In about August my husband got a promotion. His company opened a new branch, and he applied for, and won, the position of branch manager at the new branch. This is Awesome (and the extra money is nice), but it does present a few difficulties.
The new branch is over an hour's drive south of where we currently live, and with hubby working 7am to 5pm, we don't get to see him much. He gets up at about 5am and leaves before 6am every morning, and he doesn't get home till well after 6pm. Some days he doesn't get home until nearly 8pm, if he's had to stay back for some reason and the traffic gets bad. He's also "on call" 24-7, meaning that if someone calls in the middle of the night and needs something, he has to go in and open the store to sell them stuff - not fun when the store is so far away.
Because of this, we decided to move down the coast. He's been desperate to get out of Sydney since we moved here, and this is the perfect opportunity. After a few setbacks we've found a house and the bank has agreed to throw money at us (contracts are exchanged, just waiting for the tenants to vacate in March and then we settle), and Critter is enrolled in school - which presents the other difficulty.
The house is due to settle mid-late March. Critter starts school at the beginning of February. That gives us about 6 weeks where we are living over an hour away from his school, and I don't even drive. Things were looking tricky. Hubby could take Critter down with him every morning, let him play in the warehouse for a couple hours, take him to school, pick him up after school, let him play in the warehouse for another couple hours and then come home. Except that I don't relish the idea of waking a 5year old at 5am every morning to get ready for school, and its hard enough spending 12 hours a day away from my husband. I don't think I could handle having the boy away for so long too.
So hubby came up with a good, if expensive, idea. We are renting a "holiday home" for 8 weeks. Its in the suburb we will be living in. Its 4 houses away from the beach. Its fully furnished, so all we need to take is clothes, food, and Gosling's cot. And we're moving next Sunday.
My parents bought this house in 1987. Other than 8 months up the coast when I was 5, and my not-quite-2-years in California, I've lived here since then. My husband has lived here since coming to Australia, my children have never lived anywhere else. I have 5 days left in this house.
I'm very excited, and I'll admit to being a little nervous. We only bought the very very basics in groceries this week, in order to use up as much of whats in the cupboards as possible. I'm trying to remember where our suitcases are, so I can pack up all our clothes. I'm also trying to figure out the best way to transport 2 pot plants, and how to take 2 cars down, when we only have one driver. But my biggest concern? I think the new house has a dishwasher, and I don't know how to use one.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Saturday, 9 January 2010
Of Roots and Proper Pronunciation
I've noticed that I refer to my father as 'my father' and my mother as 'mum' throughout this post, and I find that rather interesting. I was brought up to call them Daddy and Mummy respectively, and seeing as they each referred to their own parents thus until their passing, it would be acceptable, and possibly, to them, even preferable for me to continue to do so. While I love my parents, I do not get on with my father particularly well, and my mum less well than I would like, and the terms 'my father' and 'mum' reflect this.
My father was born in England at the tail end of WWII. His father had served in the British navy during the war and became a politician, and later a door-to-door salesman, his mother could best be described as a socialite. She claimed to have had tea with the Queen, been kidnapped by a sultan, and run off to join a circus at 16. I'm serious. His family lived in Jamaica when he was very young, and when they moved back to England and he started school, he was sent to boarding school. He went to Clifton College, and upon watching Monty Python movies, noted which teachers John Cleese based the characters on - he was a year ahead of my father. My father moved to Australia with his first wife when he was in his early 20s, moved back to England a few years later, moved back to Australia after marrying my mother, and is a LAWYER.
Mum was born 362 days later, in the U.S.A. Her father was a farmer who had served in the U.S. army in Britain, opting to stay at desk work instead of taking the better paying job as a sniper, because he couldn't bear to take a human life. Her mother was a "war bride", a British girl who fell in love with an American soldier, and went back to the states with him. She had what the doctors called "muscular dystrophy", but still went out every day to fetch water from the well at the log house my grandfather built, when she had two young children. When mum was 15 they moved back to England, for better medical care for her mother, and mum left school, not being able to stand being in the 'babies' french class - she hadn't learned french in the U.S.A. She had various jobs, among which was taking tours in Spain and teaching rudimentary English. She married my father when she was a secretary at the same law firm he was at, and they moved to Australia. Some 20 years ago she started work as an ENGLISH TEACHER (teaching the language to overseas students) and is now head of department at an English Language school for overseas students. She re-started her education at the age of 50 when she went to University in order to earn more.
