Cause I need another hobby

I don't remember when or how I first stumbled upon Passing Down Crazy , but it was love at first sight. I loved her knitting, I loved her pictures, I loved her kids, I loved how she referred to her husband as her "Hero" and I loved her blog title. LOVE!

I stalked her relentlessly. Admiring her snow, her backyard, her humor, and above all, her knitting. Her lace shawls are perfection. Makes me want to knit loads more lace!

And then she published a post with a quilt!

It was all over from there. I was powerless against her quilts.

Can you seriously look at this, or this, or this, or this and not feel inspired?

It didn't help when Marie Grace started showing off quilts too. Suddenly I found myself in the tight grip of a new obsession. I NEEDED to quilt something NOW! Once upon a time I amassed quite the collection of fat quarters and other various pretty fabrics. There was simply no room for it in the great move of 2006 and we gave it all away to a woman who made baby quilts for all the babies at church. If I wanted to quilt something I was going to have to start fresh and go shopping.

And if we think about that for a second, is that really a hardship?

I decided it wasn't.

Now when I first learned to quilt I was taught by a Quilting Nazi, with a capital Q and a capital N. All quilts must be made with 100% cotton, and be pieced by hand. All batting must be "Warm and Natural" brand only. And all quilting must, Must, MUST be done by hand. Or it simply wasn't a quilt. The. End.

I'm not exactly sure what she thought the resulting item would be if one of her rules were broken, but her mind it most certainly would not be a Real Quilt(tm). I guess that would make it an Imitation Quilt(tm).

Once upon a time, being young and foolish and eager to please, I followed her rules to a T, and I think it was all the hand sewing that eventually led me to abandon quilting after Pork Chop was born. That, and all the pins I kept leaving on the floor. I decided that machine quilting was absolutely without a doubt the way to go this time. The Greatest, being The Greatest, and knowing me so well, knew that resistance was futile and bought me a set of quilting feet for my sewing machine.

I practiced meandering with my darning foot on old pieces of paper for hours. I'm still not sure I have the hang of it yet. I do have a baby quilt top just waiting for me to get the courage to try it out. Maybe someday. But not today. I've already moved on from that project. I think I must secretly like have UFO's hanging around. A little guilt is good for the soul.

Once the quilting bug took hold I started to haunt other quilting blogs. I became completely obsessed with, I mean I was inspired by this quilt. I knew I had to have one of my very own. But not in orange. In pinks and red.

And my Valentine's Day Quilt was born

Now don't look too closely at my quilt. It's full of mistakes.

I actually think my piecing is pretty fantastic. I still remember a few tricks from the old days that translate well to machine piecing. I just love how the red and white stripes line up perfectly in the diamonds. I'd like to say I planned that when I cut the pieces, but that was the result of a happy accident of cutting, and a bit of care when piecing. And I'm simply in love with my 1/4 seam foot. I wanna kiss who ever created that right on the lips. Seaming Perfection!

Now it was when I decided to try my hand at machine quilting that things took a turn for the worse.

First off, they should really include a picture of the walking foot and how it is supposed to look. In case you're wondering it is supposed to look like this...

with the little arm thingie on TOP of the thingie that holds your needle in place. That accounts for one of my broken needles.

Now it also turns out that when they tell you to roll the unused sides of your quilt they know what they're talking about. Because if you leave it loose, and just try to shove the unused side through like this

You end up with this

no matter how carefully you've pinned it.

And when you stop to shove the loose side through to make it easier to keep quilting you should really leave the needle down in the fabric. Otherwise it tends to shift like this

yeah. I'm still not sure I've mastered this one.

And it is also a good idea to match the thread color to your binding, even if you've used white thread on the rest of the entire quilt.

I also discovered is not a good idea to set up shop at one end of the kitchen table and let your children eat at the other end of said table. Unless you want to quilt a quilt that already has a spot of dried yogurt and a kool-aid stain on it.

So there's a ton of mistakes in this quilt. But I think that's alright. I know I learn more from what I do wrong, than I do from the things I get right. In the meantime I love my quilt.

I couldn't resist a little bit of piecing on the backing.

And I had to make a striped binding with my leftovers.

