the circle continues

Bear has been desperate to learn to knit for a month or so now. So with Boy2 back at preschool, and a bonus day holiday thanks to a pupil free day (bless you, new national curriculum), we hit up the craft shop, found some chunky yarn and bamboo needles, and merrily tucked ourselves up on the daybed, to get down to the serious business of knitting.

I’ve pinned a couple of tutorials on teaching kids to crochet, but for the knitting, I decided to wing it. I first learnt to knit around the same age, so I figured if 6 year old me could grasp it without the interwebs, it was almost certain this cluey young chap could get a handle on it.

He decided to start off making a scarf for himself. Daddy had requested a jumper, but he was told not to hold his breath. I did the cast on, so as not to confuse him too much – once he gets the hang of knit stitch, it’ll be easy enough to teach the cast on. I just kept going until it looked roughly wide enough, and then the lesson began. He sat beside me as we worked the first row. Through. Around, Back, Off. Every stitch we’d chant together. I worked the first two stitches of the new row, and then sat him on my lap, my hands over his, and we started reciting the steps again. Then a few stitches later I dropped one hand, and soon the other.

And now? It might be messy. There are some skipped stitches, and other stitches where the old stitch made it’s way in amongst the new stitches. The tension is kind of ordinary. But I think this might be the most adorable knitted scarf I have ever seen. I can’t wait for him to finish and see the look on his face as he wraps himself in his very own scarf for the first time.

And of course, we all know what Boy2 thinks of his big brother learning to knit, don’t we? Guess what I’m doing today? Yeah….

boy of my heart.

This kid. He kills me, every single day. Six and a half years ago he came screaming into our lives, and changed our world forever. Serious and solemn from the start, his wide brown eyes took everything in. Now, at 6, soon to be seven, he is serious, loving, adorable, sincere and has the wickedest sense of humour. His father tells me that Bear and I share a sense of humour – we think our own jokes are hilarious (even if no-one else does), but are less likely to appreciate those cracked by others, especially at our expense. My big boy is the one most like me, of our three precious babes. He loves reading and creating. He’s a science nerd. He has a tendency to be shy around new people, or in large groups, but get him among friends and he’s unstoppable. He can talk with a mouthful of marbles underwater. That humour definitely has his mothers quirkiness stamped all over it. A day trip to a nearby rainforest had him sighing that “it’s all so pretty, but I don’t have any paints or pencils or an easel to do art here”. Just like mama. Thankfully, his temper is more like his father’s. But let’s not go there. (me? temperamental? I can hear my mother cackling from here. She is somewhat placated in the knowledge that while my elder son is quite calm, my daughter seems to be showing fine promise in the art of Throwing a Tantrum Like Her Mama).

But he’s growing and changing, and the world is making it’s own mark on him. One full year plus one term of school down, and he is blossoming into a delightful young man. One that I adore more and more each day. He comes out with the most random and often hilarious things. And he has a memory like an elephant. Today, I get to hold him close by, and pretend that he is mine, and mine alone, for one more day. Today, we have baked a cake together. We are currently sharing my studio as Butterfly sleeps while Boy2 is at preschool, and I sit here blogging and sketching, as he sits on the floor behind me, painting and sticking and gluing, making a storybook for his little sister. Soon, we will close up our drawing books and pack away the paints, and we are going to find ourselves a nice spot in the sun, and I will teach him to knit, at his request. It’s a day of no big plans, no life altering events. But it is a day of love and laughter and moments, of all the things that make life worthwhile. Today, it is a day for us.

nostalgia

I pull the doors apart, and step out on the deck, taking the view of the valley. I lean over the side, and as I stare at the slope below, I can almost hear the laughter. In my mind, I can see my husband at the bottom, grinning and calling to a not-quite-two-year-old Bear, as Bear launches himself and runs down the hill, teetering on the edge of losing control just as daddy scoops him up and spins about, and they both dissolve into giggles as they climb back the top of the slope, ready to do it all again. My 6-month-baby-belly bounces and the little feet inside kick as I laugh along with them.

 

I blink, and the memory recedes. Four years, and two lifetimes, since we were last in this very spot. And yet, it seems like just the blink of an eye. Then, it was a rainy, cold, blustery weekend. This weekend just past, it was a steamy, hot, 40 degree, blustery weekend. From a holiday with one-and-a-bit children, to a weekend on our own. The cheeky giggly toddler now an adorable loving six year old. That bump now a boisterous four year old. Their little sister two. Somehow, I must have forgotten not to blink.

