ALERT: Jackspeak

At the kitchen table, talking to Jack about some big changes coming soon to our family...

Me: "So, Daddy is going back to school. And I need to take a phone call about it at 8:30, okay?"

Jack: "Daddy is going to school?"

"Yes, to become a teacher. There's some chance he could even be your teacher someday because he wants to teach children who are around your age."

"Around, like some are 3 and 4 and 5?"

"Well, you have to be at least 5 to be in elementary school. Um, so, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, I think."

"Or 161."

"Well, I don't know anyone who has ever lived that long."

"Santa has."

"Oh, yes. I forgot about him. He's been around a long time."

"And his reindeer. I don't know what it is about that weird Santa and his weird reindeer. They have been around forever."

"Yep. Weird."

I wore pillow shams to my high school reunion.

This weekend my husband and I attended our 20th high school reunion. We caught up with many friends from our pasts, unearthed answers to decades-old questions (both trivial and significant), and stumbled across memories we didn't even know we had forgotten. After the events came to a close (yes, events--there were three), I felt happy. Happy to know that old friends were doing well, happy to find that--in anticipating a major upheaval in our little family during the coming weeks, months, and even years--we are doing quite well, too. Nice to have that reminder reflected right back at you. We're solid.

But of course, the weeks leading up to the reunion weren't filled with deep thoughts about my past. No philosophical musings about how both of our lives had been shaped in part by these people we were about to re-meet. No. The weeks leading up to the reunion, at least for me, were spent sifting through my closet. What to wear, what to wear? I mean, THREE OUTFITS. That's asking a lot of a stay-at-home mom who hasn't been to a fancy restaurant, a dressy social gathering, or even a movie in over a year. Right now, "Steppin' Out with My Baby" means exactly that. Out with my baby. Capris, t-shirt, slip-on Mary Janes. And baby wipes for the impending mess on the t-shirt.

After a try-on marathon I felt confident about my fashion choices for two events:

Friday evening, alumni-only night at the high school: typical Stay-at-Home Mom attire. Capris, t-shirt, slip-on Mary Janes. With the addition of a beautiful beaded necklace my sister made. Fancy enough.

Saturday evening, dress-up banquet with real alcohol drinks and other indulgent stuff I had forgotten existed: chose the Stay-at-Home Rock Star look. I put the outfit together a few days before and walked into the front yard to show my husband. I immediately felt like I should hide. My neighbors didn't know this Jenny. Bretty said it was my style, though. And he had that look in his eye. (Yep, that one.) Done deal.

The third event was a Saturday afternoon picnic at a local park. Take the kids, bring your lunch, hang out and have fun kind of thing. A few weeks before I came across this post about making a skirt out of a sheet. I had been stuck for days trying to sew my first skirt from this Amy Butler pattern. I needed a break from it. A skirt from a sheet, huh? I figured I could at least finish it.

But instead of a sheet, I found two pillow shams I liked. Four bucks thrifted. See?

I unpicked the seams and decided I had enough fabric to do . . . something.

I added a raw-edge detail similar to the detail in the Amy Butler pattern I had been trying, trying, trying to complete.

Then I decided to add a big fat hem.

Ran out of fabric for a second hem, so I stole a bit of green from my stash.

And here's the finished skirt, all pressed and prettied up.

And here it is on me.

And finally, with less than ten minutes to decide what to wear before we departed to the picnic, I chose the pillow-sham skirt. With a t-shirt. And slip-on Mary Janes. And baby wipes for the mayonnaise and mustard and chocolate that 15-month-old Charlie ground into my skirt and shirt in an effort to keep mama within arms' reach among all the strangers. (I think there was some ground-in cheese, too.)

So. Stay-at-home mama. Stay-at-home rock star. Stay-at-home pillow-shams-into-skirt maker. Hmm. Perhaps I confused a few old friends who saw me at all three events. I mean, who was the real me? Who had Jenny become over these 20 years?

I remember reading a required book for one of my Women's Studies classes in college. It was called "Women's Ways of Knowing." It detailed exactly seven different ways that women could develop their self, voice, and mind. Seven ways of knowing.

When it came time to discuss the book in class, I was called on for my opinion. All I had to say was, "I am all of these women. I am all of them."

I am a stay-at-home mom. I am a rock star. (Okay, a wanna-be rock star. Still.) I am a thrifty pillow-sham-skirt-makin' fool.

I am all of these women. I am all of them.

Five years.

For those of you who have been following along for awhile, I need to tell you something incredible that happened this month. Jack turned five years old. FIVE. YEARS. OLD. I am officially the mama of a five year old. I'm feeling quite proud.

Jack, you have grown so much this past year. In shoe and shirt sizes, yes. But also in your mind and in your heart. You have transformed from a pant-leg hugging, bashful soul into a social butterfly who will walk right up to a new person, look them straight in the eye with a smile, and say, "Hi, I'm Jack!"

That's huge. Not even I can do that. And I'm 37.

You are gentle and thoughtful and helpful with Charlie, your little brother. You often introduce him to others by simply saying, "This is my baby." Yes. Just as much as ours, he is yours. And you his.

You have become intensely inquisitive, asking me questions I need to open a dictionary to answer. Being shrouded in the throes of mamahood and babyhood these past few years, I thank you for getting my mind back up on its feet. I've been in a fog. You are making me think again. It's a good thing.

One of my favorite changes in you during the past year? Your facial expressions. Coming from a family of many deaf people (hereditary, on my side), you have effortlessly learned the art of communication through animation. In your hands, in your feet, in your face. You are expressing yourself visually. And it's all quite convincing. You can convey emotions ranging from satisfied to terrified just with a tiny squint or widening of your big blue eyes.