What was the point of all that? Well, there are a few main things to take note of:
I was born in, and have lived most of my life in, a country where Steve Irwin's accent, while ridiculed, is actually quite normal, the 8th letter of the alphabet is habitually pronounced HAITCH, the c-word is a far too common nickname/greeting/insult, and when an ad on the TV got complaints for using the word "bugger", they issued an apology ad, using the word about sixty-gazillion more times. Despite this, I somehow ended up with an almost-English accent, and often say/pronounce things in a way that makes my American raised (British-born, but he claims it doesn't count) husband walk around with his chin tucked under and his teeth sticking out, being "British".
I distinctly remember my father teaching us that the 'h' in any 'wh' should always be pronounced, before the 'w'. Thus:
My father was born in England at the tail end of WWII. His father had served in the British navy during the war and became a politician, and later a door-to-door salesman, his mother could best be described as a socialite. She claimed to have had tea with the Queen, been kidnapped by a sultan, and run off to join a circus at 16. I'm serious. His family lived in Jamaica when he was very young, and when they moved back to England and he started school, he was sent to boarding school. He went to Clifton College, and upon watching Monty Python movies, noted which teachers John Cleese based the characters on - he was a year ahead of my father. My father moved to Australia with his first wife when he was in his early 20s, moved back to England a few years later, moved back to Australia after marrying my mother, and is a LAWYER.
Mum was born 362 days later, in the U.S.A. Her father was a farmer who had served in the U.S. army in Britain, opting to stay at desk work instead of taking the better paying job as a sniper, because he couldn't bear to take a human life. Her mother was a "war bride", a British girl who fell in love with an American soldier, and went back to the states with him. She had what the doctors called "muscular dystrophy", but still went out every day to fetch water from the well at the log house my grandfather built, when she had two young children. When mum was 15 they moved back to England, for better medical care for her mother, and mum left school, not being able to stand being in the 'babies' french class - she hadn't learned french in the U.S.A. She had various jobs, among which was taking tours in Spain and teaching rudimentary English. She married my father when she was a secretary at the same law firm he was at, and they moved to Australia. Some 20 years ago she started work as an ENGLISH TEACHER (teaching the language to overseas students) and is now head of department at an English Language school for overseas students. She re-started her education at the age of 50 when she went to University in order to earn more.
What was the point of all that? Well, there are a few main things to take note of:
- My father is ENGLISH, and was raised fairly upper-class.
- He is a LAWYER.
- My mum is an ENGLISH TEACHER.
- She was raised in the U.S. by an English mother, who wanted to make sure she spoke properly.
- She has a masters degree.
I was born in, and have lived most of my life in, a country where Steve Irwin's accent, while ridiculed, is actually quite normal, the 8th letter of the alphabet is habitually pronounced HAITCH, the c-word is a far too common nickname/greeting/insult, and when an ad on the TV got complaints for using the word "bugger", they issued an apology ad, using the word about sixty-gazillion more times. Despite this, I somehow ended up with an almost-English accent, and often say/pronounce things in a way that makes my American raised (British-born, but he claims it doesn't count) husband walk around with his chin tucked under and his teeth sticking out, being "British".
I distinctly remember my father teaching us that the 'h' in any 'wh' should always be pronounced, before the 'w'. Thus:
- Hwale
- Hwether
- Hwip
- Hwat
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Gallows Humour
At the very beginning of December, I found out a good friend was pregnant. She comes over most weeks, we lets the kids run riot and enjoy what is sometimes the only adult conversation we have all week, other than our husbands. (And seriously, do boys necessarily count as adult conversation? I'm not sure the merits of one wrestler over another, and just exactly why golf is so wonderful really count.) That week, she had been feeling 'odd', and while she wasn't *ahem* late, she decided it would be worth a test anyway, so she bought one on her way over.
Due to not being late, the line took a looooooooong time to come up, and was very faint. So she used the one I had left over from last July with Gosling, just to be sure. We looked at those tests, and while those lines took a while, both of them were definitely there. By August, we would have 4 kids between us.
We've joked in the last couple of years that she's been stalking and copying me, trying to imitate my life. Her little girl is almost exactly 18months younger than Critter, and people often think they're siblings when we're out. (Her husband is half-greek and mine's mostly-half-italian, so the kids have ended up with olive skin, but somehow they've also both ended up with blondish hair and super-dark eyes. Gosling is the only one who's blue. I'm sure people think all three are mine, since she is a tiny blue eyed brunnette.) The new one was going to be 18months younger than Gosling - the same 4.5yr age gap as mine have. We laughed and joked, she took my leftover pregnancy vitamins, and we made plans for her to borrow our cradle, and to swap strollers once her bub was born, so she could have the baby one, and I'd have one better for a toddler.
