Jack focuses on finishing his dinner while I begin clearing the table of dishes and spills. Suddenly, he sneezes seven times in a row.
Me: "Geez. If you were one of the seven dwarfs, you'd be Sneezy."
Jack: "If you were one of the seven dwarfs, you'd be Cleany or Washy."
Awhile back, a friend of mine wrote down her email address for me on this funny little monkey sticky note.
After seeing the note on the kitchen table, Jack called for paper,
crayons, and scissors. I obliged.
He created his own funny little monkey.
And then began creating an entire jungle.
He drew lions and tigers and bears. (I know. Oh my.)
And elephants and dolphins and bats.
And giraffes and red-faced blue-horned flower-toed, um, creatures.
And ... um. Okay. I don't know what this is.
But, you know. WOW. Instantly, simply inspired. From a funny little monkey sticky note.
The lesson; there's something to inspire you. Right now. Right in front of your face. Right now. Look around.
A pricey rack? Perhaps, for a yard sale. But the absolute shock of finding a rack like this one at a yard sale (when I had just been pricing perkies like these last week) fogged up my bargaining skills. The seller did throw in a free wall clock and a videotape of Dead Poet's Society. Sweet!
I'm starting a new "thrifted!" category with this post. Not sure if anyone will want to follow along; it's not like another person can hit a thrift store or a yard sale and find exactly what I find. But it just might show the weird, wacky, and sometimes wonderful surprises that come with thrifting. Like when you get a free copy of an inspiring teacher movie today that you watch with your husband tonight, and it's perfect because he recently left a 20-year-old career to become a teacher. And you both cry at the end.
Or like when you write an entire book about thrifting and sewing and sewing and thrifting, and you aren't sure how it's going to work out, and sometimes you feel silly about the whole thing, like you shouldn't be doing it because, you know, what do you know about it, anyway? And then a special something that marries your passions for both thrifting and sewing meets you at a yard sale. Like a sign. Kinda weird and wacky and wonderful. And perky too.
So, welcome to the "thrifted!" category at the WildCards. Not much else to say except the obvious. Carpe diem.
As I make lunch, Jack builds spaceships with Legos at the kitchen table.
Jack: "Mom, is this real?"
Me: "What, what you're building?"
"No, this. Like, us."
"Like... like us living here on earth?"
"Yeah."
"Wow. Good question."
"Is it real?"
"Well, some people would say it's real, and other people would say it isn't real. I guess I think if you believe it's real, then it's real. Do you believe it's real?"
"Yes. I believe it's real."
"Me too."
"Yeah. me too."
"Good question."
A few weeks ago--after hearing the phrase directed at him well over seven bazillion times--Charlie said, "I love you." (Well, really he said, "I yuv you." But you get the idea.) I wasn't sure he understood the meaning of the words, but it was a wonderful thing to hear. He would say it every time we said it to him, even adding a "too" to the end of the sentence: "I yuv you too." So sweet.
One night at dinner, Brett the Dad began his nightly ritual of grabbing three cookies from the cookie jar. (After he had eaten but before his milk was gone, of course.) He sat back down at the table and handed one cookie to Charlie.
Charlie: "Tank you."
Brett: "You're welcome."
Charlie took a bite. He smiled and added a high-pitched "mmmmm!" Then he said:
"I yuv cookies!"
Later, as Charlie tries on his new summer sandals for the first time at home, he says with delight:
"I yuv my shoes!"
The next morning, driving homeward, Charlie and I turn onto our street.
Charlie: "Mom, home."
Me: "Yes Barley, almost home."
"I yuv home."
Well sheesh. I suppose it's quite obvious now. This little boy knows the meaning of love.
Well, here it is:
Amidst the final two-week explosion of activity that left my kitchen a shambles, here it is. Eight month's worth of work on the book (with a not-yet-finalized-but-coming-soon title), packed into two boxes. Feels small.
(Only two boxes, really? Wow. I'm hoping it will all feel--well, bigger--once I crack open the cover come February. We'll see.)
Been a few weeks since I shipped those boxes. The kitchen's all cleaned up. Sewing stuff is back downstairs in my sewing room, where I never sew. (The sun and the fun--and my little ones--tend to stay upstairs.) Everything is back in its place. It's quieted down. I've had a nice sewing sabbatical. I'm ready to fire up my machine again, even though she could use a tune up and a new needle. Heck, she could use a massage and a girls' night out for dinner and a movie after all I've put her through. Thanks, machine.
