Write, Mama. Write.

Not an omen + a bag

I heard a weird crash early this morning (4ish... Not too loud) and went through the house investigating.  Whenever I wake up startled I check on the boy and all of the windows and doors!  Last night we had our first dinner of the season on our table outside, under the umbrella with a nice little tablecloth.  It was lovely, calm, cool and relaxing and it counted as a picnic to the boy so there was happiness all around.  This morning I glanced outside and there's a gigantic limb from an ancient maple through the table.  I'm not even sure I understand logistically how it could have ended up where it did.  T and I were out there looking and I maintained that it felt ominous, like a sign of something while T says it's just a limb that fell.  See why it's so important I found this guy?

This might be the easiest sewing project ever.  There's a link from Martha about how-to turn a pillowcase into a bag.  I found a queen-size sheet set on sale for $5 a few months ago and thought I could use the fabric for all sorts of things (plus there's my thing for stripes, you know).  One of the sheets is actually the aforementioned nice little tablecloth now, and one of the pillowcases is this new bag.  It was easy and all, but I can't quite get around the feeling that I'm holding a pillowcase on my shoulder.   It was also super-hard to get an OK picture of it which somehow makes me think there's a problem with the way the actual item presents itself to others...  It might not be long for this world.

So what did I accomplish in May? Zippers.

I was completely freaked out by the zipper thing and the first one wasn't so hot but it looks good.  The second one was a breeze (and it looks good).  Dire warnings of injury fueled my zipper worry fire (my machine's book said I could be injured) but I think I can do it now.

My pattern review for the Barcelona skirts is up now over on the Sew, Mama, Sew blog.  I've worn my skirt out and about and I'm pretty sure nobody laughed out loud.  I do think the A-line minus the lining will be the perfect skirt replacement.

What?  You can't see it?  It's there...  It's just "invisible." 

Scaffolding

There's an educational theory called "scaffolding" that always resonated with me.  You could write a dissertation on what it means and how to do it successfully (and many probably have), but my watered-down understanding always went something like this: As a teacher you try to provide adequate support for learners to reach the next step.  The idea is to provide enough support to help someone reach the next "level" in their learning, whatever that may be.  When I was young we traveled to Hong Kong and I remember these crazy scaffolding structures reaching high into skyscraper construction, made of bamboo.  The workers climbed all around them with ease though it certainly didn't look like the scaffolding shell encompassed the whole building.  Similarly with instructional scaffolding you don't build the whole thing (Reading: ta da!) for the learner but support the natural steps in the process to build confidence for their personal next step (i.e. teach a tool like finger tracking when a child is having trouble focusing on the words while learning to read). 

This, to me, implies a tremendous respect for the learner and also strikes me as being the way most people learn most things really well.  If it's all dumped on you all at once (think of algebra or building a house) you're overwhelmed.  If you work through it and there's someone nearby anticipating what you might need to know next it seems doable and natural.  As a teacher then you take your cues from the learner and it isn't so much your agenda as it is the bigger ideas and a flexible path to reach them. 

The other morning the boy made our coffee (scooping the beans, grinding them and pushing the button), then he helped me sweep and then he did dishes in his pajamas for a very long time.  Watching them while T stood nearby to guide ("Oops!... Yep, if you do that the water all ends up on the floor so you could try this instead... Oh, are you frustrated that the potato scrubber sinks all the way to the bottom? What happens if you put it in the tub first?") I had this thought that scaffolding is what parents do best.  Like all good educational theory it seems to derive from what ("good," I suppose I should add) parents naturally do when they are aware of their kids.  When the boy is working on a puzzle it makes sense to guide him with the step he needs in the moment ("Try to turn, turn, turn the piece.") and as he learns to talk more and more we provide the language cues he needs along the way (i.e. I notice we tend to naturally break things down to lots of two- and three-word sentence repetitions now where it used to be a focus on one word repetition).

I thought about this for a day or two and then had this realization that the boy teaches me about how to be a mama through scaffolding too.  Just when I feel I have it down (whatever "it" is) he mixes things up and teaches me the next step of patience or how to be a good mama to my little boy as opposed to any other child.  I learn the next part of who he is and what he needs to get to his next step, and I help him develop his confidence along the way.  He learns the next part of who I am and what I need, somehow, and I gradually develop my confidence as a mother.  So I hope what guides our days isn't my agenda but more my overarching wishes for the bigger ideas (i.e. honesty, happiness, kindness, independence, confidence, family, nature...) and that we have a flexible, respectful journey as a child and a mama, teaching and learning together.      

Looking through my great aunt's scrap book with the boy I realize this is how it's been for a long time, this teaching and learning and scaffolding.  We have a few more steps 'til the boy can wash the Blue Willow though.

This long weekend

We've been playing and working, and it's sort-of hard to tell which is which.  Those are the best sorts of weekends.

Two Barcelona skirts?  Check.  The pattern review'll post later this week.  Two real-life, grass + blanket picnics?  Check.  Fun with Daddy?  Visits with grandparents?  The final episode in our three month long West Wing marathon (sad, because my fictional political life was lovely)?  Pajamas all around 'til three?  Check, check, check, check. 

Zippers, zippers... This weekend was all about zippers.

