Diary of an Inventor, Part 5

Waiting kills me. Right now I'm waiting for my ShapeLock to work on invention #2, and also for the patent agents to tell me if invention #1 is patentable. (I'm also waiting for casting calls for season 5 of Dragon's Den, but that's a whole other story). I think it's the idea that this whole thing feels like a big race. You gotta get there faster than anyone else, so having to wait is like tying your shoe during a marathon... completely necessary, but irritating. I end up surfing the internet, looking to see if someone has beat me to the punch (you know, since the last time I hit "refresh") but not really trying that hard, because I don't want the disappointment of the truth. It's funny because I'm not really that emotionally invested in it (it doesn't even have a name for pete's sake), but it seems terrible to have to start all over from scratch. I guess I'd better get used to that though. I'll just use the extra time to think up something else. Yeah, I'll get right on that.

Diary of an Inventor, Part 4

It's kind of an interesting phenomenon. I've noticed that once you start thinking like an inventor, there is just no stopping it. The floodgates open and every single item that is difficult to use comes rushing in to be re-designed or re-created, and you suddenly start seeing products that could make life easier, if only you create them. It's a rush. Looking for the next big thing, that flighty little good idea that will result in financial freedom without the back-breaking labour. That one elusive idea that would turn us from regular working joes, into those people who have others looking at us and saying "why didn't I think of that?"

Yesterday, during the initial testing of Prototype #1 of Invention #2, I decided to buy some stuff that had been recommended to me called "Shape Lock", basically it's a plastic-y substance that you can melt down in water, in the microwave, or with a heat gun, to mold a prototype. It dries hard and durable, and if something doesn't work... you just melt it down all over again. (Pretty brilliant stuff, why didn't I think of that?) Anyhow, a tub of the stuff (remember, it's reusable) cost a paltry $15 US. Ok, I get it, there is the exchange rate, shipping, taxes etc, but really, over all, a pretty cheap-o investment. Husband was shocked at my carefree spending. He said "do you even know what this stuff is? Are you sure you can't buy it here? Who knows, maybe they sell it in bulk at the scoop-and-weigh!?" Well, I could spend the next month looking for it, experimenting with other products, or I could spend the TWENTY-SOME DOLLARS, and have it now.

He thinks it's a compulsion, but I guess I can just turn his words back on him from when I tease him about the plethora of VWs that seem to breed in our backyard: "It could be worse honey, I could be a gambling alchoholic."

Everything I know I learned from Parents Magazine

Mothers read too much. Yeah, I said it, and I'll say it again.

Obviously I don't really have problems with books in general, just the vast quantities of parenting books. For example, my absolute favourite book... "What to Expect When you are Expecting" (or as I like to call it "The-Absolute-Worst-Case-Survival-Handbook-Preying-On-The-Already-Hormonally-Insane"), I was already vaguely aware that alligator wrestling would be a bad idea while pregnant, but I really had no idea how many terrible, horrible things could happen because I painted my fingernails or crossed paths with a ladybug. Do we really need more fears? Please don't read it cover to cover, it'll just give you bad dreams. Here is some milk and off to bed with you.

The vast amount of information we are pelted with does come in handy though. I can prove almost ANYTHING if I use the internet, because really... someone out there is crazier than I am, and has already written about it.

I love reading about parenting, partly to get some good ideas, and partly for the "can't keep my eyes off the train wreck" fascination. I know I'm not a terribly experienced parent, but I had some pretty darn good ones myself, and I like to think I learned a bit from their good example, so when I read this in the latest copy of parents (and by "latest" I mean latest to me, as I have a hand-me-down subscription):

"Say your little monkey climbs on the coffee table. You tell her "No". Two minutes later, she does it again. Instead of distracting her, explaining why she shouldn't do that, or (worst of all) yelling, just move the table away."

MOVE THE TABLE? What? seriously? Why on earth would I move the table? I really don't think it would teach a child anything, and where would I put my feet while watching tv?

A long time ago my grandfather (a cabinetmaker) took on a volunteer job where he went to a "remote community" to teach cabinetmaking to the residents. One of the first things he was asked was "Where can we buy hinges that won't break when our kids swing on the cabinet doors?" My grandfather looked at them and said "Why don't you teach your kids not to swing on the cabinet doors?"

