Milo & Maisy

Meet Maisy

and Milo.

The kids have been wanting a pet for forever. We knew pets are wonderful (when I was growing up, I had a dog and ten turtles - yes, all at the same time) but for many years and many reasons, we said no. We talked about why and revisited the conversation many, many times as we considered the typical options - puppies, rabbits, guinea pigs, fish, even hedgehogs  - but it was always a dead end. 

The kids could not fathom why anyone wouldn't adore (and therefore want) a pet. I assured them it had nothing to do with adoration and everything to do with intruders messing up the unique organization of my sewing room. Translation: Mother would have to get her act together and keep the piles of fabric off the floor henceforth.

One does not enter into a relationship with pets casually, in other words.

Last year, we found a way to say yes. It was a little of the kids being older, a little of deciding that the benefits finally outweighed the practical challenges, and a little of friends demonstrating how they themselves were making it work in ways that left their lives mostly intact and sane.

Anyway, we said yes to Maisy and Milo. Maisy and Milo are littermates born on a farm. Milo was named after one of Emily's (and my) favorite Singaporean beverages. Maisy was named after the little mouse all the kids loved. They thought it was ironic that in the stories, Maisy was a mouse whose pet was a little black cat just like Milo.

When we brought them home last November, they were about 7 weeks old.

They were sooo tiny!

And soooo busy

and soooo sleepy.

The first weeks as cat parents were insane. We were overwhelmed by all the things they needed: food, food dishes, mats, litter boxes, toys, blankets (so many blankets!), a vet, vaccinations, microchips, training aids, scratching posts . . . everything came in about a zillion options from a zillion stores with their accompanying spectrums of reviews.

At some point, we decided to simplify and pick up stuff gradually instead of amassing everything at once. We began with the basics. Just so the kittens would have somewhere to snuggle on their first night home, Kate very kindly donated the communal bunny bed we'd made for her baby bunnies some years ago.  It seemed huge for a litter of bunnies,

but not quite so spacious for a kitten (even a tiny one)

and even less so for two.

We knew the kittens would grow - and estimated that we'd have one, maybe two weeks (max), before they would need an upgrade. Making a bed would be cheaper and quicker than shopping for one, so I enlarged the original bunny bed pattern and put it together from fleece in my stash. 

Much roomier. Initially, it seemed the kittens were swimming in it.

Now, though, not so much.

It's crazy how fast kittens grow. They're so much bigger than in this picture from just two months ago:

Here's Maisy, who was a ball of fluff just a month ago in early December,

and now, all sleek and chill.

And both kittens still have a lot more growing to do, obviously. I fully expect that even this new bed will be tossed out before long, so I'm glad that I didn't invest in a fancy, expensive thing from the pet store. When I make the next one, I'm leaving out the cutaway opening and constructing it a little differently so I can stuff the walls and line them with something furrier. 

I don't have the pattern, but here are the dimensions of this larger bed:

the oval base is 18" x 14" and the walls are 5" high. The instructions can be found in this tutorial. It holds up nicely in the wash.

P.S. And yes, the sewing room is pristine. No fabric anywhere to be seen. Cardboard, however, is joyfully and tastefully strewn about the floor. I am happy to report that cats esteem cardboard almost as highly as I do.

Happy New Year!

Hello, friends!

What a whirlwind 2018 has been! So many good things to be thankful for. So many projects to look back on and marvel at (mostly that I finished them at all, I mean). So many occasions on which I felt that I needed to not just slow down but stop altogether, or else lose the moment. Have you ever had that feeling? 2018 seemed to be full of those. 

First, though, let's talk a little about 2017.

See, 2017 was a bit of an eye-opener. I remember looking back at the end of it and wishing I hadn't worked so hard on certain projects at the expense of other things I realized later were more important to me. It took me that whole year's worth of hindsight to see it and when I eventually did, I felt partly perplexed (how did that happen?), partly sad (why did I let that happen?) and wholly determined to choose differently in 2018.

So I did.

Let me confess outright that it was not without relapses. There were situations in which I found myself working longer than I'd wanted on some project that was fiddlier than I'd anticipated, with only a sliver left of the initial interest that had so moved me to begin it way back when. You know the kind, right? I call those my "What Possessed Me" projects; they live under my sewing table in their Dungeon of Surplus and Shame.