When she came round a couple weeks later, she mentioned that she hadn't been feeling sick yet. At all. Morning-noon-and-night sickness had hit early with her daughter, but so far, all she'd had was tiredness, and she was beginning to wonder. She wasn't worried yet, but she was wary.
Then, that weekend, the weekend before Christmas, the facebook posts started. "K is having an exceptionally ***** day." "K is planning on getting very sozzled this silly season." "Super strong pain killers+couch+tea+chocolate = my day." I didn't want to believe it, but when she rang me in tears there could be no doubt. The bleeding had started on saturday, and an ultrasound had confirmed there was no heartbeat.
We talked. We cried. We agreed that all those stupid things people say really don't make you feel any better, they only make you want to scream. "There must have been something seriously wrong with it." Well thankyou, now I have an image of a badly deformed baby in my head and I'm already upset. "At least it happened now. Think about how much worse it would be if you'd been further along." My baby died and I feel like my heart has been ripped out. I do NOT want to think about how much more it could hurt, and quite honestly I'm not sure I believe you at the moment anyway. "Well your baby is in a better place now." I DON'T CARE I WANT IT HERE WITH ME IN MY ARMS!!! And perhaps the worst, "Theres nothing you could have done." I KNOW that, but you just aren't helping.
For me, now, some two and a half years later, some of those idiotic things people say are a comfort. To know that if my baby had survived it might have been in constant pain, but now it is safe, and will never know pain or fear, that is a comfort. To know that it wasn't something I did, that I do not have to live with guilt that somehow I caused it, that is a comfort. To know that my baby is resting in the eternal circle of God's loving arms, safe and waiting for me, that is a comfort. But in the beginning, none of that helps. All you want is to cry, and scream. To be angry. To blame yourself. Odd as it sounds, believing that I could have stopped it helped sometimes. To come to terms with the fact that it was out of my hands was hard. And all I wanted anyone to say was "I'm so sorry. Can I do anything for you? I'm here if you need me."
For her, one thing seemed to help. "Well, I see you haven't given up copying me, but you're running a bit late you know."
We laughed until we couldn't breathe, and then everything was just a tiny bit better.
Due to not being late, the line took a looooooooong time to come up, and was very faint. So she used the one I had left over from last July with Gosling, just to be sure. We looked at those tests, and while those lines took a while, both of them were definitely there. By August, we would have 4 kids between us.
We've joked in the last couple of years that she's been stalking and copying me, trying to imitate my life. Her little girl is almost exactly 18months younger than Critter, and people often think they're siblings when we're out. (Her husband is half-greek and mine's mostly-half-italian, so the kids have ended up with olive skin, but somehow they've also both ended up with blondish hair and super-dark eyes. Gosling is the only one who's blue. I'm sure people think all three are mine, since she is a tiny blue eyed brunnette.) The new one was going to be 18months younger than Gosling - the same 4.5yr age gap as mine have. We laughed and joked, she took my leftover pregnancy vitamins, and we made plans for her to borrow our cradle, and to swap strollers once her bub was born, so she could have the baby one, and I'd have one better for a toddler.
When she came round a couple weeks later, she mentioned that she hadn't been feeling sick yet. At all. Morning-noon-and-night sickness had hit early with her daughter, but so far, all she'd had was tiredness, and she was beginning to wonder. She wasn't worried yet, but she was wary.
Then, that weekend, the weekend before Christmas, the facebook posts started. "K is having an exceptionally ***** day." "K is planning on getting very sozzled this silly season." "Super strong pain killers+couch+tea+chocolate = my day." I didn't want to believe it, but when she rang me in tears there could be no doubt. The bleeding had started on saturday, and an ultrasound had confirmed there was no heartbeat.
We talked. We cried. We agreed that all those stupid things people say really don't make you feel any better, they only make you want to scream. "There must have been something seriously wrong with it." Well thankyou, now I have an image of a badly deformed baby in my head and I'm already upset. "At least it happened now. Think about how much worse it would be if you'd been further along." My baby died and I feel like my heart has been ripped out. I do NOT want to think about how much more it could hurt, and quite honestly I'm not sure I believe you at the moment anyway. "Well your baby is in a better place now." I DON'T CARE I WANT IT HERE WITH ME IN MY ARMS!!! And perhaps the worst, "Theres nothing you could have done." I KNOW that, but you just aren't helping.
