Archive | January, 2010

Togetherness is….

30 Jan

If I could draw, I would have drawn little cartoons to accompany this post. Ones that look like the “Love is….” ones. But mine would feature a short tubby woman with a short tubby baby following her around everywhere.

Togetherness is… you hanging out of my leg while I try to pee.

Togetherness is… feeling toy trains run over my toes, accompanied by tooting and clickety-clacking.

Togetherness is… having every little thing investigated.

Togetherness is… wondering when I’ll get space to breathe.

Togetherness is… breathing in your smell, as you sleep on my chest.

Togetherness is… waking to you, honking my nose.

Togetherness is… when you grab my hand, taking me somewhere you want to go.

Togetherness is…something I treasure around 70% of the time. Please let Mammy pee by herself.

Written for Sleep is for the Weak’s writing workshop.Your prompt is ‘Together’. Share a scene or write something that encapsulates this feeling for you.

Ta daaaaaa

28 Jan

So, even though my sewing machine has been languishing a bit, sitting neglected and ignored for a few weeks, I have actually managed to make something! Yippeeeeeeee! Something I won’t be ashamed to wear! Or even admit t making. I think “re-purposing” might be the way to go, seeing as I’m not great at cutting or paying attention to what goes what way and madness like that. I mean, the ends are meant to be uneven. They are going to fray….I hope (although the jeans were “stretchy” so I have my doubts. Ahem.)

I now have the confidence to make….well….more of these. I am in the middle of ripping the seams of a pair of 3/4 length cream pants. Which will magically transform into a skirt! With front and back panels. Made from a too short ruffly skirt. Hopefully.

I followed the tips found on Not Martha, kind of. There was less fancy stitching involved in mine. But it seems to be holding out fine. Now, onto skirt made from pants, take two.

New words

26 Jan

The turtle’s world of words is exploding. So far this week we’ve had: eat, meat, milk, beach, bucket, pasta, water and bath. Then there was “pete”. I could not for the life of me what “pete” could be. No idea.  Until he led me to the fridge, pointed at one of his paintings and said “pete”. “Aah, paint, is that what you want?” He was delighted. When you finally figure out what he’s saying , he grins like a Cheshire cat. Thrilled.

So we painted. And had a great time. He nearly managed a complete sentence: “Don’t eat paint”. Something like that. He said, as he ate paint.

Next was the beach. “Beat”. Where he ate sand. I shall have to teach him the word “sand” before he’ll be able to say “Don’t eat sand” as he stuffs handfuls of it into his mouth.

Watching him as he masters language is a delight. He has quite a cache of words now. He can navigate the world quite well. Communicating clearly (to me) as he goes. He’ll look at you, repeating whatever word it is he wants to communicate until he is understood. And when he is, he beams. Beams.

I’m sure there will be a lot more beaming in the weeks and months to come. He’ll be a talker. I mean, he already is.

Modern “conveniences”

22 Jan

I’m doing it. That’s it. I’m retiring the dishwasher. I’m sick of it. Reducing my workload, my ass. I have a rather persnickety husband and dishes are as clean as a whistle going in. Honestly. Clean as a whistle. People (ILs, my family) have looked into the dishwasher and asked “Are these clean?” Usually the answer is “No” because they haven’t run through the dishwasher. But we all know that they are, for all intents and purposes, “clean“. That’s why they laugh. The hubby has even been known to ask if the dishes are clean. And I have been known to answer “Yes….but they haven’t been through the dishwasher”.

I don’t like using all of that water and electricity. I dislike how water pools in bowls and things, even though they are supposed to come out “dry”.  And sometimes it melts things!! Finally, I hate unloading the blooming thing. It’s not “back breaking”, but it’s as close as it gets for me.

So, tomorrow I’m buying a dish rack. Things will be washed. Put in the rack. Perhaps dried with a dish towel. Perhaps air dried. And probably put away. Aaaaaaaaahh!

It may not be “convenient”, but it will be simplified.

Now, how to convince the hubby…….?

Craft Hope for Haiti

19 Jan

Click on the badge above to be brought to the wonderful Craft Hope shop on Etsy. If you can’t afford to buy anything, maybe you can donate something?

Sewing

18 Jan

Sewing…. it must be good for the soul. It has to be. Otherwise why would it be so bloomin’ frustrating?