Yet at the end of 2018, I looked back and - behold - it still felt like a better year than 2017, not the least because I'd said no to some things that allowed me to say yes to better things. Here's an example: last summer, we moved the two younger kids out of their shared bedroom and into solo rooms, and there were two immediate outcomes to this.

One, in order to make the space we needed, we curated and cleared out infant and toddler doodads we'd been hanging on to forever, as well as my own mementos from a more bygone era (like before I had children). It was not so much cathartic as diagnostic: in saying yes to what was of value to us and no to the rest, our lives (as it were) flashed before our eyes: a sampling of the choices we'd made to sew vs. buy, buy vs. make, mend vs. toss, toss vs. save, in every item we'd hoarded long after it'd outlived its usefulness. Was I being dramatic just then? Probably. It's hard to let go of the stuff that reminded us of Who We Were, after all. And might I not be presumptuous in guessing that anyone who's similarly cleared out a stash of life's artifacts might nod and say, "Yep, I concur, now let's all break out the stiff drinks"?

Two - and this is less metaphorical - I no longer sew at night. One of the newly-inhabited bedrooms is next to my sewing room. My glorious daylight lamps, once resplendently conducive for midnight work, are now an entirely inhospitable environment for children who prefer sleeping with the door open. And then there is the issue of the noise: the whirrs, snips, and clacks which are the soundtrack of Making. Once upon a time, it was when the children retired for the evening that my creative day began, these days, come bedtime, all that had to end. When I first realized what I was giving up, I could hardly bear it.

Surprisingly, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Certainly it took getting used to. When I had deadlines to meet in the late summer, for instance, I resorted to sewing in the earlier mornings before the kids were awake. As long as it was a temporary arrangement and I ignored the dishes, the laundry, and the clarion call of daytime errands, it worked. If I needed to design, create or conceptualize something new (which still only happens late at night when the world is truly still), I waited till everyone was out of the house at summer camp, or a sleepover. True, my productivity isn't what it used to be, but my evenings are freer now, and I can read more, chill more, exercise more, write more.

Toward the end of fall, I took stock of the year and knew that it was turning out differently than the one before. I was sewing less but enjoying it more. I was taking the time to go on school field trips and have lunch with the kids in their school cafeteria. I spent a fair bit of the summer helping one kid through an advanced Math course. I took a solo trip to New York to be with friends and eat obscene amounts of food of the sort we don't have here in Minnesota. By Halloween, I was looking forward to Christmas. I had Stuff Planned For Gifts! Everyone had new rooms! With curtains! I would bake! I would cook! I would make advent calendars!

And then, just before Thanksgiving, life took quite the turn.

Two kittens moved into our house.

Tiny, fluffy things they were when we first brought them home. Like stuffed toys that could magically bleat and mew and waddle in captivating uncoordination. We'd never had cats before, so this was going to be an adventure, we said, but by gum, we were Going Forth. And we did.

We fed them. We took them to the vet. We bought, filled and cleaned their litter boxes. We agonized over whether to get a Christmas Tree or not get a Christmas Tree. We eagle-eyed them all the time they were in an Important Room With The Good Furniture. We entertained them. We began to train them. We said No and ran for the squirt bottle. We said Yes, Good Job and ran for the treats. We kitten-proofed the house room by room. We asked for advice. We read and researched and schooled ourselves in felinephernalia. Suddenly, it felt like I had brand new babies again, our lives revolving around a steep learning curve and the hope that we would do them more good than harm. 

Now, three months into being cat parents, I will report that our world has been  simultaneously enhanced and upended in all kinds of unexpected ways. The children are beside themselves with delight. All their maternal instincts are in full force caring for these young 'uns. 

My maternal instincts on the other hand, are responding in a rather curious way. Ever since the little fluffnuggets arrived, I've been plagued by one question: what can I make for them?

You're laughing, right? Me, too. What is it about babies that awakens the insane desire to handmake, particularly when those hands are already so full, holding and loving and comforting and protecting?

Perhaps that whole Chill-2018 movement was to prepare me for this high-octane ride to the finish. I didn't see it coming, but I have no complaints. Handmade it is, then. 

Incidentally, just seconds after that little baby cat made its way up the stairs, it fell fast asleep from exhaustion. 

Awwww.

So . . . (and I never thought I'd see the day when I'd actually say this) look out for some cat projects in the next post!

Advent

Happy Advent, all!

