{still life}

The chaos has won. 

Every surface in our home pays homage to the abstract -- each a collection of a dozen objects, none of which has anything to do with another. Pistachio shells, cough drops, pampermint foot cream, packing tape. 

It's like a puzzle.

It's like a crime scene.

Candles and bills. Lipstick and nasal spray. Undelivered Christmas cards.

Sorry.

Perhaps now is a good time to admit it -- I picked a word for this year, a word I hoped would inspire me throughout the year:

expand

It made sense at the time. You know, expanding horizons and boundaries and various other vaguenesses. But it seems, so far, to have applied only to clutter. The stuff has expanded. My capacity to live with and put away all of the stuff has not expanded.

So, instead, 'expand' has been relegated to a word of the month, January. And for February, to hopefully take life back from the chaos, I'll be going with:

reduce

{a bad news, good news kind of day}

Bad news: Horrible lady at the post office refused to send my parcel for less than $8, when it would normally cost $2.50. Apparently, it was a millimetre too thin.

Good news: Didn't cry. A different postal worker would send it for $2.50, and promised to give the other lady a "good talkin' to".

Bad news: Broke down on the highway for the second day in a row.

Good news: Didn't die, for the second day in a row.

Bad news: Estimated cost just to "check out" the car -- $96.

Good news: Warranty.

Bad news: Two hours with Tilly in a car dealership while they fixed my engine.

Good news: Giant balloon clusters.

And let's face it, any day that involves giant balloon clusters is a pretty good day.

{how to have fun and learn nothing}

We are in quarantine, keeping our coughing, snotty mess of a life to ourselves. To celebrate our fourth day of seclusion, we turned to the humble pompom for entertainment.

It was supposed to be an exercise in colour sorting. But who wants to put things into muffin tins when it's so much fun to tip them out?

So, we invented a game. 

All you need is pompoms, a funnel and a muffin tin. 

Once you've got the hang of it, you have to come over and play it with me, because really, Tilly and Bella aren't much competition. And I need a challenge. (Well, or a dose of reality)

{doing a little happy dance}

With seven little quilts to finish this week, sewing-time has started to creep into the bright hours of Tilly-awake-time. As you might imagine, there's been a fair amount of unravelling of thread, a good deal of playing hide-Mummy's-ruler-under-the-sofa, and I've used the phrase "pins are SHARP, please don't stand on them" more than anyone is supposed to in one lifetime.

But along with all of that, there's been so much joy in sharing the process of sewing with Tilly. The way her eyes lit up when she first watched a bobbin being wound. Her intense love of all of the animal-print fabrics -- ooh ooh! tweet tweet! pthbthhhhhh! (That's an elephant, if you weren't sure.)

And, Tilly has discovered that quilt batting has a very similar texture to her favourite thing in the whole world: her sheepskin, GoGo.

This means that when I lay a quilt out to put the three layers together, Tilly will, without fail, toddle over, throw herself on top of it, put her thumb in her mouth and roll around in happiness. (To the future owners of these quilts: if you're wondering why the layers are so bunched up in places, wonder no more.) Certain lucky otters have also been known to go for a roll.

Once the quilts have all the layers attached, and thus, the "GoGo" batting is hidden, Tilly will instead run over and stomp on the quilt, shouting "Happy! Happy!"

I've always believed that handmade things get a bit of love stitched into their seams, which carries over to the person they are given to. So surely, surely, these children are going to feel some of that happiness that Tilly has so loving ground into their quilts with her heels?

In fact, there are so many layers of love and happiness in these quilts. One of the fabrics used was the tablecloths I made for Tilly's first birthday party. Another, the little pink birds, were the first fabric I bought after we found out Tilly was a girl. Some of Justin's favourite shirts were so beloved that he wanted to wear them again when he saw them being cut up -- despite the fact that they fit him ten years ago!



Wondering what all of these quilts are for? Read more about our quilting for community project, and see the sewing in progress, over here.

{how to be british}

(photo: Alex David)

Overheard in Barnes and Nobles:

girl on phone: Yeah, I totally want to go abroad this summer. You know, wherever I can do the most good. I was thinking China, because, you know, they need it. Or London, because I totally should have been born British.

...

girl on phone: Really? Huh. I love England!

...

girl on the phone: Yeah, I'm always doing British things. Like, I say "huzzah". You know how I always say "huzzah"? ...Well, I totally love British culture, and I've even watched the whole first season of Downtown Abbey on Netflix. And I want to watch the British Office, too, before I go, but I'm already watching How I Met Your Mother, and how many shows can a person really watch?