Is this what we've come to? Needing hinges that won't break, and moving the furniture out of the room rather than just teaching kids that some things are toys and other things are not? Let's hope not. I'd rather make sure "NO" means something.

There is no hope for me.

I was at the mall the other day, trying to find some clothes. I need something to wear other than jeans and t-shirts and hoodies. ("Bunny-hugs" for you Saskacheweiners) They are all well and good, but hey, I'm a grown up... I need other clothes too.

Now, to preface this entry, I am a hard person to fit. I'm not overweight, but I have a big rack, and some curves that would have fit in better in the 50s. I also have a long torso, so this combination makes clothes shopping next to impossible.

During the browsing portion of my excursion, I noticed something very disheartening. The mannequins looked dumpy. They all looked chunky and frumpy, like they put no thought into what they chose to wear that day. They weren't wearing things that were flattering on them, rather things that would have made me sign them up for "What Not to Wear".

So, I ask you... if the clothes don't look good on the mannequins... what hope is there for me?

Dreamers

I'm all for dreamers! I think everyone should have dreams and goals and ideas. I think it makes us all better people to have something to strive for and plan for. My problem comes in when your dream relies so heavily on the kindness of others that achieving it is impossible without them. I own a house with a large property. I wouldn't even CONSIDER doing so if I didn't think I could manage the work. Of course, I found out quickly that the amount of work was higher than I anticipated, but because of that, have spent many days this summer changing the property to become more manageable. BY MYSELF. I didn't call all my friends to do it for me (even if I could convince myself it would be fun for them), because I know that if I am incapable of doing it myself, there is no point owning it in the first place.

The same goes for people who have hobbies that they can't actually do themselves. Husband got into a discussion with his mother about this very topic. She loves having a large garden (mostly potatoes), but is really no longer capable of doing the majority of the work herself. She doesn't need to have a garden, she just likes having it. (If she needed to have a garden this would fall under the "taking care of your mother act") Having a hobby that relies on other people makes it no longer your hobby. Then your hobby is really delegating labour. I like knitted things, but I don't know how to knit. so even if I buy the patterns and the yarn and find someone else to do it for me, I cannot claim knitting is my hobby.

This especially becomes a problem if you expect others to do it for you for free. (Please don't think that buying beer or a pizza is fair compensation for a day of manual labour, because it isn't, it's really the absolute least you can do.) The only reason you should ever hope for people to come and help you is if you are equally willing to return the favour or have a skill they don't that you can repay them with.

My point is, if there is something you want to do (emphasis on YOU), whenever possible, do it yourself. If you actually NEED the help (not just want help because you don't feel like doing it all), make sure you compensate your friends accordingly. Otherwise, you'll soon find yourself with very few people willing to help.

Dear Guest...

I care about you. I want you to feel at home in my home. I want to make you feel special and loved and appreciated. I want to fill your stomach and heart and mind. I want to laugh with you and toast our friendship. Please join me and be part of a memory.

Please come, make yourself at home, use what I own and eat what I have prepared. Please recognize the thought and time and effort required. Please remember that this is not something I have to do, but rather something I want to do... for you. Please notice the good china, the cloth napkins and the flatware I buffed to make sure there were no water spots. Please enjoy the feast I spent the day planning, shopping and preparing for.

I ask almost nothing in return.

Please respect me and my home. Please arrive promptly. Food takes time to prepare, and cannot always be postponed without massive effort. If you cannot be on time, please call me. Call as soon as you know you are running late. If you don't I feel unappreciated, and my effort feels ignored. I want you to come, I want you to enjoy yourself, but I want to feel I have done the best I can without having to sacrifice quality because of your indifference. Please don't be careless. I don't want to be the only one who cares.

Come join me. Come sit at my table and drink with me. Be part of my home and the memories it carries in it.

Love
Host.

Diary of an Inventor, Part 3

I've done it. I've contacted a patent law firm/patent agent and have sent him pictures of my invention. He will be conducting an initial patent search and giving me his opinion of it's patentability. I'm not really sure how to feel. I'm nervous, because he might say "NO WAY JOSE! this invention SUCKS!" (likely not in those words), but I'm also excited that this might actually be something. In my own rudimentary search of existing patents, I wasn't really able to find anything exactly like I have created. There are things that essentially do the same thing, but of course, I am of the belief that mine will do it better. That said, marketability and patentability are not always one and the same.