Embrace the banana bread

Thanks, everybody... I feel better about humanity now!  And while I'm at it I'll offer up a blanket apology for the email you get from me about an average of three weeks after you've commented.  It's about two weeks and six and a half days past you caring about my response (probably) but I'm slow.  My "Happy Spring" cards with a cute picture of the boy bundled in a warm coat and hat are officially one season late now, sitting next to me here at the computer.  At least I'm consistent. 

The boy is just fine.  After I wrote about our BAM yesterday he woke up and started yelling, "Mama! Mama!" from his crib.  I opened his door and he yelled, "NIUak, NIUak!!" (yesterday's version of "picnic") while pumping his arms in the air.  It was time for our first picnic of the day and time for me to stop worrying about his head.  He's fine.

So, the other day in our little parenting class the topic was nutrition again.  The teacher mentioned something about how you can really put any veggie in a banana bread recipe and someone turned to me and asked if I made banana bread.  It was one of those moments where I thought the person sort-of meant, "Get a load of this... She thinks we have time to sit around baking banana bread."  I think the woman who asked me is really cool and down-to-earth and has a great take on lots of things so a part of me wanted to be able to respond in what I thought she would think was a cool way.  You know, "Oh, yeah... Really...  Like there's time for that."  I wanted to connect with her as a busy, cool mama.  Only T knows how utterly hilarious it is that she asked me if I make banana bread because there is almost always a loaf or two on our kitchen counter.  It's a good way to use up dying veggies and the boy's still on his banana strike but he loves the bread.  I keep buying the darn things and they keep turning brown/black.  I won't touch them if they have a single spot of brown so the banana burden's all T's unless I bake. 

I really do like baking too.  It's calming, nurturing, satisfying (keep in mind my hard and fast distinction between baking and cooking).  I offered up platitudes: "Well, I'm home you know, and we're always trying to save money... And..."  Let's face it though, I bake banana bread all the time.  Through the discussion I thought a lot about how much people go out to eat and how, even when they're home, a lot of food people "make" is processed meals heated in the microwave.  We're just all so busy and everything seems to take so long.  When things can be easy we like to accept the easiness.  I've thought about that banana bread moment several times throughout the week and decided it's just one more step in my never-ending effort to grow up and accept my totally uncool nature.  I'm outside the norm.  I can list out just about every single ingredient we eat each day because I combine them all.  I cook and bake for my family every meal, every day.  I sorta, kind-of like doing it.

I guess these days I'm all about passing on my lack of hipness to the next generation.  Some new, small aprons debuted during nap time today and I like the stripes.  A little one could wear this and bake banana bread to his heart's content.  Cool. 

Domesticity + a fall

We got a little carried away with cleaning and sorting yesterday and by we, I probably mean I did and the boy decided it'd be just fine to tag along.  I think I often feel like we have to do things for him or go places when, really, he wants to be involved in the real jobs of family life.  He helped me put eight cups of flour in the big bowl for a recipe from that collection I found (I'm dubious... Eight cups? But I'll let you know how it turns out).  We did lots of laundry and went through my closet, the dresser, under the big trundle bed (minus the trundle there's lots of space to accumulate under there) and through all of the crafty-type stuff in this house.  He organized my shoes and I know he felt important.  He's a "big boy" as he tells me all the time now and I'm a "big girl" and we did some big work.

Then we had a fall.  I'm not talking about a figurative fall from domesticity or some such thing but a flat-out fall on the sidewalk downtown.  After the "bagel store" we were on a busy section of the sidewalk so I held the boy sort-of in front of me.  Then, all of a sudden, we were crashing straight forward onto the ground.  T kept saying over and over last night as I cried that it was just an accident and accidents happen.  Then I would say, "But I should have been paying better attention" or "Maybe I had too much coffee" or "I should only look down at the ground when I'm walking with him" and T would just say, "It was an accident and accidents happen."  The boy's OK and I really think it's stunning what instincts do for you because there was no time to think it through.  I'm pretty sure I took the brunt of it on my knees and elbows, scooted my hand up his back to his neck, and then his head hit but I don't think, now, that it was too much of a hit.  He did bite his tongue so blood was everywhere.  Not to gross anyone out or anything but my pants were completely sliced up and blood really was everywhere on both of us and nobody stopped to ask if we were OK or if they could help.  You would have stopped, right?  I'm trying not to think of it because it makes me sad. 

After I determined that the boy didn't need a 911 call (um, who would have called?... It was so weird that everyone kept ignoring us) we crossed the street to a little restaurant that had closed.  I just barged in and asked for water because it was the only thing I could think of to make the boy feel any better.  I have to say that the young guy in there was very nice, though I'd just dripped blood all over his freshly mopped floor, and said he had little brothers and sisters and knew what it was like.  The boy and I just sat on the curb with our water until I felt like I could walk and then drive.  There was a little pinkish/red spot on the boy's head where it made contact but no swelling so I'm pretty sure that part wasn't too bad and it makes me sort-of sob to think about how close it was to being pretty darn bad.  The consulting nurse I called said to check on him every two hours to make sure he was responsive in his sleep so I've done that now and he seems fine, if in pain from his tongue. 