I want to sew something. Thing is, I don't want to design it, create it, or start it from the roots or the grass. I just want to sew something. Don't get me wrong--shine bright or fail miserably, there's wonderful things to be said for blazing your own trail. For taking what you know and what you love and creating something that's one of a kind, completely you, and forever yours. But when you do it 26 times in a row, like I just did, there's something to be said for taking a break. For keeping your hands busy with a project that comes from another person's trailblazing.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm off to church.
For over a year now I've been participating in a church activity, although I don't attend church. Once a month at this church, women get together with one purpose. To make stuff. The projects that need working on are simple, rhythmic, and easy to chat by--tying pieced quilts, hand quilting wall quilts for children's classrooms, creating matching games for kids with markers, file folders, and sticky velcro. Stuff like that. How many adults do you know who can, once a month on a Monday morning, go and talk with their neighbors while they quilt and tie and color with markers? I mean, who doesn't want to do that? I want to do that.
Kit-style baby bibs, ready for sewing at home.
In between individual projects that people can take home to make and monthly projects that people can work on together, this church gets a lot of stuff made. As I understand it, each brick-and-mortar church has a group. Someone at the top of the hierarchy decides what needs making each month and tells the groups. And then each group gets going. From one street in my town, as you are walking along one stretch of sidewalk, you can see six of this church's steeples. SIX. You have to turn a full 360 degrees to see them all, but still. Six churches from a single vantage point. That's a lot of getting going.
Almost exclusively, the materials for projects are found, donated, or rescued. The church makes use of what's been tossed aside, buried in closets, hidden under stairs, packed away in the garage. They make use of what's no longer wanted. And they turn as much as they can into handmade somethings to send away, wherever it's needed.
It's a cool feeling. Just making something and then letting it go. Letting your imagination wonder where your scarf, your wall quilt, your
newborn nightgown, will go. And then it's gone. You make individual projects during the month and then drop them in a
basket at the monthly meeting. There are no thank
you's. No oohs and aahs. No show-and-tell. There's mostly just, "can you
make more?"
Yes, I can.
Newborn nightgowns taught me how to use my overlock
machine (along with my kind and patient neighbor).
The monthly gatherings, at their heart, are what I imagine good old-fashioned quilting bees to have been like. You know, from Laura Ingalls days. I thought I had romanticized quilting bees in my mind after reading about their rich history. But geez, it really IS like
that. Creating friendships, helping
others, helping each other, rooting yourself and your family in the community, sharing stories, laughing,
learning about your neighbors. Not every time, not every minute. But yes, it's a whole lot of that. Even children playing under the quilting frame (I
KID YOU NOT!). I feel lucky to be a part of it. It's become a precious monthly event for me.
I am an equal-opportunity do-gooder. I don't belong to this particular church, for a whole lifetime's worth of reasons. But I believe they do good. And now, thanks to them letting me come back month after month, I believe I am doing good too. Could be a kind of trailblazing in its own right. Trailblazing without all the blazing. Sometimes, I kinda like that.
We celebrated Charlie-Barley's birthday this past weekend. Our littlest is now two years old. Looking back at my one year post about Charlie, I remember thinking that I didn't know him very well just yet.
Times have changed.
What have we learned about you, Charlie, during this past year? Let's look back and see...
You are a happy boy. Which reminds others around you be happy, too.
You like to move.
Fast.
Spring, summer, fall...
or winter... (or, in this case, winter in spring...)
You love to play outside.
You love your daddy.
And you will follow your brother to the ends of the earth. And downstairs, even.
You like your mama's sewing stuff.
And you will humor her by wearing the stuff she sews
(like this Daredevil costume, originally made for Jack).
You still like birthday cake. Same as last year.
And--same as last year--we are all unabashedly in love with you.
Charlie, you are an endless source for teaching and learning (it goes both ways). You are an endless source of hugs and cuddles. You are an endless source of laughter and entertainment. You are an endless source for reminding us how to live. LIVE (with a long "I").
Wow. All of that in our home, every day. An endless source for all of it. Who could ask for more?
Our days are brighter with you in it, little bean. I am so happy you are ours.
Now, on to year three.