Although I think if I had to do it all over again I might have bound the entire quilt in this fabric

I just love the polka-dots. And the unexpected blue flower.

I think the reds and pinks are all 100% cotton, but the white on the front is of unknown origin, and the white on the back is a cotton/poly blend. The top is machine pieced. The batting is polyester. And the actual quilting of the quilt was done by machine. I did sew the final binding seam by hand. I have made myself a genuine Imitation Quilt. And I'm in love!

Unfortunately Sweet Pea is also in love. The entire time I was making it she kept poking it and telling me "Sweet Pea Quilt." I would tell her in a sing-song voice "No, this one's for Mommy." And she would sing-song back to me "No, Sweet Pea."

Looks like I'd better make her gingham quilt soon.

I still managed to sneak in some face time with my quilt the other day.

I'd like to thank whoever is in charge of the weather for dropping the temperature enough for me to lie outside and enjoy my quilt.

Friday Lovin'

So last week I was driving home after dropping the children off at school. I was in my jammies, no bra, unbrushed hair, and no shoes. I know. Could I get any sexier? In my defense...well...actually I have no defense. There is no rational explanation for why I couldn't take five minutes to make myself presentable. I've just been really tired lately.

Anyways, I was driving down the road looking at all the identical tan plastic trash bins lined along the road. I was thinking to myself how cluttered they make the tiny roadways look, and how much I hated trash day. I had a brief fling last summer with running, and I hated running on trash day. The street just smelled so bad from the rubbish rotting in their HOA approved containers. That's when I took to running alongside the canal. It was peaceful, and beautiful, and there was no smelly garbage. Perfect. Until the day I was a mile from anywhere and I met two feral dogs. I stopped running after that. But this is all neither here nor there. The part relevant to the story is I was driving along looking at all the trash by the road.

I only saw it because I was looking at the trash. Any other day I would have driven right by it without a glance. Between two trash bins was a small pile of dirty faded boxes. I wouldn't have given them a second thought, but taped to the boxes was a hand-lettered sign featuring the two most beautiful word in the English language:

"FREE HAMMOCK "

"Did you see that?!!!!!!" I asked The Greatest (who was riding in the car with me, fully clothed and wearing shoes. to this day I'm not sure why he didn't just take the kids to school and leave lazy jammied me at home) (and yes, I do speak in that many exclamation points!!!!!)

He had not seen the sign. I explained to him that there was a sign that said "free hammock." I pulled into our driveway and promptly pulled back out facing the direction from which I had just come. I was headed for that free hammock.

Now The Greatest does not understand trash day. I once found a coffee table I wanted on the side of the road on bulk trash day, and he insisted we knock on the door and ask the people who lived there if we could take the coffee table. They helped us load it into our car, happy to be free of the huge rectangle monstrosity. A couple of cans of black spray paint and we've got a fantastic coffee table in our family room. It is ginormous and perfect. But it still did not convert him to the joy of trash treasures.

As I pulled up to the dusty pile The Greatest did his best to discourage me. The boxes were faded and dirty and looked like they had gotten soaked and dried out several times. The only thing suggesting this pile was anything other than absolute garbage was the sign. And the only thing suggesting this unassuming pile was a hammock was also the sign. The Greatest told me I didn't need a hammock that badly.

But I did, I really did.

Growing up my Aunt had a hammock in her back yard. It was down at the base of a hill, under a huge shady tree. It was the perfect place to lay and read books. The fondest desire of my tiny childhood heart was to have a hammock of my very own, so I could lie in it and read books whenever I wanted to. The Greatest has a knack for fulfilling all my childhood dreams. He's tall, dark, and handsome. We live in a place where it is warm all the time and I can lie in the sun like a lizard and just soak up the heat down to my very bones. I've got a houseful of children. We have a pool. He planted me an orange tree. And now I was determined he was going to bring another dream to fruition and get me that hammock.

After all, he was the one wearing shoes.

He knows me. He knows when to just give it up and do what I want. So reluctantly he got out of the car. He stared of the dusty pile, not wanting to touch it, because touching it would surely get him dirty as well.

"I don't think its any good" He protested.