 

And four years later, I realise, I never blogged the little project I worked on that weekend. I made vague reference to it in one of my first posts, but the finished product never made it. A library bag, for that little toddler, and now for his little brother and little sister. Nice and big, to fit our favourite oversized books. And before he loved Lego, before he loved Thomas, that gorgeous little Bear of ours, was head over heels in love with Maisy. And by head over heels, I mean completely obsessed. When Maisy came to town, we stalked her at the book shop, and he shook her hand, and then when she visited the local library, he sat patiently as the librarian read the group a Maisy story, and then, as Maisy walked in, his jaw dropped, and his eyes lit up. Maisy sat down, and 15 month old Bear, from a standing start, LEAPT over two rows of children to throw himself on Maisy’s lap. True love, as only toddlers can feel.

 

 

Today, that little man is school, Boy2 is at preschool, and Butterfly is asleep. I have a whole half hour with no housework requiring my attention. The house is quiet, the floors are clean, the washing is hung. My mama’s heart is heavy with memories of tiny boys and happy games. I’m thinking it is quite possibly time for some Downton Abbey and crochet. And reminding myself not to blink before another four years disappears without warning.

 

{linking up with Jess @ Diary of a SAHM for I Blog On Tuesdays}

waste not, want not.

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We do a fair bit of baking around here, so I tend to buy our flour in 12.5kg bags direct from a somewhat-local organic flourmill. Except this bag, I wasn’t quite as regimented at getting the leftover from the paper sack into the sealed plastic container as I normally would be. Of course, this meant prepping the pizza bases on Saturday night revealed a somewhat unpleasant, yet completely predictable surprise. Weevils *gag*. So rather than throw out the lovely unbleached organic bakes flour not ruined by a pantry moth infestation, I did what any other tightwad crafty mama would do. We made playdough! Add the all-natural colour, and we were all kinds of hippy with our 100% organic, artificial-colour-free home baked playdough!

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And in my pursuit of actually justifying my Pinterest addiction, I printed these number sheets and let Boy2 at them!

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And really, what grownup can resist the chance to play as well? After all the sausages were prepped, biscuits in the “oven” and “ice cream cones” created, I started to pinch a bit from here and there, and had a fiddle. Though my handiwork was somewhat disparaged by the resident 5 year old art critic – “What’s that supposed to be, mummy?” Thanks, Bear. Can you tell what it is?

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I had grand plans for today. I even laid out fabric for a quilt, as well as sketched out a pattern for a mini-overnight bag for the girl. But thanks to my caring sharing children, I’ve instead spent the day feeling like rubbish and doing a great deal of not much at all. Hopefully tomorrow will be easier to get through my to-do list, crafty and otherwise. I have a bracelet commission to whip up, a painting to photograph and pack for shipping, the bag to sew, that quilt to start, a journal to bind. Lots to be happening on the blog next week! And don’t forget to pop back tomorrow for the Bloggers Boogie, kicking off from lunchtime, I can’t wait to share this weeks finds with you!) Friday evening is here, it’s getting dark, and I think we can call the weekend officially ON. Yee haa!

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mothers day 2012

I slowly peeled one eye open as a little hand tapped on my arm. “mummy!” came the stage whisper, “are you AWAKE yet?”. I think I must have been conscious enough to nod, because two little pairs of feet were flying up the hallway, and I could hear chairs being dragged, plates rattled and glasses pulled from drawers. Husband rolled out of bed with a groan, and I heard hurried consultations, and then the small feet whizzed past again, returned with a bag of gifts wrapped in hand drawn paper, followed by a reluctantly-drawn-from-bed little brother. All three small people perched on my bed as I opened their gifts. A new tin of pencils from Bear “because you’re the best drawer, mummy”, a stainless steel drink bottle from Bubba Boy “so you don’t get thirsty”, and a ball of wool from Butterfly, which can only be described as interesting, as you would expect from letting an 18 month old loose in the yarn aisle. With gifts duly admired and placed safely on the bedside table, breakfast was produced, complete with a pretty little flower, and coffee, nectar of the gods. Bear also thought I might get a bit bored, so very kindly went and brought me back a book. All in all, I was very spoilt by my beautiful family!

 

My mind is running in a million different directions at the minute, after a busy day yesterday going to mummy groups and getting swap parcels in the mail and working for the afternoon, and no time for craftiness and creating. I have two new fabric collections on the run. I have spent this morning getting my etsy shop up and running to my satisfaction. A 3am inspiration strike is slowly taking shape. Admin and housework are calling, having been ignored all morning in favour of hanging with my small people, reading stories in the sun, and baking vegemite scrolls. I’d kill for a coffee, but we are out of milk and I’m not sure I can be faffed going to the shops. I’m hoping to race through some must-do jobs now the children are finally asleep, so I can get stuck into some want-to-do jobs before they awake. This afternoon I’ve promised a boy some digger craft, so I feel a recycling pile raid coming on. Maybe some painting in the sun for them and for me. A quick tidy of my desk so I can squeeze in a moment of two of sewing as the afternoon progresses. A girl can dream! Going to keep rolling while the mojo’s hot and the to-do list is shrinking. Hello Wednesday, let’s do this!