Somehow, it's December again. This year, it felt like Minnesota skipped over fall and wormholed from summer right into winter. The weather was very weird this year, wasn't it? Hardly any 70-degree transition to speak of; it was 80s and 90s one day and then torrential rain and then 40s, and then snow. All before Halloween, even.

So each year, November goes by in a blink and suddenly it's Christmas. I often have grand plans for  Advent. Not just because it's peak crafting (and baking) season with the kids, but because it's a whole month of anticipation: the grandeur of Christmas feasts with family, the thrill of seeing the faces of friends as they open gifts we've made (or saved to buy), the joy of delivering cookies to neighbors to say - among other things - "we're so glad you live next door (or around the corner, or across the street)." 

And every year, I swear Advent sneaks up on me. 

Sneaks. 

Like Argh Is It Dec 1st Already Where Are Those Nativity Thingamajigs That We Stick On The Fridge Oh Wait Our Fridge Door Is No Longer Magnetic Erm What To Do Now sneaks. 

And the children always ask if we're going to do Advent again this year, and Of Course We're Still Young Enough To Do Advent Mom What Were You Thinking. And I'm on the laptop at 2 am on Nov 30th googling "30 Fun Things To Put In An Advent Calendar" and curating the suggestions and becoming more despondent by the minute because half of the Fun Things are awesome for a 5-year-old but not so awesome for a 14-year-old. 

In desperation, I've even asked the children for ideas (because I'm such a loser Mom).

The 14-year-old said this year, "A book a day, of course. 24 books before Christmas - what could be better?" 

Splendid idea, but she wasn't talking about the Christmas picture books we pored over when the girls were preschoolers and kindergarteners. Novels, she meant. Stories with conflicts and cliffhangers. Stories of desperate last-stands and gut-wrenching sacrifices. Stories about good and evil, villains and heroes.

And I was reminded of what Christmas is: one short paragraph in a much longer story of exactly all those things. It's about an author who had a plan for a world that was good and free, whose characters were incredibly flawed but undeservingly precious, and who regrettably wrecked themselves and each other in their pursuit to discover who they were.  There's a villain so insidious that only a truly formidable hero could defeat so in an incredible plot twist, the author writes Himself into the story. Which then speeds toward a cliffhanger in which everyone's character arcs converge in one epic sacrifice. The hero dies, but unbelievably, the world is not destroyed. The people are saved. The villain is vanquished. The curse is lifted. And the hero comes back to life after, and we learn that it was in the plan all along, written into the storyboard from the very start. It may not have begun with Once Upon A Time and perhaps the ultimate Happily Ever After is still a long way off, but there is glorious closure and explosive hope for the future, for forever.

In Advent seasons past, I've only ever lingered on the manger portion of the Christmas story. When the kids were little, it was what appealed to them. There was a baby in a feeding trough, infinite wonder confined in the finite dimensions of an animal shed. There were domestic livestock, shepherds with lambs, learned visitors on camels who came from so far away that it took them two years to actually turn up. There were drummer boys whose percussive anthems somehow did not grate on a postpartum mother's ears (or a newborn's). There was (probably) no wicked Midwestern blizzard raging outside (probably because it wasn't even December). It was a good tale, with lots of quaint cultural embellishments (depending on the version). My kids - as do many other kids in this part of the world - know this account inside out.

I always felt that it needed more context, though. So this year, I'm including that bigger story in our Advent conversations. They know a lot of it from Sunday School, so maybe it won't be news to them. But some of the best stories are more fully enjoyed retold over and over, and I can't think of one that beats this. Already Kate has begun some good conversations with me, which I hold dear to my heart and pray that over our years together, I will find increasingly clearer ways to continue with her. 

Children, no matter how literal their dealings, will still always appreciate the metaphor, though - isn't that why we have Advent calendars? It isn't just the chocolate, or the Lego Christmas village in 24 installments. It's about the anticipation, the part of the whole, the longing for something to be finally finished. It's also about now: the blessings that are new every morning, the grace that is sufficient, the gift of the day thereof. Which, with our unique preferences and personalities, looks different for each of us, so this year, I made each of the girls their own, not-the-same Advent calendars.