So, I have let my birdie go, and we'll see if he comes back. If he does, he'll be mine to sell and licence and make money off, and if not, I can always make more birdies!

When are words really words?

I want to ask all the mothers out there... at what point in your child's life, do you just start making stuff up? See, I have one of those baby book/calendar things, and I can't figure out when I'm supposed to write stuff in there. For example... Girl has lately taken to parroting things that we say. So far, she has said "Mom", "Dada", "Ummm-ah" (Oma), and "Hi Dad" when prompted. Does that mean she can talk? would those be her first WORDS? is repetition the same as actually talking? I know that often enough babies put syllables together into "words" that are amusing to us grown-ups, but are really nothing more than a lucky coincidence, so one needs to look at the context.

Girl knows who Mom is, same with Dad, and Oma, so, by saying these things, is she actually talking? or just repeating what she hears? If so, don't know when her first words were... if not, how will I know the difference?

I admit... I haven't kept track nearly as well as I should and occasionally I'll go to write something into her calendar and my mom would say "oh, she did that before" so I just make up a date and call it done. I'm a terrible mother.

Diary of an Inventor, Part 2

I think I've decided to try to get a patent. The ide of doing this myself from start to finish is too much, and kind of defeats the purpose of being a stay-at-home mom, so, the only real option for me is to license it and sit around waiting for royalty cheques. If that's what I want to do, having a patent in hand makes it more valuable and protects me somewhat, at least from honourable companies. Also, I have read that if you find someone infringing on your patent you can also go to them and sell the patent or have them pay you royalties, so ok, patent it is.

My eyes are still swimming from trying to slog through "The Complete Patent Kit" which lies in it's claims to make patent law make sense to the average person. I like to think I'm not an idiot, but law takes normal words and gives them new meanings, so nothing really makes sense.

An excerpt for your amusement:

"If the prior art that you uncover does anticipate your invention, your invention is not novel. If the prior art does not anticipate your invention, your invention will be patentable, so long as your invention is not obvious with respect to this prior art"

From what I have come to understand "prior art" seems to be a patent for something that already exists, so I'm guessing this means that if your invention is new and no one has done anything like it before, you can get a patent.

I have incorporated a business myself in the past (without a lawyer), but I'm starting to realize the patent process is far more complex, and rather than waste my money trying over and over, I might as well pay someone to do it right. I can start with the $500 "prior art search" and if it looks clear and that I have a good chance, I'll get it done.

Then I will go on "Dragon's Den" or "Shark Tank" and sell 90% of the company. I really only want to be a silent partner anyway!

Diary of an Inventor, Part 1

It's the most brilliant invention ever, completely necessary and better than anything else on the market. I have run into a problem though. I have created it, but I don't know what to do with it.

The first thing out of your mouth may be "get a patent, crazy girl!!", and of course that was my thought too... until I read up on what was required. It could cost between $4000-$10000 to get a patent, and once you have that, it doesn't really get you anywhere. You see... patents, like copyrights, are not policed by some highly-skilled task force specializing in crimes of intellectual property. No... they are policed only by the person who holds the patent... in other words, little old me. I need to see someone rip off my idea, and take them to court, where I will need to have additional money to fight for what was mine to start off with. It's a nasty world. I am sure they are rare, but there are many dirty folks out there who prey on people like me, who have a great idea, but no means to fight to keep it mine.

So you say: "don't get a patent, manufacture and sell them yourself!" Well, in my make believe world, I do have all the capabilities to do that. I can buy all the materials, make them myself, take pictures of them, design a website and sell them all from the comfort of home, but alas, there are more snags to be wrestled with. The biggest and baddest of them all is the CPSIA Regulation that says that all products made for children under 12 need to be tested for lead before they can be sold in the US. Being the largest nearby market, butting of the US as a potential sales arena is insane, but lead testing is extensive and expensive, and would need to be done on every component of my product and every time I make a new batch. This could run upwards for $4000, and in order to sell enough products to make the cash required to pay only for the testing, I would need to make 200 pieces before seeing a profit. At 10 pieces per day, I'd be working 20 days to pay for the lead testing, and I would need to invest at least $10000 into materials so that it can all be classified as one batch (as soon as you change the material it needs to be done all over again).

