimented with my own embroidery on old trucker jackets, taking inspiration from my mom’s hooked rugs, but never have I made a wall-hanging or rug of my own. I am pleased to report that this week my mother found a frame of my own that I can begin using and that this week we will start working on our own denim rag rugs! Really looking forward to working on both with her. And excited to see if we can incorporate some fun techniques in with my favorite thing — blue jeans.
CRAFT: Denim Rag Rugs, Blue Jeans, and American Handicraft Although I think my generation’s obsession with the handmade and the authentic in all things is a unique phenomenon, I certainly cannot take full credit for my love of all things bespoke.
idk maybe domestic abuse trials shouldn’t be treated as entertainment
#DisabilityDayOfMourning - Today we remember our disability kin killed by their parents/family/guardians because they’re seen as a “burden” or to “release them”. That’s murder & too often there’s no justice. But I would also like to ask people to be aware of caregiver-neglect. And yes, caregiver-neglect often means parents & loved ones too. This is what nearly killed me & I didn’t say anything because I felt trapped & didn’t see a way out. Until my sister gave me one. But if she hadn’t noticed I needed help, I never would have said anything. I thought living with my mom* was my only choice, that she was the only person willing to take care of me. & that I had to live with neglect & abuse as it slowly killed me because I had no resources to get out & didn’t know where to turn.
If you see a disabled person in a bad situation, talk to them, offer to help them find resources. (Please don’t just call protective services - that’s stepping on their autonomy & could make the situation worse. Only report it if the disabled person is unable to communicate their wishes to you through some form of communication) - Otherwise you can talk to us, ask us what we need, help us get it. Show us there are options, that we don’t have to live with an abuser & be neglected to death.
Because sometimes they kill us outright, but other times it’s slow & torturous - while we too often listen to people around us say what a saint our caregiver is for carrying the burden of us & it makes us feel like there is no one we can turn to, to say “I think I’m dying. I think they’re killing me.”
Remember us today, help us every day.
-
*the fact that my mom was mentally & physically ill herself doesn’t change that I suffered & nearly died. It might not have been 100% her fault, but I still suffer the c-ptsd from it everyday.
So, my mom is like a stereotypical Southern Mom, right. She rules with an iron fist, but she’s a nice lady to you if you’re nice to her. She goes out of her way to help people and make them feel welcome, etc. She’s the kind of person that growing up, any kid that knew her for more than five minutes also called her “Mom.”
Heck, even my uncle’s friends called her that. My uncle, for the record, is only six years older than me. So it’s not as weird as it sounds.
As a result, the people around her give her a sort of preferential treatment when it comes to the trading of goods. “Hey, I got this thing that I don’t want anymore. Before I put it up for sale, do you have a use for it?”
This is a common thing with her. Also with my brother. When they show up with random stuff, I do not question it. For the record, no, I don’t have this skill. They are extroverts and I am very much an introvert. Most people aren’t even sure I like them half the time.
Anyways, a few years ago, by random happenstance, two different people offered my mom some pretty nice above-ground pools. The kind with the metal shell and stuff. All she had to do was go disassemble them and they were hers, free of charge.
One was put up at my house, and one was put up at her house. It took an entire weekend for each pool, okay, this was an undertaking and a half. In mid-May in North Carolina. It was hot and it was humid as fuck.
My brother and his friend helped, my sister and her husband, my other sister and her bf, like everyone pitched in whatever time they could spare. And once it was done, we all decided as a family that we loved each other too much to ever put up another one of those pools. Our relationships would not survive a third trial.
But we had the pools, so I guess we’ll take it as a win.
Why am I telling you this? Bc it’s technically overdue time to get the pools ready for summer. My mom started yesterday, and I started today. We have not invested in covers for either pool, so we have to clear out the leaves and kill the algae, etc.
When I was done starting the process tonight, I sent my mom a picture with the caption, “Progress.” Just to let her know I’d started, y’know. The water was already lighter (although admittedly still green) and the leaves were gone! It was progress!!
This is what I get in return
She did not have to do my like that, fam.
It’s the first warm, sunny weekend we’ve had since winter started and as a result, Mother and I decided that we would go riding on our side-by-sides
I walked into her house this morning, after talking to her multiple times on the phone, and while I was talking to my stepdad, I hear VERY QUIET footsteps go from my mom’s sewing room down the hall. I look just in time to watch her bedroom close soundlessly.
