Pink Prickly Pear

Adventures in toy making

 

So D'anjou dozed off long enough for us to finish our crafty project yesterday - a little fleece soft puppy named Brownie.  I've never sewed anything 3 dimensional, Mini-pear's only used the sewing machine once or twice before, but I think we did a pretty good job.  He is very, very soft and cuddly.

I want to make more toys!  First I need to work on my embroidery skillz (or lack thereof). 

Mr. Pear got crafty last night, cutting my hair.  Then he got crafty again this morning, as I was not very specific regarding what I wanted last night and ended up looking like a rather dishevelled Dorothy Hamill.  My Dorothy Hamill cut is gone and I have a servicable little flip.  I suppose I look more like Gidget.  I was actually very reluctant about getting it cut (I'm 35!  I don't have that many more years of long hair in me before I start looking like a Wiccan or an aging hippy) but it was doing that post-partum hair falling out thing (please don't tell me it's just me).  It was just too frustrating to be picking hair off everything.  I will probably still be picking hair up off everything, except now it won't be a foot long...

Mini-pear and I are trying to work on a project today

So, why is it that I can lay down on the bed with the boy and he will nurse but not fall asleep?  He will almost always happily drift off when I'm sitting down, but when he's on my lap, I can't quietly creep away and leave him to work on a project with his sister.

Crafty.

Mini-pear's got a cold and her brother has now lodged his head so far down in my pelvis that I really prefer staying home.  It was time for a crafty project.

Tissue paper, old applesauce jars, flour and water.

Add votive candles for a happy glow.  I think we've stumbled on this year's homemade gifties. 

Maybe one day we'll get our tattoos for free.

The other night, Mini-Pear and I were reading in my bed.  She suddenly put down her book and looked over at me.  She leaned in and petted my (tattooed) arm, "I was just noticing how pretty all these flowers are..."

"Do you think you might get a tattoo one day?"

"Um.  Probably.  But probably one that is a little more private.  Probably one that I'm the only one who knows it's there..."

Oh.  Okay.  I think I'm getting a good idea as to how this role modeling works.  Time for me start sleeping around and binge drinking.  Maybe even send John McCain a little election money.

 

Those are a couple of not so private temporary tattoos Mr. Pear acquired from Mini-Pear this weekend.

The internet as emotional yardstick, geometry-girl, and is there a mathematical formula for one's personal poop velocity?

I live with a total maniac who refuses to let me take her picture anymore!  Thrasher!

She may be a total maniac, but we've been having a lot of fun over the last couple of mornings, making a quilt for her baby brother.  Mini-pear (A.K.A. geometry-girl) has been arranging and rearranging the squares into various patterns.  Too many choices!  Here's my initial idea:

But then mini-pear suggested stripes:


We also liked off centered concentric diamonds:
 

And lots of smaller diamonds:
 

I like  seeing how many different variations we can come up with, but I'd also like to make a decision soon.  My grubby little mitts are craving the meditative qualities of hand-quilting.

Speaking of making things for baby brothers, I got sucked into the vortex of online cloth diapering discussions and product reviews.  Mini-pear's diapers are long gone, happily recycled onto friends who have undoubted recycled them further along their happy little eco-friendly journey.  I know we used pre-folds and tried various covers, but I can't for life of me remember which brand eventually worked.  I think I'll probably just make our own pre-folds and wet bags, but I'd love to remember which covers worked so well.  Some of them really didn't, and I don't want to make that (expensive) mistake again, but then so much is dependent on factors as variant as leg chub, and the degree to which your baby enjoys unfastening velcro, and the velocity of one's excrement that perhaps what worked for mini-pear wouldn't work for - gosh, we need to come up with a pear moniker for the boy!

*****

I also live with a nerd.

Mr. Pear and I were reminiscing a bit this morning.  We had some friends back in DC who used to throw down some wicked theme parties.  For Truck Stop, we went as a couple of long haul bible thumpers.  For part of our costume, we got those iron-on fuzzy letters and made Truckin' for Jesus t-shirts.  Mr. Pear pointed out that we went to that party nine years ago, "You were just a couple of months pregnant..."

And then, in a softer voice (that I'll swear was almost choked up sounding), "The internet was so young back then..."