I don't know why I've written all of this out because it certainly isn't cheery and who really cares, but it's probably some sort-of therapy to convince myself that T's right (it was an accident and accidents happen... I'll just keep repeating that) and the boy's OK.  He is.  I'm still freaking out at times from the choking incident a few months back so now here's another reminder about how absolutely human we all are and how unbelievably scary being a mama can be and about how much I love this little boy.  I love this little boy.  His retelling for you would be a sad, sort-of wistful and cute look.  He'd shake his head back and forth and say, "Mama...  BAM!"

Splat mats, a pattern review, writing and some custom orders (how cool is that?!) complete the creative mess around here.   I've never made a pink mat before... 

There was a deer in our little patch of front lawn this morning and we've never had a deer here (too many coyotes in the woods behind our house, I've assumed).  I feel a bit out of it from waking up so regularly to check on the boy so was out of sorts this morning when I saw the deer and it felt dream-like.  T mentioned that Gabriel Garcia Marquez saw a deer on a subway or bus or some such place and was convinced of its reality and of his need to write.  Interesting. 

Back to our regularly scheduled crafty, happy home and mama musings tomorrow, I hope.  I'm off to email the city about a dangerous two inch difference in sidewalk height downtown.

Shall I overwhelm you with pictures now?

We barely finished dinner when the sun came out last night.  I hardly had to look at T and he was saying, "Yes, yes... Go outside and take pictures!"  I make dinner every night and we all sit down together every night so I didn't feel too bad about skipping outside to take pictures of my swap goodies from my new NW blogging friends.  Take a look here, here, here and here if you're interested in what these talented and generous women can create.

The ribbon is part of a strange and much appreciated windfall of happy luck we've had lately.  I popped into a thrift store I'd never been to as a bribe to myself (you know, if you do 'A' then I'll let you do 'B'-- What? You don't bargain with yourself?).  I had five minutes and a florist had gotten rid of all of their ribbon.  Cue glorious music here.

My grandparents sorted through one closet and came up with piles upon piles of wonderful things to share.  There are lots of vintage linens with beautiful embroidery, and many of them are torn or stained and need a new life (a ha!).

The boy and I keep looking through my great-aunt's childhood scrapbook.

One of the other things we found at G + G's was this little number for my birth.  My grandpa said, "Oh, I made that!"  I've got a talented family...

We so appreciate all of these treasures.

A little Saturday chat/swap + likely a bit too much introspection on my part

Saturday I headed up to Seattle for, among other things, a bit of a NW crafty bloggers' meet-up.  I felt like I was driving to the blind date I never had because it's one thing to put yourself out there here but it feels entirely different do so in person.  The lovely + über-talented Dacia organized it all, even going so far as to make incredibly delicious cupcakes for us all, and she suggested that we all bring something handcrafted for the others.  These were my contribution (oilcloth-covered blank journals + checkbook covers) and although I'd been thinking about them since around here I didn't finish them until after 1 a.m. late the night before.  I had this moment of disappointment when I thought... Hmmm... Maybe nobody really does checks any more?...  What was I thinking?

I'll have to struggle with the boy (he loves them all) to round up my amazing goodies from this In-Person-No-Postage-Way-Fun swap the next time we get sun (so, August?) in order to do them justice in a photo.  It was fun to sit with such talented women and to hear their thoughts on blogging and creating.  I think I was definitely the novice in the group in a multitude of ways and it was interesting to hear from people further down a road I just started traveling. 

I've been thinking a lot about why I do this little blog and what it's about and how it reflects who I am and about purpose and intention and...  T always says I just need to chill out and have a beer.  It's true, I do.  It's also true that my personality is such that I don't like to put myself out there until something is just the way I want it.  As in, I don't like being wrong or not-quite-right.  None of us really likes that, right?  But I am so terribly/horribly tough on myself if it's not "right."  It was funny watching the boy as he learned to walk and now as he's saying more and more; he doesn't like to do things in front of others until he can really do them well.  With walking and talking he would practice alone in his crib when he didn't think anyone could see or hear.  I think I'm the same way a lot of the time, plus a bit shy to boot. 

I'm also the rip-up-your-childhood-journal-type or the just-flat-out-delete-the-first-second-through-
ninth-draft person or (oh, let's just say "and") the take-out-the-eight-inches-of-knitting-because-I-don't-
have-the-patience-to-figure-out-how-to-get-that-
slipped-stitch-back person.  Having a blog, even a little-itty-bitty blog, means that I don't just "practice in the crib" all the time.  I make stuff that sort-of flops and then sometimes now I actually take a picture of it and write about it.  I hit "publish" when things are not all the way "right" and I don't let myself delete.  I put pictures up here that aren't what I was going for and I talk about parts of me I don't necessarily like.  I think about process and growth a lot.  It's really, really good for me and it's probably, in some way, really, really good for the boy.  I love that part of him that likes to do things well before he has the confidence to do them really well in front of others.  He's quite thoughtful, and he's aware of himself and others in a really wonderful way.  I don't want him to see too much in me, however, of that -nth degree of worry about risking a part of yourself when you put yourself out in the world. 

