Merry & Mod at home

share a glimpse

A few years ago, my sister-in-law planned a surprise birthday party for my brother-in-law at our house. While my husband took his younger brother out for beers, she snuck over to my kitchen and together with a friend we made roll after roll of homemade sushi. I decorated the windows with strings of paper cranes that I had folded here and there from the same stash of origami paper I've had for decades. 

(In middle school I read a book about a young Japanese girl dying of luekemia after the atomic bomb attacks of World War II. She attempted to fold a thousand paper cranes. After her death, her classmates organized to create the Children's Peace Statue to honor her and other children who were victims of the Hiroshima bombing. The story resonated with me. I taught myself how to fold cranes, began collecting origami paper, and folded baskets upon baskets of the fragile birds.) 

This week, I found the strings of decorative cranes and taped them up over our story corner in the boys room. They add more color to a room that is already bursting. 

As I stepped carefully over board games, Legos, and toys to snap these photos, I realized how often my blog (unintentionally) perpetuates an idealized image of my life. I choose to focus on the positive in this space - you probably have enough negativity in your life without me adding a litany of gripes and complaints. But our home is rarely spotless and we are not perfect. 

So I stepped back for a wider angle, to share a glimpse of real life here. 

 

 

 

this time is precious

My youngest and I have long swaths of time together while we wait for his big brother to come home from school. We fill our time at the park, reading stories, running errands, and playing with friends. Even so, it's easy to get bogged down at home: there is always a chore to finish, a meal to prepare. So I made this simple activity jar to give us a few ideas of projects we can do together. Inside this empty candy tin are slips of paper with various suggestions for crafts, projects, and games.

I'm creating time for us together, but I'm also being sneaky in a mama sort of way: many of these suggestions focus on fine motor skill developments such as wooden puzzles, playing with tweezers or eye droppers, sidewalk chalk, tiny sticker art, and - of course - stringing beads. 

This sweet, stubborn boy feels special to have his own list of choices we can do together. And it's special for me, too. I know this time is precious; while laundry and dishes and dinners will always be a constant in my life, an almost-four-year-old boy who says 'yuv' instead of 'love' and refuses to get a haircut will not. 

So he sat on my lap, sorted through my collection of beads and diligently made himself a necklace. We spoke quitely, I stole kisses from his doughy cheeks, and bead by bead, we made something together. 

 

 

a bit of a miracle

It may be contrived, but it's true that each new season brings small pleasures and unexpected happiness. Spring always seems to be a bit of a miracle. As the days lengthen and the sun shines brighter, I tour our yard and note the buds and blossoms. Which plants have survived, which are thriving. I enthusiastically share these details with my family: there are two buds on the tiny apricot tree; we'll have plenty of mint again; the hops are coming up crazy; our rhubarb is booming; we have a daffodil! 

And nothing says Spring quite as sucintly as a cardboard box full of chicks in the garage. With their fluffy bums and tiny cheeps and the promise of eggs, eggs, eggs! they remind me to clean out the coop, order the garden soil, and prepare for planting. Spring is here and the growing season is coming right around the bend. 

I love this time of year.

 

 

Easter basket

For my mom, we created basket of painted papier mâché eggs, and crocheted little urchin sea stones, collected and scavenged from our summer vacation at the Oregon Coast.

Simple, pretty, handmade - a few of my favorite things. 

 

 

 

even a little

Do you remember this forsaken cardigan? As you can see, it is no more.

The experience of pulling out all those careful stitches was liberating, even a little exhilarating. Satisfying. I am designing a new project that I have been dreaming of for months. I can't wait to get started....

patches and patches

A recent repair to a favorite hoodie. This delicate cashmere is no match for my razor sharp elbows. After years of wearing this sweater, it was nearly written off for good. Until I remembered this pattern for little crocheted hearts, and the leftover yarn from a favorite hat. An evening crocheting in front of the fire, a bit of sewing, and it's a favorite again for a whole new reason. 

(Note to self: chickens and cashmere don't go together very well.)

I used the same yarn to repair a tear under the arm and along the cuff. It's a shabby-chic-upcycle sort of thing...

And while we're on the subject of repairs...my six year old son has managed to tear a hole in the left knee of four of his five pairs of jeans. We spent an hour together cutting up outgrown pants and sewing on patches. The next Monday he puts on his navy courduroy cargo pants, which are so adorable on him, and comes home with...a hole in the left knee. It's a blessing that cutoff season is fast approaching. 

a cardigan for me and Lorraine

I learned to crochet as a young girl from a neighbor named Lorraine. She grew up in Louisiana. She smoked skinny cigarettes and exhaled out her nose, precisely tapping her ash with a well-manicured index finger. Her family room where we would sit and visit was paneled in wood and decorated with owls. Her blond hair was always up in an immaculate French twist, though she was widowed and lived a quiet life alone. She fed an orange alley cat that would only consent to be petted by her. Lorraine taught me to flirt...coy glances and arched brows...and once suggested that I should attempt to turn a boy's attention from his girlfriend to me. ("After they're married, as far as I'm concerned, they're dead. But until then....)