The internet: an emotional yardstick for nerds.  Cute nerds with shiny,floppy hair who massage my lower back upon request, but nerds nonetheless.

 

Good teachers don't have to raise their voices...

I shouldn't generalize, but in my experience, a teacher straining her voice to be heard and bellowing orders is usually petrified and is spiraling out of control.

Mini-pear took an art class at our local rec center.  Rec center classes can be a bit dodgy, I know, but we've actually had great luck at this particular one (well, until now).  The acting instructor is a gentle, quiet woman who clearly enjoys working with children and Mini-pear so enjoyed her science class with Dr. Kaboom that she's signed up for another session starting next week.

Perhaps our hopes for a Winter Camp entitled The Artistic Child, were a little high.  The teacher sort of rubbed me the wrong way as soon as I met her.  The loud voice scolding a little boy during the first minute of class for "being too excited" was a clue, as was her outfit, a matchy-matchy velour tracksuit that I doubt she intended to get paint on. 

When I picked Mini- up that first afternoon, she showed me the fruits of her labor, a snowman drawn in magic marker (identical to everyone else's snowman) and some photocopied pages from a coloring book.  We have markers and coloring books (usually ignored in favor of more creative pursuits) at our house.  For heaven's sake, the doctor's office waiting room has markers and coloring books!  I asked the teacher how everything went the first afternoon.  I think I phrased it  "Did everyone enjoy themselves?"  To which she replied, "Oh, yeah, everyone was good."  Which was not my question.

Out in the car I casually interrogated Mini-pear:

"Didn't you paint or anything?"
"Oh, yeah, we painted ceramics, but they won't be ready until next week."

I guess.

So yesterday, she came home with a Christmas tree ball (no doubt acquired at some post-Christmas sale at the craft store) she'd glued some glitter to, more sheets of this-is-how-we-all-draw-a-whale drawings and the aforementioned ceramic piece, a rotund little Walrus painted and then sprayed into a sticky mess with what reeked like Spray Fix. 

"Uh, did you spray the Walrus or did your teacher?"
"The teacher."
"Inside?"
"No, she took them out on the patio."

I suppose I should be glad she was bright enough not to kill a couple of hundred of Mini-pear's brain cells with that stuff.

Anyway, I'm just disappointed in the class and in the classroom management of the teacher.  I think they should just list this in the catalog as craft time or, more accurately, childcare.  An art class it was not.  I know I'm biased, having taught art classes to kids myself, but really kids and good art supplies?  As my seventh grade math teacher would say, "It's so easy a monkey could do it".

This afternoon, we didn't get away from class until 15 minutes after it ended.  The teacher kept berating the kids for coming over to a table where she was stuffing some little satin Christmas stockings with a surprise.  So we're waiting and waiting, and I have an errand to run, and the kids are antsy and I start trying to pack up Mini-pear's things, and the teacher keeps telling us we need to give her a minute.  Just a minute!  In her most exasperated voice!  Finally, the stockings are ready, but we need to wait while she figures out what projects are going home with who and finally I just ask Mini-pear what she did that day and where is it, and we find the unfired ceramic tile and the under-the-sea drawing (ooh!  Mixing it up with a number two pencil this afternoon!  Fancy!) and then get the stocking which has a fucking Ring Pop in it.  Yeah, one Ring Pop.  Is it just me, or is a Ring Pop the kind of nasty candy that you check in with mama first about?  I guess there were no candy canes left over for the after Christmas sale.

Okay, no need to get catty.

But there was no survey or anything.  So you get to hear my wrath.  Do I write a note to the rec center expressing our disappointment or am I just expecting too much from an art class at a rec center?

Holiday Sweatshop!!!

We had a very productive morning.  I woke up too late for my walk, so while I wasn't exactly off to a great start, there is nothing like dusting off the old printing press to set me right.

Like every sweatshop, this one relies heavily on the labor of underpaid children (it's not as bad as all that, she gets to come to work in her pajamas).  Luckily our tiny press doesn't require too much muscle.

We may as well be wearing track suits...