So I suppose, in a small way, that's a part of what blogging is for me and it's a part of why I braved I-5 on Saturday in torrential rain and movie-version-heaven-like sun glares to meet some new people.  This blog will change as I change and sometimes the writing sucks and sometimes I'm a little proud of what I've done here or there; all of that's important and good.  Oh, and it makes me write, I've met some pretty amazing people online and now in real life and it nags me a bit to create more... Good stuff.

Just as an aside because I wasn't distracted by having to sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" 80 times on this last drive up to Seattle so I had lots of time to think about this: People might think they're capable multi-taskers with enough caffeine (this is the PNW, after all) in them to have lightening-quick reflexes and witty and engaging personalities at the same time.  But NOBODY is good enough (really, really good enough) to drive between 70-80 miles an hour in a curvy construction zone with lots of traffic in torrential rain and sun glares and talk on a cell phone at the same time.  Or text at the same time.  Everyone but me seemed to be doing this so I was the only one who realized we were near tragic, collective, massive casualty every five seconds or so.  People used to just wait 'til they got to where they were going to call or write and it worked just fine so why can't we just all decide to do that now?

Nyuik nyuik!

It's been raining constantly but we had nine full-fledged picnics this weekend.  The rally cry of "Nyuik nyuik!" precedes a big parade of blankets, food, Tupperware, spoons and stuffed animal guests.  For some reason Giraffe always needs to wear mittens to a picnic.  If T and I are lucky, we're invited too.

Flubby attempt at coming up with something on my own

I've wanted to make some Stardust Baby Shoes since I found Joanna's site long ago.  I've had the link there forever to remember and then I downloaded the instructions so they'd be on the computer.  There's this little street fair coming up in our town though, and my sister and I are toying with a little idea in the back of our minds.  We want to share a booth.  I want to sell stuff I've sewn and my sister wants to sell some of her art. 

So anyway, I don't know if any of this will happen and we're still just thinking but I decided that I should try out some new things to have a little variety in the "booth" (it can't be all splat mats, you know, and booth is in quotes because what in the world will we use to display?).  As with most shared patterns the Startdust shoes are for personal use only, I believe, so I took on the crazy task of trying to make my own pattern.  Crazy because I've never really made patterns before and now I have not-quite-right patterns for hats and purses (for me) and little shoes in the works.  Crazy because I don't know what I'm doing.  I got out the old Robeez (a sad, sad day when the lions had to go away) to figure it all out and I tried using elastic thread instead of elastic. 

I was really good and super-honest, with a truckload full of integrity and will not look at Joanna's instructions.  Nope.  That's why these little ones aren't quite right!  The ankle part is too low and the rick-rack on the ankle part totally flubs the elasticity (but I was trying to hide my first attempts at elastic thread stitching-- not pretty).  I'm also not happy with the seams inside the shoes as I really want these to be soft for babies...  I'll have to go about stitching them together a bit differently, I think.  Also, there are no babies handy for fittings so I'll have to bring them to our next playgroup to try them on a real little one. 

Joanna's a genius.

This is when we do what we can

Amidst hats and browsing on Flickr, putting off the dishes and laundry and shower for just a moment longer, I stopped by Sweet Juniper yesterday and it led me to Sweet|Salty.  Kate's new baby twins are fighting and breathing and changing the world a bit already, and all day and all night long I couldn't get that family out of my mind.  When the boy woke up I held him so tight.  I regretted every little time (there were a few... yes) I bemoaned his decision to make a late, late arrival 19 months ago on the day he was to be induced.  All of the little mama and life moments were amplified yesterday; sometimes life just stops you cold with how hard it can be, how joyous, how miraculous children and medicine and mothers and fathers and writing really are... 

I was going to write about a little shoe pattern I've been working on and all I've been thinking about is this.  Dutch says the "why" for stopping by Kate's in a really wonderful way, so you'll just have to read his "Blogging at its best" post.  And for Kate and her whole family I just keep sending good thoughts to them; I really do believe that when you can't (or even when you can) bake or hug or whatever to try to make it better (or just be there in the same space for a person), positive thoughts sent out in the universe can be powerful.

So let's all send those thoughts.   

Jaunty hat (for Elephant?)

Me: I made you a hat!
The Boy: No...
M: Yes!  I made you a hat.  See?  It has dot, dot, dots all over it.
B: (Long pause...) No.
M: Let's try it on you and see if it fits.
B: NO!
M: No?  I think it'd look pretty good on you.  It's just like your old one but it's bigger and it has dots on it.  See all of the dots?  It's blue, red... There's orange...
B: No, no.  No hat.  (Runs off to put the hat on Elephant)

Once we did get it on I discovered that a 90-whateverish-percentile head is even bigger than my calculations so another one'll be in the works soon.  For now (keep in mind we're still on our West Wing kick) I think Elephant looks like he just got back from a Republican National Convention.  Or the circus. 

All lined up + unsettled

This will be: two Amy Butler Barcelona skirts.

Nothing is secure but life... transition... the energizing spirit... No truth so sublime but it may be trivial tomorrow in the light of new thoughts.  People wish to be settled... only so far as they are unsettled is there any hope. -Emerson

I've been antsy lately and I don't really know why.  Part of it is that still slightly untethered feeling of not being connected to the school year for the second year of my life since kindergarten.  I've noticed (since being home with the boy) feeling a bit out of sorts when school starts up in the fall and then when it gears up to end in late spring.  When you're in the rhythm of it as a student it just seems natural, and then as a teacher the "gearing up" is just magnified at these two points.  The year always seemed to start in the fall and end with late spring for me rather than the January-December year most people seem to recognize.  So while resolutions and thoughts of finished and unfinished business and hopes for time to do what's important usually tend to happen in January, it always happens now for me. 

