I Go Over to the Dark Side

Goodbye, quirky vintage containers and lovely baskets made of natural materials. I wanted to be one of those cool crafters whose entire space is crafty, all personalized and unique and yet organized. Not so much SouleMama's craft room, exactly, because she's way too mellow for me these days, but definitely YummyGoods' craft space.

Only, those vintage containers don't really hold all my stuff, which I then pile on top of other stuff. And I'm really short, so I can't see what's in the containers above my head, which is pretty much three-quarters of the space in my house. And those lovely baskets of natural materials get dragged around by the girls, which is fine, but then also spilled and toppled and tumbled, and, you know, just all messed up.

So I've given it a good long haul, and I'm still going to utilize the awesome quirky vintage mason jars and chipped Fiesta ware and all the other random stuff that I've been trying to put stuff in, but 90% of the girls' toys and our craft supplies?
Clear plastic storage bins, baby. I've gone over to the dark side, and it's made of non-degradable petroleum by-products.

But you can stack these petroleum by-products. And see what's in them. And because you have to buy them new, you can buy them to fit whatever you want to put in them (this alone is novel and good). And they have lids. Sturdy, snapped-closed lids, enabling a three-year-old to carry, not a handful of crayons that are going to be left both here and there and everywhere even after officially designated "clean-up time," but the entire stash of crayons, upside-down if need be:

And they look like candy in there, which more appropriately models the role that crayons play for us here in this house.

Stay tuned for more clear plastic storage bin godawfulness as it occurs.

Our Second Year at Strange Folk

Oh, how I heart St. Louis! It's so funny, because when I was a kid I HATED St. Louis. It was the place we'd get up before dawn to drive six hours to every now and then, straight to an old lady apartment (belonging to my Great-aunt Della), sit there for a reeeeeeaaaalllllllllyyyyyy long time (if I was lucky, she'd bring out her Norman Rockweller coffee table book for me to look at--barf), and then drive six hours back home again. That SAME day.

I couldn't believe it when I grew up and realized that there's stuff TO DO in St. Louis. Awesome stuff. Stuff like sliding down the free-fall slide at the City Museum:
And witnessing there the extent to which a little sister will go to not be bested by a big sister:
Stuff like discovering what my husband thinks is the very best way to deal with the fact that the eggs he's attempting to cook in the hotel kitchenette have just set off our room's smoke alarm: That's a PILLOW he's waving, friends. Not a blanket or a towel, but a pillow. Note that he has not even called down to the front desk yet to say, "Hey, I know the smoke alarm is blaring and maybe people are evacuating, but it's just me, I'm just cooking some eggs." And notice how, even though the smoke alarm is screaming in their faces, the girls are so focused on this thing they've just discovered called the Disney Channel that it doesn't even faze them.

Oh, right, and stuff like the Strange Folk Festival. Which, thank you for asking, was AWESOME! Last year at Strange Folk was good, but this year was awesome. The record bowls are nearly gone, the pinbacks I had to keep replenishing as fast as I could make them-- --and the bathroom breaks were as few and far between as I could make them, and accomplished at a dead run. It was THAT kind of craft fair. The good kind.

I also think that Strange Folk has the best atmosphere of any craft fair I've been to, big or small, conventional or indie. It's in a huge park, with plenty of green, empty space for children to play in, a huge playground, and some activities (sandbox, handmade hula hoops, milk jug igloo) imported in by Strange Folk just for the kids. That makes it a much more restful place for someone with kids to shop or sell--Will and Sydney played in the grass and under the trees, and walked together to the sandbox, and befriended random kids like they wouldn't be able to do at a fair on a city street or in a convention center.

And the music is good, and the trees are shady, and the people are just plain nice. One customer gave me the last two cookies that he'd bought from the gourmet cookie vendor across the way. Another customer said, "Your stuff rocks!" and then high-fived me! And you know how I feel about high-fives.

Willow made her entrepreneurial debut at Strange Folk. She wrapped hunks of grass in duct tape and sold them for 25 cents each (she actually sold four), and my shy girl was officially in charge of giving each customer, after the transaction, a business card, saying "Here's a business card for you." It was terrific for honing her awareness of social cues, because she had to figure out just the right time to hand over the card so as not to interrupt the sale but not to let the customer walk away, either, and she had to interact with each person, and she got tons of positive reinforcement, because you know that all adults do really like to be addressed nicely by a little child. Take that, socialization!

But for the customers with children, Willow prepared a special treat. She made Artist Trading Cards, wrote her name on the back, and let me write my web info, as well, and then gave one to each customer's child:
Animals was the theme, can't you tell?