Jenna's is the one in the top photo - 24 pairs of Harry Potter socks in 24 random IKEA gift bags. She says she likes that they're Harry Potter themed and that she gets a new pair every morning to wear to school without having to find one the night before to set out. Here, I'll cheat and repeat that photo for your viewing pleasure:

Kate's is 24 little squishy toys stuffed into the pockets of my old Pocket Quilt. I found them on Amazon in a 30-pack and Emily helped pick out the 24 she thought Kate would like most. Incidentally, we've used this quilt every Christmas since I made it 8 years ago. It was never intended as an Advent calendar but it's found its calling by being exactly that.

 

Emily's Advent calendar is, sadly, not 24 novels. I would've liked it to be, but I didn't think she'd be able to finish a novel a day quickly enough to hunger for another the next. She has, however, in recent months, discovered the joys of a warm cup of tea, so voila - 24 teas,

which I selected from a selection of far more (again, from Amazon).

and which I concealed in (for want of more innovative packaging) old guitar string envelopes with which my guitar-playing brother supplied me over the years.

These I sealed with funny clips, which I didn't really have 24 of, so there might have to be some re-using!

Also, 24 fancy truffles (because tea and chocolate are as close to heaven in Minnesotan winters as they get).

Speaking of which, this has been the view from my sewing window of late:

Pretty! Also a reminder that I have much to be grateful for, including a warm home in a state that knows how to deal with snowy roads and icky blizzards so people can actually get places safely. 

And you guys, of course. I'm always grateful for you, and all the stories (cardboard, sewing and life) you share with me in the comments and email. I appreciate your honesty, I admire your courage in raising your families, learning new skills, protecting our countries, and answering uncountable calls to help, to teach, to give. I hope your Advent is merry and bright, and that as you count down to Christmas, you will know that you are much loved and of infinite worth to a God who wrote Himself into His own story to prove it.

Deer & Fawn

Kate and Bunny were a deer family this year for Halloween. 

In recent years, Kate has had me make Bunny a costume that coordinates with her own. In 2015, Kate was a rabbit and Bunny was a carrot. In 2016, Kate was a fairy and Bunny was an elf. Last year, Kate was Ginny Weasley (from Harry Potter) and Bunny was some kind of personal pet. Four years later, I think I've figured it out: if Bunny has a costume, then Bunny can accompany Kate to any and all Halloween-related activities, including the fall parties at school. Could it be?

Kate, grinning smugly, confirmed that yes, it was exactly so.

Kate's deer costume (not reindeer, she cautioned me when we were designing it together) was simple enough to make. It's essentially a sleeper PJ thing, like her rabbit suit and many other animal-themed onesies that are found in stores like Target and Walmart. But where her rabbit had sleeves and legs that ended in simple hems, Kate wanted elasticized cuffs for this deer suit. She explained that they kept the fabric from riding up her limbs, which was very helpful for cartwheels and tumbles. Which, apparently, deer do a lot of.

The hood is the only part of the outfit that's lined - mostly for structure so that it doesn't degenerate into floppiness. There are stuffed antlers and fuzz-lined ears that insert in seams in the hood construction. The rest of the outfit is a single layer of fleece, and because fleece doesn't fray, I didn't even bother to serge the SA on the inside.

The outfit has a central front zipper that runs through the furry belly panel (this is simply a large applique patch).

Here is Bunny's outfit: also a zip-up onesie suit. The antlers and ears are edge-stitched felt rather than stuffed fleece - for doll-sized features, I try to avoid creating structures that must be sewn WS-out and whose SA then clog up the sharp points and other narrow parts of the finished shapes when turned RS-out.

A few more differences: one, Bunny's suit has raglan sleeves. Reason: Bunny has indistinct shoulders, which make it challenging to determine the position of shoulder seams so as to set in regular sleeves. Also, in place of cuffs, the sleeves and legs end in enclosed "mittens". They saved me the effort of turning hems, and it's not as if Bunny needs to actually use her hands and feet. 

And finally, Bunny's hood is differently-shaped, entirely because Bunny's head is much flatter dorso-ventrally than a human head. This is a trivial observation, I know, but I wanted to share that weird fact so we understand that not all hoods are sewn the same way. If you are so inclined, look at the hoods on the various coats and sweaters in your (and your kids') closet(s): some are simply two pieces (left and right) sewn together along a central seam; some are three longitudinal panels (symmetrical left and right pieces connected by a central 'gusset') which hug the back of the head more closely; some, like Kate's and Bunny's here, are a combination of transverse and longitudinal seams that allow inserts like horns and ears and other anterior features, and design elements like drawstrings and snaps.