(Oh, and let's not forget that this year Jack learned to cross his eyes. Always used to express excitement. Silly excited. Makes me think we should all cross our eyes when we're excited. Try it sometime. Really. It will take your excitement to a whole new level.)

This year I put together a special birthday party for you, with art as the theme:

The invitation.

There was quite a bit of party preparation on my part: 

Testing of projects, collecting of materials . . .

Calling of other mamas to make sure their kids could come.

And then party day came. 

There was painting of shirts . . .

Collaging of frames . . .

Painting of paper (a keepsake for Jack) . . .

Tracing of bodies . . .

And decorating of cupcakes, too.

I think some people wondered why I went to all the trouble. I mean, I worked on your party for a month. It was a two-hour long party. And I worked on it for a MONTH. Why? Why, mama, why?

I'll tell them why, Jacky. Because you turned FIVE. Because you are wonderful. Because I want you to always remember what it was like to be five. I hope you will always remember.

I have a feeling you will never forget.

Mornings with Mama: Fort Building

Okay, I admit it. Sometimes, I wish I had a daughter. Yesterday I watched as my neighbor helped her daughter sew her first skirt. It was delightful.

Sometimes, I wish that was in my future.

It's not in my future. I have two boys. And a husband who, well, would be against his boys wearing skirts. Sewing them, maybe. But wearing them? Unlikely. And there's certainly no fun in making and not wearing.

I'm not giving up, of course--there's lots we can sew, and have sewn, and plan to sew, me and the boys. And with a mama like me (stay-at-home feminist/Women's Studies graduate/quilt lover-maker-designer/make-something-out-of-nothing soul) you can bet my boys will be in touch with their feminine side. (Meaning their sewing side.)

So I'll continue to encourage an interest in sewing, yes. That's where I can be creative, imaginative, and inspired; maybe my boys can reach that through sewing one day, too. But I'm assured that you don't need a needle and thread--and you certainly don't have to be a girl--to create, imagine, and inspire. My biggest little one did just that this morning.

Need bricks and mortar to build a fort? Malarkey. All you need is a nursing pillow, some painted, half-painted, and unpainted blocks, and selected items from your treasure bowl (on the left).

The fort's fleet.

Even the ghastliest winged bat-thingy monster enjoys a little color--preferably in the form of batik scraps left over from a Craftfail-style sewing project.

Hands eagerly pile on a flurry of treasure-bowl contents (including leaves from a front-yard bush).

Ah, I finally understand why he insists on saving the bothersome tags we cut out of his shirts.

Creativity, imagination, inspiration. It's all here. No sewing required.

ALERT: Jackspeak

After months and months of diligent practice, Jack finally masters a new skill--snapping. He is thrilled with himself, snapping himself silly all day long. While I'm making dinner that night, Jack comes into the kitchen with a question.

Jack: "Mom, do you think snapping is fun?"

Me: "Well, yeah, sure. I like to snap to music sometimes. So yes, I think it's fun to do that."

"Yeah, me too. Because you know what? I've been snapping for hours and hours and hours. And you know what, Mom? I'm really, really enjoying it."

Baby Quilt "Friday!": Sleepy Bees

Welcome to the almost-final installment of Baby Quilt "Friday!," featuring quilts from The Little Box of Baby Quilts. Here she is, quilt number twenty (if you've been counting). With all the bees and all the ZZZ's, I figured I'd call her "Sleepy Bees."

From The Little Box of Baby Quilts, copyright 2007 Jenny Wilding Cardon/That Patchwork Place. Machine quilted by Cheryl Brown.

Only four fabrics are used in this quilt--pink, blue, purple, yellow. It's the largest
quilt in the bunch of twenty, too. Big enough to move with a kid through their
preschool years. My favorite part of this quilt? The fuzzy eyelashes and
antennae, hand-stitched with black eyelash yarn.

Yep. I pulled YARN through cotton
quilting fabric. (Just a little.) Not a monumental quilting no-no. Or is
it? (Maybe just a little.)



This quilt has a sprinkle of several familiar techniques. Never a boring moment
making up this girl. Let's see... there's chain piecing, strip piecing, and half-square triangle piecing, plus applique and embroidery, both with yarn and thread. If you're looking for a fairly simple tutorial on a variety of quiltmaking techniques... and you are also looking for a baby quilt... and you happen to like this particular design... and the baby shower isn't tomorrow... hmm. It's a fun quilt to make. Let's leave it at that.

You can see more quilts from the "little box" here, watch a video about it here, and read more about each quilt here.

My plan is to create one final post about The Little Box of Baby Quilts to wrap things up. You know. Closure. I imagine little thumbnails featuring my favorite details of each quilt. When you click on the thumbnails, full photos of the quilts will pop up. Then, your computer screen will turn soft and cozy and fuzzy and frilly so you can reach out and touch the fabric in each quilt and see its true colors. Then your computer screen will turn back into a computer screen and show a picture of every candy bar in the whole wide world, and you can click on your favorite and it will materialize right before your eyes. (Mmmm, Reeses.)

We'll see how those plans go--cross your fingers. Hope to see you back here soon.

ALERT: Jackspeak

It is upon us. The season in a child's life when he or she finds ecstatic humor in potty jokes.

Jack: "You're a goose."

Me: "Well, you're a moose."

"You're a boose."

"You're on the loose."

"You're a foose."

"You're apple juice."

"You're orange juice."

"You're banana juice."

"You're banana poop juice!"

"Ew. That sounds pretty yucky, Jacky."

"No, no! It tastes really good because it has bananas in it."

Only being in the business of mothering for a little less than five
years, I ask you intermediate and advanced mothers out there--when does
the potty-joke season end? If I look to my husband for a gauge, I fear the season
is eternal.