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Hapy birthday to…Pooh Bear?

The day stretched out before us, nowhere to go, nothing in particular that needed doing. As I wiped the final crumbs of breakfast from the bench, a small furry head poked around the corner. “Hurro, mummy” growled a low voice, which rose suspiciously as the boy behind the voice dissolved into giggles, and showed himself. “Mummy. It’s Pooh Bear’s birthday today! I think we should have a party!”. I eye off the bear, and the boy. This isn’t the first time such a prnouncement has been made – from my recollections, this would be party number three. Or four. I’m kind of starting to lose count. “Really, sweetheart? We can have a party. How old is Pooh Bear?” and for some reason, I’m not all that surprised when the answer quickly comes back – one. I stifle a giggle, and we set to work on a cake – honey pot of course. It comes out, and once cool, we set to decorating. Daddy wanders in, casting an eye over our creation. “What on earth is that supposed to be?”, and doesn’t really seem all that impressed when I declare it a honey pot. Well, I never professed to be a professional cake decorator, and Master Five is blissfully ignorant of it’s non-honey-pot-like characteristics, so I banish the nay-sayers, and we complete the cake. The kettle boiled, a candle found, and we assemble on the patio. I’m not quite sure what the neighbours must have thought as we sang happy birthday to dear Pooh Bear, but the enchantment on a little boys face was worth it. A slice or two, and before long, the cake was gone, the party over, and a bear on a sugar high put to bed

Five weeks in, and I think we are getting a handle on the school routine. Groceries bought and packed away, housework done, coffee consumed. Two little people rested and played. We loaded up the bike trailer and went for a ride. The obligatory swings. Cuddles for a girl, grumpy her routine is being forced into the school day. A photo walk in the backyard with my big boy, and then, not wanting to feel left out, my little boy. The sun is setting on another productive day, and yet, I still hope to squeeze some creative time tonight. Even five minutes for a bit of cutting. Some new fabric is on the way and it’s got the sewjo following. Tonight might be a good chance to clear out the “must do” sewing before the “want to do” sewing becomes pressing. The small people are tucked up in bed. I can hear the low murmur of Daddy reading stories as I sneak five minutes on the computer.Thursday’s almost done, Friday is just around the corner, ready and waiting to herald in a fresh weekend. Busy, but good.

baking day.

A little head at each elbow, two grasping hands on my knees. “I do dat, mama?” “can I lick the spoon, please, mummy?” “I has lick of ‘poon too, mama?” “bub bub bub mama, BUB BUB”. The old Kenwood churns away, adding to the cacophony that is baking day. Chocolate cake, biscuits. Maybe a slice if we have time. And all made with recipes passed down through the women of my family. I love baking my great-grandmothers biscuits, filled with memories of many after-school snacks, dunked hot, into cold milk. Mixing them on my grandmother’s Kenwood mixmaster, a gift from my grandmother when my mother was a tiny child. And now, it’s my turn, with three small people “helping”.

 

But today, we won’t be baking. Bubba Boy is unwell, and we’ve been up half the night with a cough. So today is all about the snuggles. A movie or two, a quick trip to the doctor. Some playdough if he perks up enough, maybe some sewing for mummy. Doing a great deal of nothing until school pickup time comes around. Holding him close and getting him well. Horrible bugs, rack off and leave my boy alone. Downhill run to the weekend starts NOW!

 

camping out…

The rain was still falling, and the cabin fever was starting to set in. The toyroom thoroughly destroyed , and two small boys were in search of a new adventure, so out come the blankets and sheets, and with the addition of some chairs, a cubby house appears. What I love most about playing with my children, is how they take the seed of an idea, and create a complete story from it. The cubby house was soon labelled a tent, and from there, a spark of inspiration called me to the craft box, and a pile of torn orange crepe paper became the camp fire. An old shoe box was repurposed as a camp stove, and the games began.

 

I am…

…listening to the sounds of two small boys having their second shower of the day after making mud pies.

…smelling a beef casserole in the slow cooker for dinner

…busting a move to some Bruno Mars

…plotting and planning some crafty stuff.

What are you up to this lovely afternoon?