I flicked through my copy of How to Be British later that day, but sadly found no reference to our country's use of "huzzah". Maybe it's new -- I've been abroad for a few years. What I did find, though, were a few helpful tips on manners.  

How to be Polite:

In short, British people won't do anything for you unless you have at least three "sorries" and an "if you don't mind" in the request. And the more times you say "bother" the better.

But it also works the other way round -- I am utterly incapable of asking anyone to do anything for me without all the politeness jabber. Even something nice:

Sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you'd mind coming round for dinner this week, as long as you're not busy and it's no trouble, of course. Astrid x

How to Complain:

And there's the truth -- we British are complainers, just secret complainers. (All covered up by excessive use of the word "lovely"!)

An example: Justin and I were out to dinner last week, and the shrimp I ordered were a bit cold. I wouldn't have even complained to Justin, but the waiter forgot to bring us cutlery and so we shared anything remotely finger-foody, including my shrimp, while we waited. Two seconds after trying one, Justin was hailing a server and getting us another order of free fresh hot shrimp. No problem! They'll be right out! And though I couldn't decide which was more embarrassing -- complaining about the food, or having to have someone else complain for me -- the warm shrimp were very good (and having double the shrimp was even better)! And that's where having an American other-half comes in handy.

Huzzah!

{on imagination, and tiny kitchens}

This is not a post about amazing transformations. Your eyes will not pop. Your jaw will not drop. You might find yourself asking just what you're supposed to be looking at (I mean, apart from the cute baby). 

That's okay.

What I can show you is a broken old cabinet becoming a pint-size kitchen, while still looking pretty much like a broken old cabinet. 

But this post isn't really about kitchens. I've seen so many clever and beautiful little play kitchens that nothing really amazes me anymore. Oh, it has a fully-functioning stove that you built from tissue-paper and pipe-cleaners? What, it only cost you $74, and took sixty hours to make? That's nice.

This post is about imagination. 

Not my imagination; my big clomping parent imagination. That's what I'd been caught up in. Imagining what I could build, how I could have the most fun decorating it and all the cool features I'd like to add. It'll be all white with grey details -- modern, Scandinavian, she'll love it. No, I'll love it. 

Instead, we went with a bare little kitchen that I hope will let Tilly's imagination run wild. Our cooling rack, upside down, jammed where the drawer used to be. Wooden pegs and double-sided tape to hold up her apron. An Ovaltine pot for utensils. And... done. A zero-budget kitchen, built in ten minutes.

If she wants the counter to be a stove, she'll put a pan there. If she wants it to be a sink, a bowl. If, in a week or two she wants to add knobs and burners, we'll draw some on, or cut some out of felt. The point is, the designing is fun. And now she can be a part of that fun. 

I promise, this is not a post that is against fancy play-kitchens. I just about die with envy whenever we get to play with a beautiful shiny little stove, and raid a well-stocked mini-pantry. Aw, the tiny pizza. Aw, the tiny utensils. This post is against sitting around feeling defeated that you'll never make anything as good as the things you've seen online, though. 

And maybe that's something I need to remember about more than just play kitchens. We don't need to be the best of the best, the most original, the most creative. Sometimes, it's enough to make do. Sometimes, it's okay to be in progress, and let your unfinished edges show.

{a bun in the oven}

Over the next few days, you might see my belly starting to expand. Is it a boy? Is it a girl? No, it's a batch of The Best of the British Bake-Off's double chocolate buns.

Like muffins, but a bit thicker and richer, the chocolate buns gave all of our kitchen equipment a work-out, including the little digital kitchen scale that I got for Christmas, and every single mixing bowl we own, plus a couple that I'd put in the garage to give away -- sorry, local charities, I guess we're keeping them!

I've never really enjoyed baking before, (eating, yes, baking, no), but I loved the challenge of this recipe.

"Fold in the flour with a metal spoon", it said -- could the book could see me, there in the kitchen, a cheap partially-melted plastic spatula in my hand, advancing towards the mixing bowl?

Mum? Is that you, in recipe form?

Anyway, if you like the look of the buns (or like the sound of anything with "double chocolate" in the title), here's a link to a similar recipe, by one of the Bake-Off contestants, which also has directions for filling the buns with more chocolate. Just when you think life can't get any better...