So, you see my dilemma. I believe the third option is the only realistic one. Find a big business who is willing to pay me royalties for the use of my product. I don't have the foggiest as to how to do that, nor do I even know the first place to look to try to sell my idea. It scares me to show my design to anyone who has the capability to rip me off, but I know that I'll never get any kind of market share on my own.

All I know, is that I ever want to say "if only I had done something with my idea when I had the chance, then it would have been ME"

My greatest fears.

I don't like to be home alone. (not that I am right now, so creepy people, be warned, I have a gun... and a dog... yeah, a BIG, ANGRY dog). As nice as it is to sleep diagonally on the bed with both pillows, I have somewhat irrational fears. One of my biggest fears started a long time ago, likely around the time that my parents started leaving my brother and I home alone. It seems to me that I have always been afraid that while I am sleeping, someone will break into my house and cut my achilles tendons. I don't know why, so don't ask. Interestingly, this fear can be alleviated merely by sleeping with my feet under the covers (apparently would-be-achilles-tendon-cutters are foiled by a blanket).

I think my facination with shows like Criminal Minds and CSI combined with an overactive imagination has given me extra creativity when freaking myself out about the gruesome way I will most likely die. Recently a new fear has surfaced. After having a baby and introducing the baby monitor to my life, I picture myself sitting awake in bed, reading, while a raspy voice eminates from the monitor... "I have your baby... come and get her." Hey Criminal Minds writers... I think you should use that as an opening... sure gives me the willies.

I wonder if I need psychiatric help.

Big piles of stuff.

I figured out the problem with owning a big property. You can't do anything small on a big lot. There is no such thing as a "little decorative item" to stick in a backyard the size of a football field. When you need mulch, you don't buy those bags for Walmart (seriously, no one should buy those bags from Walmart, but that's a whole other entry), you buy a truckload, 30 yards, that need to be moved, shovelful by shovelful, wheelbarrowful by wheelbarrowful. And once that pile is gone, you buy another one, because even that doesn't do everything. There are times when I am flabbergasted that we were unable to keep our flowerbed weeded when we had a postage stamp of a yard (and this isn't even including the backyard, because that was a construction zone/driveway/car-part-storage wasteland until we quickly sodded to sell the house). With that lack of effort... what did we do? BOUGHT A BIGGER YARD! YAY!

I think the previous owners are going to have a coronary when they find out what we've done with their maintained perennial gardens, but really, we're not retired, we have a baby. We have a life that is more than gardening. As much as I love to have the backyard, and picture it as a wonderful place for kids to play, I have no desire to spend the rest of my life working on it. It will be beautiful, it will be wonderful... but holy cow, it's BIG.

Through the looking glass.

"Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do?... Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"

I think I'll have that song in my head all day! My brush with "Cops" came late last night. I live outside of the city, and rarely even hear sirens, nevermind see anything interesting "go down", so it was very surprising when our doorbell started ringing incessantly at 11pm. Husband, wary of late night visitors, especially since Ed McMahon is no longer with us, cracked the door and heard a desperate voice calling out "They robbed me for my LEG! I've been ROBBED! I need to call my grandma to pick me up!". Obviously, this is not something you hear every day, and sure enough, the guy was hopping on one leg (the absence of blood helped us put 2 and 2 together that it was a prosthetic limb that was missing). Still a bit leery, since there were now a number of red and blue lights blinking through the bushes that seperate our house from the street, Husband handed a phone through the door and went out to take a look, locking the door behind him.

I watched from the window as flashlights illuminated him and after some shouting, his hands went up in the air. A brief exchange, and then he countinued down the driveway and an officer came into view. He took one look at the legless man on our stoop and ordered him onto the ground. When he didn't comply right away, there were some shouts and soon the man was cuffed and facedown on the front sidewalk, covered in the boys (and girls) in blue. Other officers were swarming around the house with flashlights, followed soon after by a big angry dog.

Husband came strolling up the driveway with an officer and I finally got the story. Apparently our driveway was the end of a police car chase that originated downtown. The car was cockeyed on the driveway (unfortunately narrowly missing the address sign that I so desperately would like to replace) and completely missing the 2 tires on the passenger side (a result of spike strips MILES before). We were told to stay inside for the time being until they captured the others who had run from the car, as police dogs can't always tell who is innocent.