My mother, who is almost 51 years old, just snuck through her own house so that I wouldn’t realize she hadn’t gotten dressed yet and fuss at her
This woman is utterly ridiculous, and I love her
My cum. My mother. I mean, could she be any better of a mom than she already is? Well, let’s just say she never ceases to amaze me.
Your welcome, followers…oh and your welcome for the treat, mom!
Yep, that’s my fucking smoking hot mother. My real mother, the same mother that lets me own her holes. ALL of her holes, whenever we can, wherever we can.
In this instance, is a common occurrence at home. Mommy leaves her door open at all times. It makes for some incredible visuals throughout each and every day.
Jealous yet? Well, stay tuned for more.
Your Welcome!!
Well folks, you constantly ask me to share photos of my mother and me. I constantly am tempted to share more but the fear of us being recognized by someone is very real.
BUT…with the limited amount of REAL INCEST out there, my mother and I feel obligated to give you all what you want to see, an actual mother and her actual son simply enjoying an incestuous lifestyle.
Today I will be posting some photos that my mom and I picked together to share with you all, starting with this one. We hope that these don’t expose our identity but also hope that our followers enjoy and appreciate us sharing a bit more than we ever have before.
Stroke hard, rub your pussy raw and enjoy…my mother and me.
Your welcome!!
#DisabilityDayOfMourning - Today we remember our disability kin killed by their parents/family/guardians because they’re seen as a “burden” or to “release them”. That’s murder & too often there’s no justice. But I would also like to ask people to be aware of caregiver-neglect. And yes, caregiver-neglect often means parents & loved ones too. This is what nearly killed me & I didn’t say anything because I felt trapped & didn’t see a way out. Until my sister gave me one. But if she hadn’t noticed I needed help, I never would have said anything. I thought living with my mom* was my only choice, that she was the only person willing to take care of me. & that I had to live with neglect & abuse as it slowly killed me because I had no resources to get out & didn’t know where to turn.
If you see a disabled person in a bad situation, talk to them, offer to help them find resources. (Please don’t just call protective services - that’s stepping on their autonomy & could make the situation worse. Only report it if the disabled person is unable to communicate their wishes to you through some form of communication) - Otherwise you can talk to us, ask us what we need, help us get it. Show us there are options, that we don’t have to live with an abuser & be neglected to death.
Because sometimes they kill us outright, but other times it’s slow & torturous - while we too often listen to people around us say what a saint our caregiver is for carrying the burden of us & it makes us feel like there is no one we can turn to, to say “I think I’m dying. I think they’re killing me.”
Remember us today, help us every day.
-
*the fact that my mom was mentally & physically ill herself doesn’t change that I suffered & nearly died. It might not have been 100% her fault, but I still suffer the c-ptsd from it everyday.
Me: *watching an interview with Ewan and Hayden*
My mom: They both have such boyish charm, don’t they?
kinda miss sitting in restaurants with my friends loudly having what is clearly the weirdest conversation the couple two tables over has heard all week and pretending not to notice them chuckle at my jokes but making sure to throw in enough exposition to give them context if they’re still listening
“why the hell is this one getting so many notes” i think, briefly, before realizing we’re three years into The Great Loneliness and i have just wistfulposted on yearning dot com
When my mom would stand in line with me at Wal-Mart, she’d sometimes invent some convo opener meant to be overheard. I was obliged to go along no matter what, it was the Rule. The last one began, “So how, exactly, did you break out of that jail?” We spun a fairly believable tale and had half a dozen people pretending not to listen in.
She died right before COVID hit, and I miss her more than I ever let myself feel.
Happy birthday to the best mom in the world. I Love you mom. You are my best friend. You are my everything. I never want to exist without you. I want to be beside you always. We’re a good match. I’m so happy you are mine.
-your daughter
Cooking Dom
(turn the audio on, you won’t regret it)
old people are right. about werthers originals
Had a “Monday Mother’s Day Movie” with my mom today and it was so much fun! The theater was almost empty so we got to whisper to each other throughout the film, make jokes, and have a really good time.
Bruh my mom is on the phone and she just told her friend that she wishes her kids would graduate early so she can retire but I literally told her this afternoon I’m two years ahead on my degree and she told me not to graduate early -_-