This will be: a log cabin patchwork bag.

Yesterday morning I ran more than I ran the time before (my only running goal at this point!) and then we walked in the early morning sun.  The boy enjoyed the diving jay birds and the many "dah dahs" (doggies) and I tried to remind myself that feeling antsy or out of sorts is often a natural precursor to good things.  I tried to remember that too much "settled" always equals "boring" in my book. 

This will be: roll-up changing pads.

Every time we see a bus or a dog now the boy says, "Wun moh!" (One more!"). Usually the current bus or dog is still there and he's asking for the next one all ready and I had this thought yesterday that I hope he doesn't get my impatience/unsettling/out of sorts thing.  Most days I'm truly happy in the moment, but the past leaves an imprint on your rhythms and the future always seems open with possibility.  I suppose all three of these markers of time are gifts in their own way; past, present and future... To feel both content and unsettled is probably a good thing.


This will be: a purse, a smock, a bib.

I wish I remembered who it was, but someone wrote awhile back about how crafty-oriented blogs had transitioned to showing a big "Ta Da!" at the end of a project rather than unfinished products along the way.  I love seeing the end, but the promise and the process of projects is the big stuff around here lately.  In school I always had clotheslines running near the ceiling to hang artwork and such, and yesterday I was thinking that some day our little dream studio will need something similar.   


This will be: a bib, a hat + infant "shoes."

There are lots of things lined up, ready to move onto the next step.  This isn't nearly all of them!

A little bit of chatting as I stall for time to create

I love, love, love Mother's Day.  T made everything special.  We celebrated with lots of family and the boy woke me up (late, late... Yippee!) yelling, "Pop! Pop! Pop!" with his arms thrown into the air (indicating that I should come into the kitchen for breakfast toast). 

I have nothing substantive craft-wise to share but I'm working on it (and I'm diggin' the elastic thread I found in my free hour of craft store shopping yesterday).  So... Here's what I've noticed lately:

• This is a neat site I found recently about working outside of the norm (whatever normal is these days), geared especially for women.

• Supa mentioned this in a comment the other day: Look at these darling kimono-style shirts from Martha.  I also love these alphabet cards.  That Martha... She's good.  My grandma just copied off p.62 from the June MS Living (I don't get that magazine) and I'm going to add a pillowcase bag to my pile of projects in the huge stack on the washer. 

• Look at my sister's Neighbor artwork.  T took the day off Friday and we ended up at the zoo after bailing on a disastrous northbound I-5 attempt to see the new sculpture park in Seattle.  I never made mine.  Anyhow, Britta's artwork is amazing.

• I keep thinking about this quilt.  Beautiful.

Mothers

My Mother- My mom would do anything for me and often does.  She loves me no matter what.  She’s smart, beautiful, creative...  It’s not unusual for me to call and ask her what she’s done and have her respond that she made twenty jars of raspberry jam, whipped up a bathrobe for Dad, baked six loaves of bread or eight apple pies, that she’s tiled the bathroom floor or given a lecture at a conference.  Most people I’ve ever heard talk about such things list off the ways they want to be different from their mothers and I just strive bit by bit to be as good a mom as she is.  I have her same corny sense of humor and she loves this little boy as much as she loves me.   

Grandma (Grammy)- I remember working in the kitchen at Grandma and Grandpa’s Victorian bed & breakfast.  Grandma let me make up my own recipes for my own creations, like cookies with crazy combinations of flour and peanut butter and lots of sugar and vanilla.  I got to vacuum the stairs with the dust buster and fold the toilet paper end into a triangle.  I always felt so capable with these jobs and projects.  Grandma always, to this day, makes sure I know about the history of things and how they’re connected to me.  This means I know about the Morris chair and Eastlake chest in our living room (once in her home) and when I’m somewhere with plaques I hear her voice reading them aloud as I read about zoo animals or art or historical sites.  She has an amazing way of talking with children with so much respect and kindness and she creates beauty all around her.   

Grandma- Anytime I’m in the quiet outdoors I think about Grandma.  Grandma and Grandpa’s farm is still the place where I feel the most free and the most myself.  My thoughts of Grandma are full of hiking with her through their back acres past the creek, talks over her yummy blueberry slump with decaf coffee in the evening, the multitude of incredible paper maché cows I found tucked away in a closet while looking for towels…  I see her red vest and walking stick and hear her stories of a Minnesota childhood and feel her pride in me.  I still feel like I’m truly a “clean picker” when it’s blueberry time.  I miss her deeply.

My Mother-in-Law- The only time I ever get compliments on anything I wear is when my mother-in-law bought it for me.  She always seems to know what I’d love without me even telling her.  She heads off daily to teach high school kids who don’t really want to learn about how creative they really are.  They seldom thank her now but I know they’ll feel somewhere down the line that they’re artistic, in big part because of what she does in her art classes. You can easily gain many a pound in a single visit with the gastronomic treats she creates.  It’s incredible and so nurturing.  There are moments when she’s watching my husband and the boy and I know we share such a strong love for these guys.