The dogs led a crowd of 8-10 officers far beyond our house, through the unseasonably wet, poison ivy-ridden, mosquito-infested property. I felt sorry for the cops, who admittedly called our property "a nightmare" since they are used to streets, alleys, and fences. The dark, unknown terrain was a whole other ballpark, but it made me somewhat happy that the "perps" were also wandering the fields, tripping over fallen trees, into puddles and poison ivy, while being chased by dogs and people with guns (that would be enough to make anyone think twice about driving a stolen car out here again).

All was quiet for a while, the flashing red and blue still staked out our property and a towtruck had arrived to haul off the maimed neon. I figured we had seen the last of it, until, while up feeding Girl, I heard voices and barking. Apparently an injured car thief had camped out behind a shed, presumably waiting until the police were gone. Caught ya sucker! (by the way, looking down the barrel of that police dog, who knows he's looking for you, plus 8-10 cops can't be a fun experience) I should mention his pants were also falling down. The moral of the story: always wear a belt for midnight runs through the bush.

Thumbs up to the Boys and Girls in blue!

Woman of the Cloth.

Well before Girl was born, I decided to use cloth diapers on her. I'd like to tell you all a nice story about how I believe that they are enviromentally friendly, and that I use them on her to save our precious resources and limit waste, but that's just not the case. Don't get me wrong, I love the environment, it's great and all, done lots for me, but that wasn't my motivation.

Basically, I'm cheap.

I looked at it, weighed the options and thought... why would I spend $20 a week on something to throw away, when I could spend $200 on something that will not only last until Girl is potty trained, but for any subsequent children I may have. It was kind of a no brainer. I had to add the bonus of having a high-efficiency washing machine and a well, and TADA! the decision was made.

Since starting with cloth diapers, I also made a startling discovery. Disposable diapers smell GROSS, even before there is anything in them. (I've been told you can buy unscented, but why do they add that disgusting scent in the first place?)

I would also like to add, for any of you who think that "having to clean up poop" is a disgusting fate and completely unecessary with today's technology, I'd like to ask you to read the directions on your package of disposables. You just might be doing it wrong.

Just like the Dodo bird.

I think I'm one of a dying breed. A woman who has chosen to stay home, wear kitten heels and an apron while vacumming and have a steaming hot dinner on the table when Husband comes home from a day at the office. I guess it's not quite like that.

Yes, I am a stay-at-home wife and mother, but I'm a long ways off from being a 50's housewife. I'm not perfect, I'm easily distracted and I'd live in my PJs if i didn't have this nagging feeling in the back of my head that it would put me on a spiraling path to leaving the house in jeans and a bathrobe. I'm terrible at gardening, mainly because I don't like bugs. I'm an excellent baker and a pretty good cook, though I'm a picky eater and don't eat half of what I make. I'd rather make jam than clean the house but I'm definitely happier when the dust rhinos are no longer taking over the house (I'm pretty sure they are headquartered under the bed). My brain is usually in the clouds, dreaming up new business ideas, new ventures and new ways to make money from the comfort of the couch. I have an amazing baby that slept through the night at 6 weeks, yet I still sigh if she wakes up "in the middle of the night" (before 6).

My dreams are simple. I want people to come into my house and feel welcomed and special and loved. I want the house to smell like freshly baked cookies and cinnamon, and sound like laughter. I want Girl to grow up loving herself and those around her (with a good measure of brilliance thrown in) and realistically, all this can happen even if I don't move stuff off the mantle before dusting it.

dipping a tentative toe in.

Ok, so I've never blogged before but there are likely a whole lot of blogs that start like this, so I will move right along. I guess I just figured I have a lot to say and if people can write blogs about hairless cats and turtles with ninja skills, there must be something I can blog about. The crazier thing is that there are people who FOLLOW blogs about hairless cats and ninja turtles, so I figured where better to let out my opinions than on a global forum. This blog is about me, a mother, a homemaker, a serial entrepreneur, and a woman. What I see, what I think and whatever else comes into my brain in the vast amount of time I spend staring at the walls and nursing.