And she crocheted. Ripple afghans in all color combinations. She made a lovely cream colored afghan for me before I left for college. It has traveled everywhere with me ever since; even now, eighteen years later, I sleep under it's warmth every night. I consider myself lucky to have received it, fortunate that she thought me so deserving of her time and care.

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All of this is a rather unexpected and roundabout way to say that I have crocheted myself a cardigan. Over the course of autumn and winter, in fits and starts, bursts of energy or languid stitches. Eventually, all the seams are sewn, the stray ends woven in, the trim completed. Done. 

It's just OK. It's warm and comfortable and imminently suitable for lazy, chilly days at home. Of which I have many. It doesn't fit exactly as I imagined: the sleeves are rather short, the front sides are too narrow, the pattern lacks any shaping through the back and shoulders. 

But the fit and the end result are not the point of the exercise. I began a project and I finished it. For myself. On my own schedule. I am deserving of my time and care. 

 

 

 

quilts for twin boys

Last weekend I had the rare opportunity to travel to Portland all by myself. Friday included lunch with a dear family friend, an afternoon at the museum, ramen noodles and old fashioneds. It was rejuvenation at it's very best; just what mama needed.

On Saturday, I attended a baby shower for a very dear friend about to welcome two twin boys into her life. I spent the evening with her, cooking dinner and reading letters from my past - from my year in France, from the month following my wedding, from the summer during college when I crashed the car...twice. It was enlightening and entertaining. Most of all, it was marvelous to sit with a friend of 16 years, admiring her abundantly beautiful belly, and to know that our friendship had survived so much history, and will create so much more. 

Preparing for the trip, I debated with myself the best gift. To make something by hand - when it was far too late for an heirloom crochet blanket; or to purchase something stylish and practical, like my favorite swaddling blankets.

In the end, I decided that she probably has many stylish friends and family members to purchase gifts from her registry. Better to go handmade. So I spent a blissful hour wandering the fabric shop, looking for just the right pattern and colors. That night I sewed up two simple quilts filled with a thick wool batting...the perfect warm layer for a walk in the stroller. (Which is what I would do with twin boys every morning - directly to the nearest coffee shop, which are, thank goodness, plentiful in her neighborhood.) 

This last minute project even included a pair of cozy gray booties. The babies won't arrive for over a month, and these simple boots work up in about 40 minutes each. Plently of time to create another pair. I certainly wouldn't want baby B to feel left out with chilly toes! 

the intersection of interest and creativity

While I treasure my grandmother's sewing machine, her collection of thread in the cabinet my grandpa made for her, and my Gingher scissors, I am not a sewer. Not really. I've made a few things, and I like knowing I can mend our clothes and made a simple blanket for a gift if interest and creativity intersect. 

Last week after school my boys found me in an agreeable mood and said, "let's make something in the studio." I keep a small stack of fabric and scraps stashed in my closet, so each boy selected a soft piece and found a spool of thread and a wound bobbin they fancied. 

The oldest decided on a pillow, the youngest choose a blanket for his baby. (As we have already established, there is nothing sweeter than a boy with a baby. He'll be such a good daddy, someday.) 

We gathered around the my desk, they patiently waited while I threaded the needle. It was pleasantly relaxing to be gathered together in a quiet room, making and creating. 

snow day magic child

We were blessed to wake up to a winter wonderland last weekend. Snow days have been few and far between this winter. I've never lived in a truly cold climate; so on mornings like this, I always feel a child-like sense of awe and magic. It's snowing! The world is white, covered in a quiet blanket, and our footsteps crunch along the path as our family ventures out in search of adventure.

Before long, someone is cold and hungry and must go inside. And so my youngest made himself a cozy spot in front of the fire as he waited patiently for his hot chocolate. He looked so sweet and so young, cuddled there under the mop of hair he refuses to trim. I remembered making this blanket for him when I was pregnant, feeling him move inside me and wondering who he would be. I could never have imagined or dreamed this magic child.

This is my first completed crochet project. Created, I might add, with yarn that I bought when I learned I would become an auntie for the first time. My niece, who has never received a handmade blanket from me, is now 9. Oh well. This summer at the beach she was cuddling with a worn gray teddy bear; it was so changed from the soft yellow fellow I gave her as a baby I didn't even recognize it. She knows her auntie loves her.

The making is so much more about the process. I would work on the blanket before leaving for work, while my oldest - so young at the time - watched Sesame Street before preschool. I dreamed about moving to a smaller town, about staying home, about creating a new life with my family. We have built this new life - complete with snow days, homemade bread, chickens and homegrown tomatoes, family dinners, and no commutes - for us and our boys and we are thrilled with the results.

My sweet baby boy is growing before my very eyes. I treasure him.

* The pattern is the Tiramisu Baby Blanket from Posy Gets Cozy. Once upon a time a cream silk ribbon wove around the edge and tied with a delicate bow. Though it was lovely, it was quickly deemed impractical, for obvious - and boyish - reasons.