I’ve learned how to be me and I’ve learned how to be a mother from all of these women.  They all teach or taught and they’re all artists, painting, creating with paper, sewing, acting, working with tiles, collage, paper maché…  mothering, nurturing, caring.  They all love this little boy like I love this little boy.  I know things from them like how important it is to have a cow in your kitchen for good luck.  So today we will spend the afternoon with Grammy, Mom, and Linda and we’ll have good food and we’ll laugh together about the boy and we’ll miss Grandma.  Happy Mother’s Day to the mothers in my life and to you too, whether you care for a child, a neighborhood, colleagues, a garden:  Happy Mother’s Day.

A thinking, interesting, smart, conversationally-adept adult

Yesterday was one of those days where we didn't have anything much to do.  Don't get me wrong...  We did a lot.  We did laundry and played outside for hours and played inside for hours.  We read lots of books and built things for the animals out of blocks.  We had fun, but I really didn't talk much to adults all day and evening long.  I didn't get to read anything and I didn't even listen to the radio. 

Lately I feel a little like I'm constantly negotiating with someone who speaks some strange dialect of a language I don't know.  The stakes aren't missal crisis high, but major meltdowns occur with the slightest accidental protocol gaff.  Even when things are going swimmingly at the summit I'm oftentimes really confused.  Yesterday the boy and I had a ten minute conversation where the only words he said was, "Nana"  and "No."  He was in his booster seat eating lunch and there were bananas and banana bread out on the counter.

The Boy: Nana
Me: Do you want some banana?
B: No, no, no.
M: Banana bread?
B: Nana.
M: You want some banana bread?
B: No, no.
M: Do you mean "Nana" like the Nana you call on the telephone? (Grandma?)
B: No.
M: I don't know what you want. 
B: Nana, nana, nana.
M: OK.
B: NO! NANA! (pointing to bananas)
M: OK, you want some banana?  Every time I give you banana you don't eat it lately.  Do you really want some?
B: No.  No Nana.  No.

You get the idea.  Ten minutes.  At the end of the day I felt a little brain-dead and even when I talked to other adults during the day it didn't feel natural.  I felt like I had to try to remember how to do it.  If you're home all day with little one(s) how do you manage to stay a thinking, interesting, smart, conversationally-adept adult?

The most creative thing I did yesterday was finagle the boy from dinner to playtime to bath to bed in under an hour, and that was with T's help.  I did lay down for about two minutes in the grass under the trees and that was fairly restorative. 

In the bag and in the works

I've been eager to make one of these since doing the feature on the darling bags over at Jumilla Bugs awhile back.  I had enough scraps of the red flourish oilcloth and went to town last night.  As with everything I'm doing lately I think I could do it way better next time.  Sewing is just a lot of learning for me recently, which I suppose is a good thing (as long as you have some jazz to listen to as you rip seams... again).  I'd love to make a few of these and break out my new pinking shears for all of the edges.  I wanted these to look pretty "finished" so I reversed the seams from the directions at Jumilla Bugs (scroll down to "since you asked"), and had a time trying to get the bias tape to look good.  I do like the pockets though (functional) and the vintage button closures (no Velcro). 

What else?  Oh, crafty people who create things for their kids only have girls?  No, of course not.  I'm looking for summer clothes for the boy and there are issues: we don't have much money, I don't want my little boy looking like he's heading off to battle (wearing camoflauge) and most of what I can find in our price range looks horribly uncomfortable.  Last summer he had this little thrifted H & M romper of a lightweight cotton and he was so utterly adorable in it.  So adorable I put him in it just about every summer day.  I know he's older but he's still pretty darn cute.  If you don't have a little boy you might not realize that every single pattern ever made for children is for little girl clothes.  An exaggeration (remember my dramatic rounding) but I'll soon have a smocket for every day of the week for a girl and I have a boy.  After much searching I finally found this pattern and I might make a go of it (here's what I told T: picture good fabric, no pockets, shorts-style...  Cute?).

In the interest of spontaneity

We took full advantage of a sunny day yesterday and picked "Dada" up for a "nuyk nuyk" dinner (picnic, of course). 

We should have brought him some sandals!

Next time, because there will definitely be a next time. 

Smockeduo + space to take little, rounded-down steps

We had an ambitious, new music teacher one year and a first grade performance of The Twelve Days of Christmas.  Lack of practice and lack of any visual cues led to this incredibly disastrous show where the kids could have been singing Old McDonald's Farm for all the audience could tell.  I still cringe a little inside when I think about it (performance #2 was redeemingly parent-grandparent-audience-worthy...  Phew!). 

I feel a little like that lately.  I'm not a visual learner/rememberer like my husband but I do feel like there's a list lurking around out there that's "Twelve Days of Christmas" long of things I need to do, say, feel and remember.  Luckily this weekend we crossed some good stuff off the list I need to write; listening to the thud of the invites in the mailbox for the big June bash was nice.  While the boy napped yesterday T and I just sat sipping coffee, talking about life.  Somehow in that space it was easy to think about the next five years or even ten.  Our business was thriving, our family's schedule clicked in a happy though busy fashion, our new home was looking good and the studio was in the works.  We were traveling.  We were creative.