For me, now, some two and a half years later, some of those idiotic things people say are a comfort. To know that if my baby had survived it might have been in constant pain, but now it is safe, and will never know pain or fear, that is a comfort. To know that it wasn't something I did, that I do not have to live with guilt that somehow I caused it, that is a comfort. To know that my baby is resting in the eternal circle of God's loving arms, safe and waiting for me, that is a comfort. But in the beginning, none of that helps. All you want is to cry, and scream. To be angry. To blame yourself. Odd as it sounds, believing that I could have stopped it helped sometimes. To come to terms with the fact that it was out of my hands was hard. And all I wanted anyone to say was "I'm so sorry. Can I do anything for you? I'm here if you need me."
For her, one thing seemed to help. "Well, I see you haven't given up copying me, but you're running a bit late you know."
We laughed until we couldn't breathe, and then everything was just a tiny bit better.
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Christmas is ovah
We had mostly successes with this years presents. My mum got Critter a Lego pirate ship, which he has completed, with hardly any help. Hubs' mum is sending another Lego pirate ship that was Hubs' when he was about 10... I suspect there will be pirate battles once both of them are here and made. He also got a LOT of clothes, a game of Trouble, and I can't remember what else right now. I'm in a turkey induced fog. Gosling got a dolly which she adores, some soft noise-making balls, which are kinda interesting, but not as much as the plastic carry case they came in (love babies), some awfully cute clothes, a couple of shape sorters, including the Tupperware ball, and again I can't remember. Hubs gave me the Stargate box set, bought at 6:30am on Christmas Eve, and probably spent far too much on it. He got Lego Indiana Jones for the Wii, the two Family Guy Star-Wars spoofs, and a radio transmitter for his Ipod for his truck (our car has an Ipod jack, but his work truck doesn't.) We got mum some CDs and DVDs, and tickets to go see the Gypsy Kings, which I made a cardboard rose as a clue for the envelope. We got my sister some VERY expensive towels. Mum gave us all money. The cat got turkey.
We all ate far too much turkey, except Critter who is allergic and had roast beef. We watched Elf, had a few altercations, and then dad and his wife came round and it got weird, 'cause what do you say to a pair of orthodox Jews at Christmas when theres ham on the table?
To top it all off, half of us had gastro, and then I gouged a chunk out of my toe on the rubbish bin, after putting on a load of the most horrendous nappies I've ever smelt. It hurts, and I'm not sure if the skin is still attached or not, as I taped it up with 3 bandaids immediately (I do not heal easily or cleanly, and it is entirely possible that it will STILL get infected despite being washed instantly and being covered with bandaids and antiseptic cream within a minute.)
Due to said gastro, we didn't get to go to church, so I feel weird and am greatly looking forward to tomorrow. The real point of yesterday was never lost sight of, and my heart sings with joy at the amazing gift of Life given by our most loving Lord, some two-thousand years ago.
Merry Christmas all! (again)
We all ate far too much turkey, except Critter who is allergic and had roast beef. We watched Elf, had a few altercations, and then dad and his wife came round and it got weird, 'cause what do you say to a pair of orthodox Jews at Christmas when theres ham on the table?
To top it all off, half of us had gastro, and then I gouged a chunk out of my toe on the rubbish bin, after putting on a load of the most horrendous nappies I've ever smelt. It hurts, and I'm not sure if the skin is still attached or not, as I taped it up with 3 bandaids immediately (I do not heal easily or cleanly, and it is entirely possible that it will STILL get infected despite being washed instantly and being covered with bandaids and antiseptic cream within a minute.)
Due to said gastro, we didn't get to go to church, so I feel weird and am greatly looking forward to tomorrow. The real point of yesterday was never lost sight of, and my heart sings with joy at the amazing gift of Life given by our most loving Lord, some two-thousand years ago.
Merry Christmas all! (again)
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Today is Wednesday. Christmas is on Friday. The tree went up on Monday.
Oh yeah, we leave things to the last minute here.
Presents are (mostly) bought - the man says he will buy mine tomorrow, on Christmas Eve. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.
Turkey will be coming out of the freezer tomorrow to start defrosting, and we will go to the supermarket to get last minute food stuffs.
And best of all, the bank has agreed to give us a bunch of money, and we exchange contracts tomorrow.
Some two-thousand years ago there was a miracle that I am eternally grateful for, in the form of a squeaky miniature human, sent here to save us all, fully human, yet fully divine. A young girl, an honourable man, a miraculous new-born.