Whew! Three days in St. Louis makes for three long days, but if it takes some long, long days of hard work and play to make sisters be this nice to each other on purpose--

Count me in.

Busy/Exhausted/Sore/Damp/HAPPY!!!

Too tired to type. Just know, Strange Folk Festival RULEZ!!!

Willow Blogs: Wild Cats

I love kittens because they are playful and they play and they fight all around the house. We got them at the Humane Society because we love them. We're keeping them until they're old enough to go back and get a new family.

This is Gracie. She is my favorite kitten because she's nice and grey and she's playful with her little ears.
Gracie is the oldest kitten because I think she ate a lot more canned cat food and we are going to make treats for our kittens.

This one is Jesse. She is black and white. She is a very runsie kitty because every time she runs away when I go toward her, even if I'm not going to get her.

This is Hillary. She is also a very runsie kitty and she is very nice and scratchy. She is very squirmy.

This is Whitsie because she has lots of whites on her even though she's black. Her skin is white; I don't know why.

This one's Blacksie. She's a nice kitty and she's very black. She likes to play all the time. She is a very nice kitty and always very mischievous, but all the kitties are mischievous. They climb on the table.

This is the day that they finally get to find a new family. They'll be good kitties for their new families and these are their names: Gracie, Blacksie, Whitsie, Jesse, and Hillary.

I love them.

Stash Upholstery Leaves for Its New Home

Sending stash out of my life makes me happy. It makes me happy not so much to just get rid of stuff, but to know that this stuff, that I collected, scavenged, was given, bought for a crazy-cheap price no telling how long ago, turned out to be useful after all, and off it goes to its new home.

Hence my happy goodbye to my early-in-the-week project, 24 crayon rolls that I sold wholesale through my Pumpkin+Bear etsy shop (way less money for each crayon roll, but way more money total than I'd usually earn at one time--does that make sense?) to a tourist shop up north:

The inside of each crayon roll is made from stash fabric that I was given by a women who saw me at a craft fair and thought of me when she cleaned out her own sewing space; the thread is stash, a combination of large spools bought at 50%-off at Joann's and smaller spools in prettier colors that I inherited from my partner's grandmother; the stash elastic is also a combination of some bought on sale, some inherited, and some picked up for free at a local garage sale; the crayons are stash, bought for anywhere from 20 cents to 24 cents for a 24-pack at various back-to-school sales this summer; and, finally, the upholstery fabric for the crayon roll fronts is stash, of course, leftover from the several large books of upholstery samples that I bought from a local thrift shop.

How much do I love those upholstery fabrics?

So much.

My favorite thing about my stash is the myriad of uses that present themselves solely through its existence in my life. That fabric from a craft fair friend did sit for a while on my shelf until I needed a nice, sturdy, plain fabric to back the wild patterns of the upholstery, but the crayons have made themselves a luxury in our home, accompanying gifts, being taken on car trips, being opened any time it would just be a nice treat to have a new box of crayons. And that upholstery fabric? It's been art rolls, birthday crowns, monogram wall hangings, scrapbook embellishments, bookmarks, and I don't even know what all else.

My newest idea, now that I've been scanning everything lately, was to scan some of those upholstery patterns as I was sewing up the crayon rolls:

Isn't that kind of cool? I'm thinking I could use it for digital scrapbooking, which I'm not that into (right now...) or other kinds of digital design work.

So now it seems that I have an electronic stash, as well.

P.S. Want to follow along with my craft projects, books I'm reading, road trips to weird old cemeteries, looming mid-life crisis, and other various adventures on the daily? Find me on my Craft Knife Facebook page!

And I Am Martyred by the Color Pink

Certain family members of the in-law persuasion have long made veiled accusations that I will not permit my girls to wear pink. This, I declare, is flatly untrue. Yes, it was completely true when they were infants--I actively put my girl babies in clothing gendered as male, but I'll tell you all about why I did that some other time. And yes, it's true that when I shop for clothing for my girls, I generally don't buy them pink stuff--when my kids don't care what they wear, I buy them clothes that I like. Who doesn't do that?

However, I firmly believe that I have always been extremely accomodating when they do show a preference. Why else does Willow have at least 12 dinosaur shirts? And pants with dinosaurs on them? And dinosaur jammies? And a dinosaur dress? And don't even get me started about the ponies and the rainbows, because I really don't feel like discussing it right now.