"Just put it in the car! Even if it is rusted and ruined we can fix the frame up and paint it, and having a hammock frame is one step closer to having a hammock."

Rolling his eyes, but indulging in my whims, he tried to pick up the boxes, but they were to awkward in shape for him to manage on his own.

So I got out of the car to help him, on the hot asphalt, barefoot. I really wanted that hammock.

The boxes smelled bad.

Like garbage.

Maybe this was a mistake.

I HATE it when The Greatest is right. I was starting to suspect he had not picked up the boxes because he loved me so much he can't deny me anything I want, and because he finds my crazy determination endearing. No. I was starting to suspect he had picked up the boxes because he wanted to tell me HIS favorite words in the English language:

"I told you so."

Sometimes he really isn't The Greatest.

Together we manhandled the boxes into the back of our SUV. I drove home grateful that The Greatest had to go to work later that morning, and figured I could deal with the rubbish while he was gone. If it turned out to be ruined beyond repair, or worse yet, not in fact a hammock but instead just a random pile of garbage that we had stolen and put in the back of our car, I didn't want him around. If things went south, I was lucky ,I could have the stuff back on the curb in front of our house, and quietly picked up by the garbage truck before he came home. He would never have to know how this all played out if it ended badly.

To my surprise, the moment we pulled into the garage, The Greatest hopped out of the car and started to unload the boxes (which I'd like to point out, he did by himself, no barefoot wife in the streets required). He was going to find out right away what we were dealing with.

We cautiously opened the first box. Cautious on my side because it looked like it might be a haven for bugs and spider. The cardboard had indeed gotten wet and warped and dried. It was oddly stiff and plumes of dust came up as we opened the top. We peered inside to discover

A BRAND NEW HAMMOCK!

Still wrapped in bubble wrap!

To quote Meaty "Booooo-yahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!"

TOTAL SCORE!!!!!!!!

We eagerly assembled the hammock using the pictures that accompanied the direction that were, of course, in Spanish (which neither of us speak). Then we spent the rest of the morning lying in it. When the children came home from school we took turns lying in it and reading together.

So this Friday morning, I'm loving my hammock. I've got a reasonably clean house, and a brand new book to read. It's going to be a perfect day.

What are you loving?

Baby Cuteness

Oh, HI!

Did you know I knit?

And that this is a knitting blog?

Yup, it really is.

You wouldn't know it from looking at my side bar. From the look of it I haven't knit a thing all year. But I have, I really have. My needles are constantly clicking.

And to prove it, I've got some knitting to show you.

Nearly everyone I know is pregnant. The few who aren't? Well, I'm expecting announcements any day now. In theory, this is hard. I would like another baby. I can see where another baby would fit into our family. I've begun, as Mothers often do, to romanticise the quiet early morning feedings, and forget how tiring they are. I've covered my memories of newborn babies in a gauzy haze that camouflages the fact that I was covered in bodily fluids for weeks. All the bad, exhausting, stinky baby stuff is hidden, and nothing is seen but the sweet baby face. I could have another, or two. But The Greatest is done. And I can see his point. I'm just not sure I'm done.

But with all these pregnancies, I've got the perfect excuse to continue one of my favorite kinds of knitting: Baby Knitting.

A Dear Friend of mine recently gave birth to her fourth child, a baby girl.

I knit her a hat

(Ribbons from Itty-Bitty Hats)

and another hat

(my knock-off version of the flour sack hat from Baby Beanies: Happy Hats to Knit for Little Heads)

and some baby overalls

(Pepita, free pattern from Ravelry, modified to be newborn size)

You can't see, but the overalls have built in feet. It makes my ovaries hurt from the cuteness. And you can tell my friend is a very dear friend. Those overalls were knit on size 0 needle! Only true love knits on size 0 needles for other people's babies.

So yeah, I knit.

And while all these pregnancies should be hard on me emotionally, I'd like another baby but won't have any more. It should be sad, but they're not. I found visiting my friend and her newborn baby enlightening. It was fun to hold the baby, and then hand her back to her Mother. It is fun to sleep through the night. It is fun to hand the children over to their Grandparents for overnighters, something I can't do with small nursing children. Sweet Pea is almost done with diapers and I'm dreaming of a grown up purse again.

