June 29, 2009
· Filed under I sew., I'm Momma; this is my family.
Two short days after agreeing that our window air conditioning units would not be necessary this year, we witnessed the folly of such a ridiculous thought. It was hot. For days and days. Or more importantly, it seems, it was humid. So humid that our furniture, a classy blend of college chic futon and grown up, we-have-a-baby-now plush, revealed the pet odors lingering just below the surface.
So humid that I declared a beach emergency and we met Daddio at the closest sandy respite. So humid that I ignored the important concept of Bedtime, on a day that had missed the other critical component of sanity, Nap, inviting too-tired, shrieking Crazy Girl to take the place of my sweet daughter. Heat clearly makes us do crazy things, like forget Daddio’s swim trunks at home, inadvertently making him do penance at the beach in jeans. Still sorry, Daddio.
But it was the perfect opportunity to try out the beach bag I made days before. It features a burlap coffee sack and a repurposed tablecloth gleaned on a romantic “Date Night at Goodwill” excursion (the first, and still only, foray out sans-children since Baby 2). A quick project, meant to scratch the “instant gratification” itch and give me a sense of satisfaction, it instead served to knock my over-confident Sewing Swagger down a notch and remind me of the importance of measuring. A bag is a bag, right? The bigger the better? Not with skinny little straps like that, you silly fool. Filling it even close to capacity will render it too heavy for even your pack-mule shoulders, trained relentlessly by the baby/diaper bag/canvas grocery bag combo. Let this be a lesson to all you would-be cargo bag sewers: you can aim too high. Bigger is not always better. It’s a friendly reminder about sustainability. A reminder which hangs from my wall, drowning out the other bags and carrying devices, shouting loud and clear the dictate to build within your means.
The next day, still hot, still humid, deflated by sewing folly and beach tantrum blow-out, I gathered my brood and headed to the nearest purveyor of kiddie pools, swallowing my pride and temporarily ignoring my Walmart boycott. It was humbling, yes, but oh-so-refreshing.
June 18, 2009
· Filed under I'm Momma; this is my family.
Small clutches of treasure make up the landscape of our home. Our windowsills are dotted with child-size mittfulls of amber colored polished stones. Pants pockets are lined with an assortment of pebbles, stray buttons, a few coins, some dice. Random vessels are strewn about, housing these priceless treasures. Wallets or jars or envelopes are stuffed with the same as we rush out the door to head into town; these portable collections are no less necessary for travel than the diaper bag or water bottle or even car keys. Upon napping, the clutches are placed for safe-keeping alongside the bed.
I’ve tried to capture some of these random, fleeting landscapes over the past couple of weeks, tried to record for our posterity the gradual migration of our driveway into the house, handful by handful, each prettier than the last.
I try to remember my own childhood fascination with stones, my own tendency to collect little things. I try especially hard after stepping on the forgotten stones that often dot the kitchen floor. I struggle with the lofty intention of supporting her exploration while still maintaining a shred of sanity. Or at the very least, a tidy kitchen table.
June 12, 2009
· Filed under I sew.
I had a brief flash of sewing deja vu last weekend. Like that glorious period of prolific creative production that blazed through the greater part of my pregnancy, I sat in front of my sewing machine and whipped out a stack of new things. Or rather, I sat in front of my new serger and masterfully turned knit shirts and skirts into smaller renditions. I use the adverb “masterfully” with a silly smirk on my face; my new serger was adopted into the family for its spectacular ability to do most of the work for me, especially the pesky tasks of threading and tension-regulating. This is entirely appropriate and necessary, I argued, considering the ever increasing demands of my time elsewhere. He agreed, and now I’m making baby pants with abandon.
And transforming thrifted knits into attire that is pretty enough (thankfully) for the newly-critical fashion sense of Miss Isadora.
Dog butt sold separately.
You’d think we had a mandatory “stripes only” dress code around here, but I assure you that’s not the case. As far as I know.
Fashion tip: wearing your heels on the wrong feet allows for a more flattering fit.
And, obeying the age-old adage “Make hay while the baby sleeps,” I’m off to said serger to whip out some summery pajama pants.
Have a lovely weekend!
June 9, 2009
· Filed under We play outside.
Drip, drip, drop. All night, all day.
“Quite enough, thank you,” murmur the cedars.
“Wheeeeeeeeee!” squeal the daylilies.
Laden, so heavily, the roses still manage to waft their fragrance, albeit within a much smaller radius.
Cozy and dry, nestled in a sturdy bed of clothespins, Wren Momma sings her lullaby to Wren Babies. Until the Giant approaches, again, that Nosy Thing. This time with her camera.
I took a string of photos trying to capture Wren Momma, but this was the only one in which she wasn’t shouting expletives at me. “But I’m a new momma too!” I assured her, to no avail. You’re right, Wren Momma. Then I should know better. But being that this is your family’s second summer in the Clothespin Cottage, I had thought we could be on a more neighborly level. Would a pie have improved my chances?
June 8, 2009
· Filed under I make things., I sew.
These five green acres have been a flurry of activity lately. Sewing, sowing, serging, printing…baby giggling, pebble collecting, sandbox playing, rummage sale-ing…flock decimation, flock defending, reality checking. Details to come, I assure you.
To begin: printing.
I was reminded of my desire to try my hand at block printing by the luscious printing at Maya*Made. Go ahead and check it out – I dare you to not be similarly inspired to try it yourself. Whiney aside: It is so hard to read these fantastically crafty and inspiring blogs day after day and not want to duplicate each and every awesome thing I see. Sometimes I triumph and come up with an idea purely my own; other times I succumb to the inspiration, creating my own designs from the very fertile soil laid down by another crafty soul. This is one such time.
So here are the facts:
Due to overwhelming inspiration, block printing is now compulsory.
The sandhill cranes have returned from their wintering to their familiar soft spot in my heart, begging for some sort of artistic tribute.
Our shower curtain, inherited with the house, has become so foul and offensive to the senses (nose and eyes and touch) that even Andrew speaks up. He’s usually much more tolerant of these things than I.
Hemp canvas is ordered, chosen for its amazing antibacterial properties. The hope is to avoid using a disgust-o vinyl liner while simultaneously keeping the mold count down. Fingers are crossed; we’ll let you know if it works.
This is the outcome. Delicious.
Block printing is rather addicting, it turns out. Feeling the love of the white on blue, I made a handful of prints on linen which are on their way to my etsy shop. I also ordered a box full of assorted blocks to carve other images into, so I’ll be using all of my available restraint to keep from pouncing on the FedEx delivery truck this week.
I’m totally hooked.