And therefore, since Willow has lately been complaining that she has no "pretty" pants (and since my suggestions that, since she doesn't like the pants I've bought her previously, she should really get a job so that she can buy her own pants hasn't led to her actually getting a job, alas), yesterday at the Goodwill 50%-Off Storewide Sale I invited her to come over to the children's clothing section so that we could pick out some pretty pants together.

It's hard, obviously, for a five-year-old to find clothes at Goodwill--they're sorted by color, which does help one zero in on the "pretty" pants, but only a Momma can accurately evaluate fit and condition and quality and appropriateness. Fortunately, it turns out that I'm actually quite good at ascertaining the kind of pants that my daughter will find "pretty".


If the pants are jeans, they should be fancy jeans:Otherwise, light blue is pretty:
Light green is also pretty:Purple, too, is pretty:So, yes, Willow and Sydney both came home with scads of pretty pants, and a few other pretty necessities----and even a couple of other awesome items:The future farm girls have a system for who gets to wear THAT shirt on any given day, let me tell you.

Other than that, some work shirts and work pants were bought for the man, some record albums and vintage sheets and T-shirts were bought for crafting, and the babies got more books, of course. But did I find any awesome clothes for myself, you ask?

Well, you can fail the PhD student concentrating on medieval studies through a feminist lens out of her qualifying exams, but you can't erase the ridiculous amounts of useless information about the medieval time period and its literatures out of her head: And also? When I was a little kid, I never, never, NEVER had cool clothes. And in junior high, one of the MAJOR things that I wanted (along with stone-washed jeans and T-shirts in two different colors so that you could roll the sleeves up and see the color of the shirt underneath and leggings and the dexterity to tie an oversized T-shirt into a knot at one bottom hem, etc.) was THE FOLLOWING KIND OF HOODIE THAT ALL THE COOL KIDS WORE:

Childhood dreams really can come true, can't they?

Especially when they're simple:

Leafy: A Leaf Rubbing Tutorial

Friday really was a leafy sort of day. I needed to sign my teaching contract, so it was a walk to campus to visit the English Department (where the secretaries ALWAYS have ample candy to offer to little girls) and the IU greenhouse:
Hallelujah, nobody touched the spiky plants this time:
The girls and I had a lovely picnic lunch on campus, which is quite wooded and broken up here and there by small, winding creeks (although, as a first-semester graduate student living alone on campus, hoofing it to every class, I did rather wish that they'd just demolished all the lovely foresty bits and stuck the buildings all together in one easily-walkable city block). The girls passed the time by throwing large chunks of limestone and shale into said creeks, while I read my Entertainment Weekly in the company of a small discarded cicada exoskeleton:But after the girls got out of school--and thus after I'd had for myself a nice break to eat my own lunch, shower, straighten the living room, do a little laundry, and plod away happily on the crayon roll wholesale order from my pumpkinbear etsy shop while watching some Netflix--we had renewed energy for new projects.

And thus we found ourselves back in nature, collecting leaves from all the neighborhood trees, and taking them home for leaf rubbings (finally!).

You will need:

• lots of leaves (flat ones, of course, and nice and supple)
• several sheets of thin paper (typing/copy paper works fine, and Strathmore sketch pads work REALLY well)
• crayons with a wide drawing surface (we broke open a brand-new Crayola 24-pack for this project (20 cents at the Wal-mart back-to-school sale!!!, but there are lots of other kinds of crayons that would work as well, or even better, frankly, for little hands)
• for a very small kid, Scotch tape or its equivalent can be a big help

1. Peel the wrappers off of your crayons--for some kids, this is the best part:2. You need a really flat drawing surface that has no discernable texture of its own--a concrete sidewalk or wooden picnic table won't really work, for instance, but a deck table or inside table or inside floor will work just fine:

3. Lay out your leaf nice and flat (to hold it really steady, you can double up a piece of Scotch tape, sticky side out, and stick it to the surface underneath it--this is especially helpful for small kiddos, who are the most fussy about wanting a nice result yet have the least dexterity to make it happen), and put a clean sheet of thin paper on top of it.

4. Holding the paper down very flat and keeping your leaf perfectly still, rub over and all around it with the flat side of your crayon:Or, if you're littler, just draw yourself a picture. It's equally fun:5. You'll be left with the impression of your leaf on the paper, showing all the great veins and other textures of the leaf, and looking really great and pretty:6. WARNING: Leaf rubbing may make you very, very sleepy. Go lie down with a kitten:In other news, we almost took a hot air balloon ride this morning, but it was too windy. Such is life, alas...