Maybe I'm done too.

Easter Rundown

Easter has come and gone and we've all survived to tell the tale.

The Easter Bunny was feeling extra bouncy this year and hid the Easter Baskets really high.

(yes, I know the picture is unbearably dark, but it was early in the morning. whatcha gonna do?) (and we had house guests, most of that stuff up there was not for my children)

But Sweet Pea had a plan

(yes I know the picture is unbearably blurry, but it was early in the morning. whatcha gonna do?)

Rats! They stretched and stretched, but they were still not tall enough.

Meaty tried to scale the wall using only the door hinges and the sheer force of his will to have chocolate.

Yeah...that didn't work either.

Daddy to the rescue! A tall chair and a taller Daddy and the baskets were ready for consumption.

Have you ever seen such happy children?

We had ham and potato salad and crescent rolls and deviled eggs and the requisite Easter Egg hunt.

The Greatest and I got our picture taken

(yup, I wore bunny ears on Easter, they're not just for Halloween anymore!)

And we might have even posed for a family picture.

The children have eaten their candy, and the leftovers have been all consumed. Easter has come and gone with nary a trace to show that it was even here. Except perhaps for the large bowl of chocolate I found hidden in my closet, safe from hungry children.

The Easter Bunny was good to me too this year!

Guess What?

I can't leave angsty post laying around too long. People start to worry. So today I'm going to post something that makes me smile.

Last week I got to accompany my Bird as her kindergarten class went to the zoo!

She was so excited to ride the bus.


And I think she might have enjoyed having me along with her.

We wandered the zoo looking at random animals, having a good time. It was zoo. No biggie. And then I saw it.

The rhino butt! Isn't it ginormous? and cute?

I think deep down inside I'm a twelve year old boy. I giggle at butts, and fart jokes.

But the fun didn't stop with just the rhino butt.

After that there was striped butt

and feathery butt

and spiky butt

and shelly butt

And just when I thought I would die from delight at all the cute animal butts, I found new levels of debauchery in the petting zoo

I love the zoo!

Easter Looming, again

It just wouldn't be Easter if I didn't get all angsty. This annual reminder of grief. Easter has arrived early this year. Or maybe it was just really late the year she died.

I think I've had my "Official Breakdown"tm for the season. Crying into the shoulder of the Greatest while he helplessly stroked my hair and assured me that he misses her too. Whispered assurances that my grief is not mine alone, but his as well. The burden of sorrow is not mine to carry alone, but the crushing load is shared. And in the sharing the load is lightened.

He went to several stores searching for Sweet Tart bunnies and chicks. Cause he knows I love them. And I know he loves me.

Some days you cling to the things you know.

I know she was beautiful.

And brilliant.

I know she loved me.

And I love her.

I know I will continue to miss her everyday for the rest of my life.

Again?

Dear Sweet Pea,

When last we spoke I do believe I was begging you to not be so, well, you. Was that only yesterday morning? Should I be surprised that in typical toddler fashion you did not listen?

So last night, after being warned multiple times to leave the hot sauce alone, when you saw your chance to take a big old swig, and you seized the day, did I feel bad?

Nope. Not a bit.

When you cried and pointed to your mouth, so indignant that the pretty orange sauce had caused you pain, did I feel bad then?

Nope.

But I did give you a cup of milk.

Which you did not want to drink.

Instead you slowly let the cool liquid spill onto your tongue and down your chin onto your "Princess" nightgown.

And when you realized your nightgown was soaking wet with milk and uncomfortable, did I feel sorry for your confusion on how things end up going so wrong?

Ummmm....not really.

And when you violently grabbed a washcloth and proceeded to scrub your tongue in a vigorous attempt to remove the burning sting of betrayal did I then feel pity for my tiny toddler?

Nope.

But I might have been laughing so hard at this point that I had to grab onto the kitchen counters for support. I looked across the kitchen at my beloved. The Greatest's eyes glistened with tears, not of empathy, but of mirth. So it wasn't just me.

My only regret is that I did not take pictures.