Here is the back view: both suits have a little tail that attaches in a shallow dart (not a seam) in the fabric itself.

So deer and fawn this year. I can't wait to find out what Kate will pick for herself (and Bunny) next Halloween!

Air Dancer

Emily was an air dancer for Halloween this year. Air dancers, sometimes called tube men, are those funny inflatable tubes with faces and streamers which stand outside stores and other establishments and wiggle in the wind. My kids used to call them the asparagus men and would exclaim in glee whenever we spotted them at car dealerships and strip malls. 

While I haven't actually examined an air dancer to determine how it works, I believe there is a kind of fan in its base that blows air upward, filling the tube and making it shimmy and flap its streamers. The combined visual effect is excellent for attracting attention.

It's well and good for an advertising prop standing in one spot, but a little more challenging when one has intends to walk around the neighborhood encased in what is essentially a fabric cigar. Also, one also needs a peephole through which to look, so as not to walk into a trashcan, parked cars, other neighbors, or anything else one might inadvertently encounter while candy-gathering in the dark. 

Then there was the issue of the tube not collapsing into itself as one moved around in it. Fabric, after all, clings and drapes (not to mention falls down). And while actual air dancers have a stream of air to help the walls stay apart and aloft, we really didn't care for our hindquarters being enthusiastically ventilated by a fan on a cold pre-winter night. As we walked around the neighborhood. In what was essentially an enlarged drinking straw rendered in the cheapest fabric we could find.

Thus, we decided: why fight gravity when we could harness it to our advantage?

Behold: The Cardboard Headdress.

This is, in essence, a helmet-crown hybrid. The lower hemispherical section is the helmet, which sits on Emily's head. The flat upper platform is the crown, raised above the helmet by dowels. 

This extra elevation served two purposes. One, to elongate the tube further so that the height-width ratio even more closely  approached that of a real air dancer. Two, to raise its top by enough distance to turn the air dancer's mouth into a peephole for Emily's eyes.

And it is from this flat platform that the entire fabric tube (with a closed circular top) hangs. Not unlike a fitted tablecloth for a disproportionately tall table.

Even without additional structural reinforcement, the fabric cylinder kept its shape quite well. However, we added a couple solid rings in the lower region around Emily's legs. In the same way that a hoop skirt works, these kept the cylinder open so she could walk without kicking the fabric out in front of her. I sewed two narrow channels all around the inside of the tube, then bought dollar-store glowsticks and connected them into a couple of large rings to push into the channels. 

The main structure thus accomplished, we finished off the costume with simple details. We put the tube on Emily, marked the position of her eyes, cut out the  air dancer's mouth and sewed black athletic mesh fabric over the opening. We also cut out armholes and Emily wore a coordinating fleece sweater for instant arms. Much easier than trying to fit sleeves, we thought. The streamers are fabric strips glued onto short sticks that Emily is holding.

You can see the streamer-sticks in her hands in this next photo. They're like mini twirling-ribbon-sticks.

This was one of the quickest costumes to make, and the funniest!

Halloween Costumes 2018

It feels like it's been forever, hasn't it?

I have fun stuff to share in the next few posts, but today's is all about Halloween that happened 3 weeks ago. I was in New York City visiting friends over Halloween so I missed the actual dressing up and sugar collecting action. And in spite of planning weeks in advance, I still ended sewing right up till the day before I got on the plane. So yes, I did sew some costumes and no, the children didn't do the matchy-matchy theme this year. But they all still wanted to go around the neighborhood together and snag candy and hold auctions to trade that candy with the neighbors afterward.

Every Halloween surprises me that way - not just which character the kids will want to impersonate, but whether they'll still feel young enough to go trick-or-treating at all. I treasure every year that they still do.

This year, Emily was an air dancer. She and a neighbor friend had been planning this costume since 2017, long before it was a costume fad. We were so surprised to find that it was as popular as it was. This was fun to make (if a bit last-minute). I'll deconstruct it in a later post. 

Jenna was Scarlet, from the book series The Lunar Chronicles. Scarlet is a modern-day Little Red Riding Hood - and her outfit was literally a red hoodie and jeans and the basket that Kate is holding. I didn't sew any part of her outfit, and even the red hoodie was a loan from a friend. 

Kate was a deer. And Bunny was a fawn. They come as a pair, these two - every year since I can remember. I'll deconstruct their outfits in a later post, too.