{it's raining letters}

You might have noticed, we've gone a bit alphabet crazy around here. Two weeks ago, I was grumbling my way through Elmo's utterly incoherent volume of ABCs, when Tilly suddenly pointed to the letter A and said "A". In all the surprised cheering and dancing that following, we must have happened upon an ancient tribal rain dance, because suddenly letters started pouring from the ceiling...

... drenching Tilly's room in learning goodness, with a pop of colour.

So far, she's got "A" and "O" down, and with a bit of prompting can show you the "B" and "Q", too. What, you're meant to learn them in order? 

And by the way, this is the new paint job we finished back in the autumn that I never put up photos of.

Greyish.

That's really what it's called -- nothing about moonbeams, thunder or stone. It has the most amazing power to make the room lighter when you want it light, darker when you want a certain someone to go to sleep, and is just warm enough of a colour without having any tint of anything. So, phew, all those hours of staring mindlessly at paint samples taped to the walls weren't in vain.

And since we're doing a bit of a room tour, here are two prints I framed and hung above the changing table.



If you've ever met (and, therefore, been roared at by) Tilly, you'll know that she's all about the animals (seriously, she was making monkey noises for months before she bothered to learn to say "mama"). So, I tried to find as many animals as would fit onto two A4 pieces of paper. Would you believe, her favourite is the shark, and she sings the music from Jaws in his honour -- duh dun, duh dun...

{paper cut lyrics}

Who's that over there, taking photos of the rubbish bin? Why, that's me, of course...

Through real-life eyes, I loved how the wood around some of the letters had chipped off, making the text look like a paper cut. Once I ran the photo through a grueling marathon of Camera+ effects, I loved how the letters seemed to glow, like Elvish letters thrown into the fire. One bin to rule them all... 

Anyway, it reminded me of a post over at The Fable of the Table a few weeks ago, showing how you can make your own virtual designer paper cuts, courtesy of Victorinox. 

I ran a couple of favourite song lyrics through their very fast paper-cut-erizer, and loved the results. Totally inspired to whip out a knife and start slicing up some paper. Well, that, or whip out Photoshop and use these to make some prints, minus the Christmas trees and company logo.

(Lyrics by Mumford & Sons, and Paolo Nutini)

Pop on over and have a go -- I'd love to see what you make with it!

{b is for birthday}

This week, we celebrated Justin's birthday, with an all-day tribute to his favourite foods, and a few little handmade surprises. 

Tilly got in on the fun, and completed this "portrait" card of Justin -- multi-coloured eyes and a shining orange halo. He loved it! 

She also dictated her message to him -- I tried to convey her intonation as best as possible, but she felt that some words needed a little colourful emphasis. 

And, as a little last-minute pressie, I put together this alphabet T-shirt. It makes more sense if you know that earlier that day, Tilly had been fixated on trying to read Justin's "Run for Compassion" T-shirt -- the text on which is curled and slightly gothic. She couldn't make out any of the letters, and Justin remarked that he'd like to have a shirt which simply had the alphabet printed on it. 

One trip to the craft shop, twenty-six iron-on decals, and four hours of ironing later (yes, the "60 second" recommendation in the instructions was a little off), voila...

Although it is primarily for Tilly's benefit, Justin loves the fact that it brings them closer... literally, as Tilly leans in, peers at the letters, and then proudly exclaims "A!" "A!" "A!" while poking Justin in the chest! So, happy birthday to Justin, who fills our lives with love, happiness, and now, the alphabet.

{a year of graces}

This year, I got myself a free little calendar, with space to fill in one good thing about each day -- a moment of joy, a small, beautiful something. You can print your own over at Ann Voskamp's site.

 I love the simple photos that accompany each month -- a nice reminder to be thankful for the eggs in your fridge, or the view from your window.

Also nice is that if you do forget one day, it's really rather easy to go back and fill in the days before (as I did ten minutes ago...). So far this year, I've been grateful for:

•  a New Year's Eve that reminded me that you can still have great nights with friends after you have children, 
• a bit of last-minute inspiration that turned into a make-it-the-night-before birthday present for Justin, 
• and a day of enjoying all of Justin's favourite foods -- chocolate chip waffles, Taco Tuesdays at Rosa's, macaroni and cheese with bacon, and finally, peanut butter brownies (and we'll shortly be enjoying time at the gym to pay for all that...)

Hope there's been lots of joy in your year so far, too!