I do believe the only thing left to say is: I told you so.

Love,

Mom

Dear Sweet Pea,

I love you. I really do. You are a shinning spot of delight in my life. You make me laugh all day long with your silly faces, and your most sincere babbling. Even better when you say something I can actually understand. You must wear a "Princess" dress every day. And every day you ask me "How do I look?" and before I can respond you provide me with the word you are hoping to hear "Princess?" I love to spy on you as you play in a corner with blocks, or babies, or stolen Barbies. You are so creative and imaginative and bold. Make no mistake, I adore you.

But having said that I have a very important favor to ask of you. Could you please quit being such a two year old?

Please stop changing your clothes eight times a day.

Yes, I am proud that you have figured out how to dress and undress yourself. This is a skill that you have mastered. No more need to practice this skill several times a day. You can simply get up in the morning and change from your jammies to clothes. Then at the end of the day you can put your jammies back on. See how only one clothing change simplifies things. And it reduces the vast quantities of laundry I have to wash each week. Our washing machine is older than Pork Chop, and on its last leg. Next time you go to needlessly change your clothes won't you think of the washing machine?

And since we are talking about clothes, let's spend a minute talking about one of the valid reasons you change your clothes: potty training. Now this is another skill you've mastered. You can pee and poo in the potty. No biggie. But just because you can doesn't mean you do. You're just as content to pee you pants, take them off, and move on with life, never once pausing in your play to alert me to the fact that I now have a puddle of yuck in the middle of my carpet. And forget going back to diapers. You don't like them. And since we've already established that you hold a Masters in dressing yourself it goes without saying that you posses the skills necessary to remove the offending diaper, used or unused, and that is left lying around willy-nilly as well.

Could you cut that out.

Please pee in the potty, every time, for me.

And one more thought on the topic of clothes.

You are developing a bit of a nudist streak. I never know from what moment to the next what you'll be wearing, but lately it is becoming common place to walk into a room and discover you are wearing nothing but a smile. Frankly I prefer this to the fifty million costumes changes, again, think of the washer. Plus, you've got a super cute little tush. But I would caution you, try to temper this urge until the weather gets a little warmer. Do I need to remind you of the month long bout of sickness we just endured. Do you not remember vomiting? I'd like to avoid a repeat of that, and for some reason I think running around in the chill nudie-bootie will lead directly to sickness. There may or may not be scientific fact to back me up on this, so just humor your Mom on this one.

And could you do me a favor and drink from a cup without spilling it? Just once? Pretty please, for me? If you're going to insist on drinking for a big girl cup, you need to handle the cup like a big girl. No more spilling.

And please stay out of my make-up. It isn't good for us to go meet Daddy at work when you've put orange lip gloss all around your eye in a very good imitation of a half-healed shiner that you absolutely refused to let me remove with a baby wipe. Life as a Police Officer is hard enough. Don't make Daddy walk around looking like a child beating Police Officer. Do this favor for your Daddy.

And could you just all around stay out of stuff that doesn't belong to you? I know Pork Chop, Meaty, and Bird would all throw a parade for you if you would stay out of their toys (I'm looking at the stolen Barbies you've stashed behind your shape sorter). But this is more important than just moving around some toys. Remember that half gallon of bleach you poured on my bedroom carpet?

Yeah.

*sigh*

Please stop being such a two year old.

Love,

Mom

Sometimes........

Sometimes life is unbearably hard.

And sometimes life is unspeakably beautiful.

ALOHA!

Well, we spent the last week taking turns throwing up.

That was fun.

I'd like to never speak of it again.

Despite the fevers, and vomiting, and lack of sleep, I got the costumes done.

Although, in the interest of full disclosure, my shirt was neither sewn by me, nor sewn by kindly elves. Instead it came to me from a Fairy Godmother. Auntie must have seen the fear in my eyes as I looked at the mock-up of what the shirt was supposed to look like. It was sewn from a vest pattern, but the neck line was modified (which I think I could have done reasonably well) and sleeves were added.

It was the added sleeves that made my blood run cold.

Sleeves, my old nemesis.

Whether it be knitting, or sewing, I just can't seem to do sleeves properly without a pattern.