This year, we have our own miracle. This is the fourth or fifth house we've gone after, and we were beginning to think the bank was going to turn us down, again. Instead, this is the second best Christmas present ever. (The first, obviously, being Christ. Just in case you weren't paying attention.)
God gives in abundance. Not necessarily when or what you expect, but always what is best.
Merry Christmas!
Oh yeah, we leave things to the last minute here.
Presents are (mostly) bought - the man says he will buy mine tomorrow, on Christmas Eve. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.
Turkey will be coming out of the freezer tomorrow to start defrosting, and we will go to the supermarket to get last minute food stuffs.
And best of all, the bank has agreed to give us a bunch of money, and we exchange contracts tomorrow.
Some two-thousand years ago there was a miracle that I am eternally grateful for, in the form of a squeaky miniature human, sent here to save us all, fully human, yet fully divine. A young girl, an honourable man, a miraculous new-born.
This year, we have our own miracle. This is the fourth or fifth house we've gone after, and we were beginning to think the bank was going to turn us down, again. Instead, this is the second best Christmas present ever. (The first, obviously, being Christ. Just in case you weren't paying attention.)
God gives in abundance. Not necessarily when or what you expect, but always what is best.
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
Babies are weird/clever
Gosling turned 10months earlier in December, and has just recently discovered how to roll. Or should I say re-discovered. She originally figured it out at about 4 or 5 months (I think thats right... I'm not sure of exact dates), but she kept on banging her head on the floor when she did it, so she gave up. Seriously. She didn't roll for over 5 months, even though she knew how.
Recently, she somehow discovered that she would not bang her head if she rolled on a bed. Oh how she loved that discovery. The second I lay her down, she rolls over and tries to escape. And she laughs as she's doing it. Her other recent discovery that she can drag herself forward (no crawling yet, just slugging) makes things even more interesting, as she can be halfway across the bed in the time it takes me to grab a new shirt for her.
But.
She knows that she can't roll over on the floor. She lies there and cries because she knows she can't go anywhere. If I roll her over she's off like a flash, slugging her way across the room, but she will not do it herself.
This is where the clever/weird part comes into play. Its clever that she recognises the difference between bed and floor, that she can roll on the bed with no consequences, but its weird that she won't roll from her back to her front on the floor... even though that wouldn't hurt her, and she does occasionally try to roll onto her back on the floor, banging her head and ending up screaming.
I wish I could get into her head and figure out her thought process.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Curved seams/hems - the hard way, by hand
**WARNING: Picture heavy. Click any pictures for biggerness.**
The night before my friend's wedding, I stayed over at her house, along with the three other bridesmaids, and Gosling. I was fairly certain by this point that I wasn't going to finish Gosling's dress, but I took it with me anyway, to work on while we were watching movies and eating junk. I'm a bit of a fidget, and find it very difficult to sit still - I have to be moving, all the time, and sewing counts as moving, meaning the rest of me stays fairly still, instead of constantly shifting in my seat, or bouncing my feet, or swaying my legs.
Anyway.
The other girls asked how I'd managed to get the yoke so flat - its very round, and round seams/hems have a habit of bunching and/or stretching. Thing is, I clip my seams. It takes a bit more time, but the end results are worth it. It also made the arm holes easier - clip hem and face, instead of binding with bias or trying to make the hem flat, neither of which work for me.
They didn't understand what I was talking about, and neither has anyone else I've tried to talk to about it, other than my mum (but she is a super-sewer so I would have been alarmed if she didn't understand - I'm serious, she once made a wedding dress and 7 purple tulle bridesmaid dresses).
I figure if that many people don't understand, maybe there are people out there googling how to get their seams flat, and maybe if I do this, it'll help them. It'll also provide me with a handy reference when I'm half asleep and can't remember how I did it.
So here we go!!
CURVED SEAMS/HEMS
Presumably, you have a curved piece of fabric, and either need it hemmed, or need to attach it to another piece as a seam. If you're just making a seam, you can ignore most of this, as all you need to do is CLIP.
The easiest way to hem a curve is to face it - you take another piece of fabric and use it instead of folding up your hem. So cut yourself a piece of fabric about the same shape as the curve you need hemmed. It doesn't need to be perfect, but it should be pretty close, or you'll still end up with those annoying wrinkles.
We'll start with an inside curve - like an arm hole on a sleeveless shirt.