That space is so important.  We need time to dream and plan and sit in a still room with our thoughts, together.  Somehow I need to find that for myself too.  A laundry list of projects and hopes probably won't do it but a little structure/reminder can be a good thing  (oh, jeesh...  You can't even see the couch for the laundry right now).  I always round up or down in the most conservative fashion.  Like if a bill is $122 I'll mentally think of it as being $200.  I'm a dramatic mental rounder.  This means that if there's stuff lurking out there that needs to get done it naturally becomes a million bits of stuff in my mind. 

So I'm trying to have the space for the planning and dreaming and start small too.  It's a fine line because I do like to be busy but I don't like to feel too overwhelmed.  I want to run on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays with T and the boy.  I want to drink less coffee.  I will finish one custom splat mat, two Mother's Day presents and a pair of booties this week.  I'll clean the bathroom and organize the shelves above the washer and dryer.  I'm going to try to buy socks for T and the boy, write at least one interview and mop this floor.  I will laugh, sing, dance, explore, draw and read with the boy. 

Maybe I can cut the fabric for Smocket #3 and the new bag I've planned out.  I do like Smocket #2.  I'd never, ever have thought of myself as someone who'd choose an orangey look but, as my sister said in the fabric store the other day, maybe what I like is changing.

Oh, and Illustration Friday is "Neighbor" this week and my submission is beautiful (in my head).

Is that small?  It leaves out all of the mundane stuff (like dinner).  I think I can pull it off without sounding like there's a "Baa, baa here and a baa, baa there."    

Happy toddler days

• Painting
• Playing (with the Little People, trucks, stuffed animals, blocks, kitchen, balls, shakers, pop-ups, rollers, Tupperware...)
• Enjoying
• Twirling
• Laughing
• Dancing
• Listening
• Running
• Falling
• Sleeping (we all fell asleep at 8 o'clock last night!)
• Drawing
• Washing
• Folding
• Reading
• Talking (he said, "Bih buh nah, Dada"-- "Big book down, Daddy!")
• Cooking
• Chasing

• Happy

Technique + freedom + little birds

I remember working especially hard on an 8 1/2 x 11 inch wood block print in art class in Japan.  We had to include people in it (people are hard) and there were all sorts of important techniques we had to use.  I placed my best friend Sacchi with her school uniform in a school scene and I ended up really liking it.  My art teacher was totally and completely disappointed in me, however.  At least, in all fairness, that's how I remember it.  I hadn't adequately used the techniques and didn't translate the image the way I was supposed to.   

This was a terrible disappointment to everybody (again, as I remember it) because art was something I was supposed to be able to do.  Unlike subjects such as social studies or even math (where I was years behind the Japanese students), art and PE were supposed to be the places where I wouldn't be language-lost.   Hours upon hours upon days of flopping hard onto my back on the grass as I tried to learn a cartwheel had already taught me that I wasn't the most coordinated kid on the block, and PE was a LOT of gymnastics.  We had dance routines and routines with our head ribbons and we always had to arch our backs to make those bleepin' bridges that every other kid could make.  My body just can't do that.  And in spankies (our girl's PE uniform)?  It's humiliating.

So I was sort-of counting on art being, well, less humiliating.  Something I created that I really actually liked turned out "wrong" though, and I think in the end this brought me a bit more shame. 

When I taught I found it was pretty easy to, even accidentally, get kids to produce what you want art-wise.  I felt like the real teaching is in giving kids a chance to be proud of what they create which means giving a little technique and a little freedom.  Too much technique and every piece in the room looks the same.  Too much freedom and the kids (likely and often) won't be proud of what they've created because it just doesn't come close to their vision.  One year we made a class quilt and the neighboring class made a class quilt.  Ours was not very "pretty," really, and theirs was gorgeous.  The contrast was striking.  But my first graders did every little piece of sewing themselves on my machine and with their hands, and they learned things and they felt like it was their quilt.  They learned techniques.  They were proud.  When you visit different early-elementary classrooms you can see how different philosophies about this translate visually into classroom environments. 

I think you need both.  Only in those times where a bit of technique and a lot freedom collide can you have moments of brilliance.  If you don't allow yourself the opportunity to step beyond the structure, you take a chance in being less proud of what you create.  You might accidentally subtract opportunities for brilliance.

So, anyhow, last night I was looking for our lino cutting materials and couldn't find them.  I had the tools though, so I used a potato.  T, of course, didn't scoff at me wanting to use the tools and he didn't say, "But don't you remember that you can't do block printing?  You tried back in junior high and it didn't work?"  He just helped me look for the stuff.  My birds are nothing like I envisioned but they were fun and I think I'm deciding many, many years later that it's OK to not adequately translate the techniques once you have a few down and it's OK not to translate the image the way I was supposed to and, really probably the most important "lesson," that it's OK to disappoint others.  I have to give myself a little freedom.

All that from some cheery little birds!  Phew. 