How I hate you sleeves!

Seeing the deer in headlights look on my face Auntie took pity on me and kindly donated the mock-up to me, instructing me to sew buttons on the front and invest in some socks (cause I'm a little on the flat chested side *curse you boob fairy* ).

By the time Saturday rolled around the younger three members of our family were well. The same could not be said for the older three. Especially The Greatest. But we rallied. We went to the Aloha Festival.

And we DANCED!

(Except for The Greatest. He doesn't dance)

My three dancers before the show

Poor Bird is nothing but skin and bones. She doesn't have a scrap of body fat. And she was so cold in her hula outfit with the bare shoulders. Our stage was right by the water and the breeze off the water had a definite chill to it. At one point I saw the teenage dancers crowded around something. I looked, and it was Bird. They had huddled around her tiny form like a flock of penguins, trying to keep her warm.

The Ipu dance.

The Boys

The Greatest took the pictures, and he only got one picture of the boys dance. And of course Meaty is turned the wrong way. He did this all through rehearsals as well. He is my child in all the wrong ways, poor thing. I was backstage, but I managed to catch the end of his performance, and he was turning the right way then. I'm very proud of him. And just a teensy bit surprised he like it so much, but he did. He really liked dancing.

Sophisticated Hula

Love those cellophane skirts in the breeze! Again, The Greatest took these pictures, and he didn't manage to really get Bird in the picture. She's tiny, so you'd think she would be in the first row. But the second row was the place for her. She needed the row of dancers in front of her to help her remember what she was doing. Another one of my children in all the wrong ways. She did great. Now Pork Chop is my shining star dancer! Front row, big smile knew all the moves, loved every second on stage. A born performer.

And Me!

I am Wife, Mom, Daughter, Friend, Chef, Chauffeur, Nurse, Life Guard, Tutor, Housekeeper, Personal Shopper, Keeper of the Keys, Knitter, Quilter, Costume Creator, Blogger. I wear many hats. And now I can add: HULA DANCER!

I wouldn't necessarily qualify hula dancer with the word good. See me in the second row? Yeah, the second row was the place for me too! Hula dancers are generally thought to be graceful. Anyone who knows me, really knows me, is going to fall off their chair giggling at the idea of me and graceful being said in the same sentence. But I went, I danced, I had a great time. We can't wait to do it all again next year.

Of course no post would be complete without a picture of my tiniest Island Princess.

She was too tiny to dance this year, but perhaps next year?

When it was all over we hurried home and tucked The Greatest back in bed. We had ice cream sundaes for dinner, and snuggled up on the couch to watch "Where the Wild Things Are."

It was a perfect day.

Except for the vomit.

Fingers Crossed

Often I find that the amount of time I spend procrastinating on a project is directly related to my confidence in actually doing a good job on said project. That is to say, if I'm not feeling too good about it, the project is going to languish, untouched, and unloved. Examples of this would include Evil, and My Father's Aran Sweater. (Sorry Dad)

So the remaining hula costumes?

Yeah, not really much closer to being finished.

Yesterday, instead of working on them, I found all kinds of other "Very Important" things to do. I went to twenty different stores in the area trying to find woven basket type bags. I didn't find any. I went to Jo-ann's but forgot my 40% off coupon, so I left. I took the kids to the library for new books, and then spend a good chunk of time reading to them. And most importantly I spend the evening curled up on the couch watching old episodes of "Cops" with The Greatest. You know I'm pulling out all my most desperate avoidance tactics when I'm watching "Cops."

Although while I've not been sewing on these projects, I've have been "working" on the projects. I've been thinking of alternative ways to get them done, ways that do not involve me sewing MY costume. My most viable solution involves waiting until the night before the performance. On the eve of the big day, with an exhausted heart full of desperation, I will lay out the fabric, the thread, the buttons, the scissors, the measuring tape, the patterns... basically every sewing supply in the house will be laid on my kitchen table before I go to sleep. Then during the night kindly elves will rescue me from my plight and I will awaken to perfectly sewn costumes, ready in the nick of time for our Hula Debut.

Do you think it will work?

Cause short of sewing the things myself this is the best plan I've got.