There are two ways to do this. The first way takes longer, is harder, and (in my opinion, possibly influenced by my fear of the sewing machine) works much better if you do it by hand, but it is my preferred method, so I'm going to show you anyway. The other way will be explained with the outside curve (like the hem of a skirt) but the idea will work just as well for an inside curve. Why am I starting with the hard way? Because if you can do it this way, you can certainly do it the other way.
Mark your foldline on your fabric (if you use chalk, it doesn't matter which side - right or wrong - of the fabric you mark, as it will wash off. Do whatever is easiest for you to work with), then grab your scissors. Little ones work best.
If your curve is not a perfect circle, find the 'pointiest' bit, and cut a small triangle out of the 'hem' bit of your fabric at this place. Otherwise, just start in the middle. DO NOT CUT ALL THE WAY TO YOUR MARKED LINE.
**Note: on an inside curve like this, you CAN simply cut slits instead of triangles, but I find the triangles fray less and spread less, and if I always cut triangles, I don't have to remember whether to use triangle or slits**
**Note 2: This is the only bit you need for seams - with a slight change of order, as you sew your seam together, then clip, and tada you're done.**
Then continue all the way around your curve, cutting out triangles (or more slits). You can start each new triangle exactly where the last one ended (left side of photo), or you can leave a gap between them (right side), its entirely up to you, and doesn't really make much difference in the end. If you leave a gap and decide that your fabric is pulling too much later, you can always go back and cut more triangles (or slits if the gap is too small) in between. If you're cutting slits, just make them fairly evenly spaced, and fairly close together - about half an inch should be fine.
Now you need to tack down your hem. Fold it along your marked line, sewing as you go - big stitches, fairly close to the edge, about 1/4 inch. No need to knot the ends, as you'll just be taking it out later, but leave a decent tail so it doesn't pull out.
When you've finished, if you turn it over you'll notice the distinct lack of wrinkling or bunching. YAY, but you're not done yet. It looks very messy with that tacking stitch and the exposed edges on the inside, and will fray easily if it's put to use, so now you need to attach your facing. This is where it gets tricky, and may make you want to use the other way.
Put your facing over the inside, lining it up, and find the centre.
Turn the facing over, keeping the middle together, and pin it together. You only want it overlapping a little bit - no more than 1/4 inch. If you've done your tacking this far out, it makes a good guide.
Pin it together all the way around. It WILL be awkward and wavy. You can't help that. It will right itself once you fold it over. DON'T do the down-across-through pinning. Just poke the pin in, and push it all the way through like a nail, so you have heads on the INSIDE, on the facing, and points on the OUTSIDE - the proper fabric.
points on one side, heads on the other
points on one side, heads on the otherNow, sew it down. Easier said than done, as you only want to sew through the folded bit, not the outside bit. Sew as close to the edge as you comfortably can, and keep checking the other side to make sure you haven't gone through. Once you get a feel for the fabric, it isn't really that difficult most of the time, but if you can't manage it without going through, or you just prefer to have visible stitches on the outside, just make sure your stitches are small and neat, or use the machine so you can be absolutely certain its neat. If you really can't handle doing it by hand, the other way will work better.
TIPS:
Hand stitches: use two strands of thread, so if one breaks, the other is still there; either use backstitch the whole way, or a running/back combo - 3-4 stitches of each, alternating.
Use as similar coloured thread to your cloth as possible. That way, if you accidentally go through a little, it won't show as much.
Take out each pin just before you pass it - its easier to sew small stitches if the pins are not in the way, you don't need them any more once its sewn down, and the less pins you have, the less likely you are to stab yourself.
Once you've sewn all the way along, take out your tacking stitch, then fold down your facing. Depending on your fabric and your personality, you might want to iron it at this point. I don't bother, but might if it was a really floppy annoying satin.
So! You're almost done! All you need to do now is hem and secure your facing. This can be done all in one go, or separately. My husband went on a cleaning spree and threw out my practice cloth, so I can't demonstrate this bit for you with photos, but hopefully I can explain it properly and my awesome-mad-skillz drawings help a bit.
All in one go:
Fold over a teeny tiny little bit of the free edge of your facing, making a tiny hem so the hem is on the inside, and sew through it to your cloth. You will be left with a visible seam on the outside of your piece, but you are FINISHED!Separately:
Fold over the same teeny tiny bit, and if you really want to be particular about raw edges, fold over again so the raw edge is fully encased. Sew this hem, and only this. Do NOT sew to your cloth. Once the tiny hem is sewn, you can sew the edges down - at the edge of your piece, at any seams (so you can attach it to the internal seam and don't go through to the other side) etc.So there you go. Piece faced.
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