May craftiness

I had visions of May Day bouquets on front door handles but somehow the first of May has come and gone!  There are lots of big and little things happening in May around here.  We're knee-high in our own print shop-like pile of invites, envelopes and direction cards for the big 60th Wedding Anniversary and 80th Birthdays Bash (those special words require caps, don't you know?).

There's also a ton of fun happening with Skirt Month.  You did know it was Skirt Month, didn't you?  Megan has led the way with the sew-along, my pattern review is in the works and there are lots of fun features and tutorials planned.  This little number (below) was created by someone, and luckily they had my measurements, style and budget in mind (a $2 thrifting maybe-it'll-fit buy).  This one has little blue diagonal lines (hard to see in my washed-out pic) that meet exactly everywhere on the skirt.  How do you do that?  It's pretty great, but I'm still holding out for the Barcelona (now in my hot little hands) as a perfect skirt replacement.  My sister's getting the layered look and I'm getting the A-line.  Woo-hoo!  Of course, that means I have to sew a piece of clothing that someone else'll actually wear, so we'll see about that.

Mom called the smocket an apron and I suppose that's what it really is...  An overlay?  A dress?  A smock?  An apron?  I like it even more now.  I headed out at 10ish last night for some emergency bias tape and found some darling fabric screaming, "Smocket!  We want to be smockets!"  So, no little girls in sight and you're probably right to be a little concerned about my mental state, but we have more smockets in the works around here (piled on and under the invites).  I impulsively submitted the smocket to Tie One On (it's what gave me the idea to use rick-rack on the pocket in the first place) and got a little thrill to see it in the Rick-Rack gallery.  I already know what I'm doing for the May/June Tie One On.  Lately T keeps saying that I'm getting so domestic.  We just bust up laughing every time.   I need to work on the cooking and cleaning part of that!

I have a dozen or so of the (above) covers in the works for a special event, and I wasn't totally happy with this little prototype.  They're covering books with blank pages for notes, journaling or whatever, and I think there will be some checkbook covers to go along with them.  Anyhow, lots of ideas for improvements along the way.  I decided I'm a big fan of bias tape.

Most of the sewing around here lately is of the splat mat variety.  I get a lot of satisfaction out of sending splat mats around the country but they aren't the most thrilling daily post: "Look, I made another splat mat.  Ta da!"  I've been going back and forth in my mind about how and what I want to post.  T says I just need to sit down and write.  That's the part that really does it for me (hence, Write Mama Write, I suppose).  I do like the extra little push this space gives me to infuse our lives with a bit more creativity, and I never want it to be a site that only pumps out stuff for the shop.  Trying to run a business (even if it's small, like teeny-tiny small), especially when you're a mama at home with little ones, can easily become everything extra.  I just don't want splat mats to be my everything extra.

If they were, how could I contemplate joining my sis in Illustration Friday? 

Stop + listen

I don't know which one was first.  I think it started when our CD player stopped reading disks.  Then our beloved iPod died a sad-Mac-face death.  The DVD player's remote mysteriously stopped all functioning so it's effectively dead because you can't control it any other way (why make something 100% reliant on a remote?).  The boy accidentally loved his little CD player too much and it's kaput now too.  Somehow along the way we had to listen to music from the laptop if we wanted any music at all. 

We don't have cable and we've come to love a TV-less (aside from those Netflix treats) life.  Somehow, though, we eased into a too-quiet existence.  As each music-sharing device died we just adjusted; tinny, quiet tunes from the laptop became normal and even that was a rare occurrence.   I sing all day long, so there's that, but it's different.

All of a sudden out of the blue we were gifted with music (a brand-spankin' new stereo) and it's as if we couldn't see all that well and someone gave us glasses.  There's still the silence and the quiet, because that's important, but there's beautiful music at the touch of a button.  Turning the dial up to about three gives us a dance party throughout the little house (we wondered last night just how high it would go and we still don't know).  Getting ready for a dreaded event?  I just popped in a little Bob Marley and we were laughing and twirling in no time.  Easing into a quiet nap?  Elizabeth Mitchell has us tripping off to stories, happy to transition.  A little Taj Mahal for breakfast, Huey Lewis when there's cleaning to be done...  We have the oddest assortment of music we love and it's back.

I've known this at different times in my life, that music matters deeply and that you can impact your mood and your day with your music.  In a classroom it's like magic to watch 25 kids settle as they listen to Iz, or perk up with some Beatles.  I just forgot how I need to settle and perk up too; somehow I forgot about the importance of music in our little family's life. 

This picture is from the Children's Museum, one of the boy's favorite places to visit.  This delivery truck is the tip of the store, fairy dentist office, kitchen, flower shop, ambulance, tugboat, tree house, stage, vet office, toddler area, art room, water table, construction zone iceberg.  Anyhow, the boy is telling me to, "STOP!" all the time now.  All through the day he wants me to "STOP!" and it's always yelled.  It has a little to do with our ongoing love affair with "Go, Dog. Go!" and a little to do with his efforts to control every single little thing that's said or done in his vicinity lately, but as far as I'm concerned it's just a nice reminder to take time to stop.  Stop to enjoy the boy and all of his exhausting, hilarious efforts.  Stop to walk in the drizzle.  Stop to admire my husband's newly clean-shaven and handsome face.  Stop to create, to laugh... Stop to listen to the music.