I’m trying to make some “Huck Finn pants” from Weekend Sewing. Trying. Some problems I encountered last night:

  • the foot pedal wouldn’t work. The light worked but the foot pedal did nothing. I contemplated taking it apart. Wondered if it would void my warranty. Wondered what my warranty was. So I googled and googled. For almost an hour. Then the hubby came in and I told him my machine wasn’t working. “Look!” I said, “Here, I’ll try another outlet, just in case”.  What happened? It worked, no bother. It would seem we live “in the house that Jack built.” There was some swearing. Blooming house! Grrrr!!
  • I had sewn the two legs of the pants together on the machine’s last outing. Instead of the crotch. With the smallest stitches known to man. I hadn’t changed the stitch length setting. I hadn’t even noticed the dial. The material was an off cut and I have none to spare. I spent over half an hour trying to unpick the stitches, before I gave up.
  • I remeasured my pieces against the pattern. Luckily, I had cut a generous seam allowance. So I was able to cut off the bit I had made the mistake on. And sew the actual crotch this time.
  • Then the bobbin ran out of thread. Cue 10 minutes of bobbin fiddle faddling.

And I now, after hours of frustration and swearing have the skeleton of a pair of pants. I suspect they’re sewn up wrong, but I’m painstakingly ignoring any and all flaws. As soon as I figure out how to topstitch a seam that has already been sewn, I’ll be ready for hems and elastic. Then I’ll bribe the turtle into wearing them with chocolate.

Crafty!

One year on…

17 Jan

The turtle is 18 months old today. It’s one year since he started eating. Not to the day. But around a year. I did think that the actual date would be forever emblazoned on my brain. Sadly not. I do remember his first tooth though, February 5th. See, I’m not that bad. If only I’d had more than good intentions when it came to that pile of “Your First Year” books.

What I do remember is an intense pressure to wean. From around November (4 months). Mainly from my mother. “Is he not eating yet?” On and on and on. “When will you give him a spud?” On and on and on. I told her he could have Christmas dinner. Luckily he was sleeping. I did give him some fruit puree though. From time to time. Just to relieve the pressure. I was living with my parents at the time. My energy to argue only went so far.Being the mother doesn’t count for that much when you’re also the daughter.

As the magical 6 month mark approached, I bought a hand blender yoke. Ready to make my own slop. Lovingly. For my son to eat. I did. Twice? Three times? Lentils and everything. It wasn’t that bad, like soup. Much better than those jars of things. I’m not even able to look at them without feeling sick, but then I’m the same when it comes to tins of soup. Anyway, no matter what I slopped up he wouldn’t really eat it. Two or three days we tried. The day it took an hour to get a few spoons into him, with my mother jangling keys in front of his face to distract him. That was the day. The day I decided that this was just wrong. It shouldn’t be this hard. There must be another way.

There was. Baby led  weaning. I found out as much as I could on the t’interweb, ordered the book, and retired the blender. The difference was almost instantaneous. There were no more battles of wills. Between me and the turtle. Or between me and my mother (she took to her bed with her Rosary beads, mortally afraid that he would choke). There wasn’t much eating for the first few weeks. Months?

There was a lot more mess and a lot more fun. There still is quite a bit of mess. The turtle has a penchant for throwing plates. There’s fun to be had too. Mealtimes are just soooo relaxed. There’s no bargaining. No “One more bite”. No bribery – although if I thought it would work in getting him to stop throwing plates I might consider it.

He eats a wide variety of fruit, vegetables, beans, meat, fish. Everything, really. Except raw tomatoes. But then I won’t eat them either. I won’t even touch them (although I am getting better). He isn’t suspicious of new foods. He’ll give everything a shot. He prefers peas to ice cream.

Going down the BLW route was probably one of the best parenting decisions I’ve ever made. I trust my son to eat when he’s hungry and stop when he’s full. I don’t worry about food quantities. So long as his food intake is balanced over the course of the day (or even the week) I don’t worry about any one meal. All of the options he gets are healthy ones. He loves his food. He’s a happy, healthy little boy. And hopefully I’ll never be in the position of the father I saw today, coercing a small boy into eating “one more bite” ….. of pizza.

If only he would stop throwing plates, mealtimes would be a dream.

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