Help Me, Momma!

I had to work harder than I ever did

by Loretta Fontaine

ere's my home phone number," the gallery owner said as she jotted seven digits on the order form. "I don't live far from here. Just give me a call if you don't get that baby carrier in time." I assured her Fed-Ex was delivering the forgotten baby carrier the next morning, but if it didn't arrive I'd certainly give her a call. That week, that show, I could use all the help I could get.

I needed the baby carrier to bring my infant son onto the floor of a wholesale show. Infants under the age of six months could be on the show floor only if strapped to an adult in a front baby carrier. The show was five days long, and on the third day, a Saturday, I had planned on bringing him along. Except that I had forgot my red Baby Bjorn carrier.

Illustration by Dave Fontaine

Did I really need it? For a second I thought I might not, but I'm glad my husband shipped it out. At the show office the next day not only did they want to see both the infant and the carrier, but they issued him a special "baby pass" -- an official badge for admittance.

As I walked toward the show entrance, I realized I needed more than two hands. "Could you hold my baby while I strap this thing to me?" I asked a complete stranger. I picked the right stranger because she seemed quite happy to help, and again, this was the week I needed it.

Why is it that my mother always tends to be right? She implied early on that I was crazy to take on a wholesale show within two months of giving birth. But the show was in a city where my brother and his wife had just bought a house, and I was excited to stay with them. And my sister offered to fly from California to be my booth assistant! And except for one Saturday, my parents planned on babysitting at my brother's house.

But my Mom was right -- it was a crazy undertaking. I had to work harder than I ever did in my studio, constantly sleep-deprived. To get ready for this show, I knew I needed help.

My dear friends Stacey Gerard and Christine Carrera came over in the evenings and helped me, with X-Acto knives and duct tape, to get my new booth done. My father brought over a pipe cutter to shorten Abstracta tubes. A postcard was designed with help from my brother Dave. My husband took over all the household duties, and made sure I ate as I worked feverishly around the clock. Theresa Girzone graciously let me use her studio's finishing equipment to get my jewelry samples done in the nick of time.

My mother was not only enlisted to stick stamps on postcards, but she and my father trotted around a fussy baby the week of the show. My sister not only proved to be an ace assistant, but also came with a suitcase of clothes. She made me look stylish instead of wearing my standard-issue new mommy sweats. And my sister-in-law spent her vacation day, President's Day, helping me dismantle and pack my booth.

While at the show, I was honored when Mark Rosenbaum of Rosetree Glass Studio in New Orleans came by my booth offering pralines. He was lucky to have his studio and home survive, but admitted the New Orleans he knew is gone.

Since finishing this show, all the thoughts of hard work are fading and I'm left with the fond memories of spending time with those who helped me so much -- from my able assistants to the woman who offered to bring me her baby carrier. My only regret is that in all the commotion I forget to buy my raffle tickets to benefit CERF (Craft Emergency Relief Fund, www.craftemergency.org). I remember that I really wanted to win one of the fabulous prizes.

But writing this column, I know what I have to do. Send CERF a check. I will not win a fabulous prize, but I'll send some help to where it's needed most, perhaps to New Orleans. And help is always welcome.