It's been raining all day long.  Actually, I don't really mind.  It's an excellent day to work on secret holiday projects, snuggle up with mini-pear and  read her new book, play with our watercolour pencils (I've been journaling on paper lately) and drool over read this month's Cook's Illustrated.  I love this magazine, but it can be very meaty (I mean actual meat, not hefty in content, although it is extremely hefty in content as well) so I only ever pick up the holiday baking issue which is thankfully, meat free.

There will be cookies and there will be many of them.

The dog minds the rain very much indeed.  She's not particularly bright and on rainy days she gets in such a foul mood with us.  I suspect she thinks we're somehow responsible for the sad, wet state of affairs out of doors (particularly when a little rainy day inexplicably brightens my mood - I know she picks up on that) and so she makes her displeasure known by following one around and whining, and periodically flopping on the couch and sighing in a most exaggerated manner.

What's my motivation?

I haven't made one of these in ages.  Out of blue, I had a needle case to construct and get in the mail to a customer.  It's pretty, but for whatever reason, there's nothing like a little cash for craft to make me completely unmotivated.  I procrastinated on this like nobody's business.  I scrubbed toilets rather than puttering about on this!  How weird is that?  Actually, I have a long history of failing to follow through on requests for my artsy fartsy skill set.  I guess not being extrinsically motivated isn't the worst thing in the world, but a little income on the side would be nice. 

There's the inside - lots of pockets for your needles and crochet hooks, etc.  I should make one for myself sometime.  I keep my needles in an old biscuit tin and my notions in an old zip up case from a Burt's Bees gift set.  Yeah, that's the Queen Mum celbrating her 90th birthday.  Glamorous, no?

Sit-ups and stings and stamps and...

My day?  Mediocre at best.  Reminder to self: No is not a bad word.

So I'll talk about stuff that happened days ago instead.  Party Saturday night?  Pretty good.  Pics and review, and even a little video, here.  And my fish tacos?  Let's just say that recipe is filed in a very safe place to be used over and over and over again.  Well, if mini-pear happens to change her mind back again about meat.  Many tears at our house this evening.  Weeping about trawlers and the "great big holes they carve out of the ocean floor!!!!!"  Hopefully idle threats about the sabotage she plans to perform as a stowaway one day.  I should know better than to suggest smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches after a long day.  Be a vegetarian, my girl, you've got my blessing.

Sunday, we'd planned on going down to Rivermouth to check out the dog surfing event.  Yes, I'm talking about actual dogs surfing real waves on real surf boards.  Possibly modified in some way?  I'm not sure.  At any rate, I think it speaks to the degree to which we feel at home here that we could wake up Sunday morning, feeling a little partied out and say, "Dogs surfing?  Ehhhh, let's have a quiet breakfast at home and then drive up to karate instead."  Karate it was, and aren't we glad we went?  Mini-pear came out with a sly smile and a paper secreted behind her back - an invitation to test into the next level.  She's so proud and we're so proud and she's really been working very hard (unprompted sit-ups?!?!?  what next?) towards this.

Later on, we hit the beach.  I was sleepy, so I hung  under my umbrella in my micro-fleece and bikini, half-napping, half-reading.  Micro-fleece!  Chilly in the shade!!!  Let me count the ways I love you, SoCal.  Anyway, there I was minding my own business and some stinged beast comes along and zaps me right on my bikini line.  You know, whenever I get stung it's always such an undramatic story.  There's no sticky popsicle involved, no accidental unearthing of a yellow jacket nest - it's just me, minding my own damned business and some beast comes up and decides commit hara-kiri on me.  As per usual, I swelled up like a balloon and have had a mad, deep itch for days.

Mad, deep itch = insomnia.

Remember when my old blog was all about little crafty projects and pink hair ?  Anyway, the other day I I grabbed a sharpie marker, a bit of linoleum and my carving tools and I made a little stamp.  And that's, uh, about it.  I haven't even inked the thing.  Actually, at this point, I don't even know where it's ended up, but there's photographic evidence.  Right now, triple p's got an overwhelming urge to create stuff.  Last week, I thought it might even be an actual baby (I know, I know.  With the adoption they'd be virtual twins!  Crazy talk!), but this week, I'm back down to earth a little bit and I think maybe just carving out some bona fide time in the studio should suffice.