finger thumb

cigitar

That's what our Little Guy calls this awesome thing: He can't quite get the words "cigar box guitar" out in that order. Its kind of a tongue twister when you're two-almost-three-years-old. 

 There was strumming. And singing. Oh the singing these days! It is so sweet. He sat in the back of the car the other day composing the most adorable song to let GranGran know how much he loved her. (its kind of like hearing a tinier, cuter version of Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf) Of course, he refused to actually sing it to Gran when we got to her house. But I sure did enjoy it. 

With a bit of encouragement from Hubs he worked on his demeanour a bit, so he could be a bit more rock and roll. Yeah, that's his sneer. 

The details on this lovely little instrument is that Hubs made it. Most Cigar Box Guitars are made from actual cigar boxes, but any kind of box will do so in this instance Hubs used a hinged wooden box I bought for him at a dollar store. He used a laser cutter to cut out the little fish detail on the front, and stainted it a bluish greeneish colour. If you are interested a better breakdown of what a CBG is, or in making one yourself, there is a good tutorial for making Cigar Box Guitars at the Make Magazine site.

And since the Little Guy knew that his Daddy made this "cigitar box" he decided to make one himself.  So he hauled out a box from the closet in his brother's room and found a piece of chalk...

...and drew on some strings so he had himself his own guitar. Because when you are two-almost-three-years-old there is nothing you can't make for yourself with paper and cardboard. (though do note that if you try this at home, the actual cigar box guitar has a much nicer sound than the one made with a box and some chalk. Just sayin')

socks

So, as I cast my eyes around my studio area I often think to myself "art supplies, or borderline mental illness?" So much of my art practice seems to stem from accumulation of stuff. Fabric-y, knitt-y, yarn-y stuff. After all, once you have more than three of something, its a collection. ahem*hoarder*ahem. Not to make light of things, but seriously, let me show you something. Yeah, this is my worn out sock collection. I seem to be incapable of throwing away a sock that has holes in it. I know I should just darn them, but even though I am totally capable of it, (I have a degree in Fibre Arts for Pete's Sake, I'm sure I can handle daring a sock) I just never get around to it. And since I work in retail, sooner or later all the socks go on sale and I end up buying them cheaply enough that replacing worn out socks is an easier option than repairing the old ones. Now, I realize that that particular train of thought is part of the problem with out global consumption based culture. I've read the books, I've seen the documentaries. So I can't throw out these socks. Also, I'm Dutch, aka: cheap. I think that may also be a factor. I just can't help but look at all these socks and think, there must be a use for them. Such nice patterns and colours, and, like 95% of each actual sock is not really worn out. Just the heels and the toes. There is so much good ankle coverage there, if you know what I mean. Anyhow, I'd like to at least make some art with them. Maybe I could unravel them all and knit a sweater out of them. Or make a really, really long sock snake. I'm sure I'll come up with something. 

Though of course the problem is where will I find the time? I certianly have the supplies. 

turn your back for one second...

...and this is what happens. Chomp. Poor puppy.

Tri-bot over there is having no part of it. 

Sorry for the absence around here lately. We've been holiday-ing and having fun with a house full of long-lost family and under 5 year old guests. I'll see you back here on Monday. 

why women live longer

Because they don't do things like this: Yep, that's my husband. It was a warm day on Sunday, so he decided to take down the basketball hoop on the front of our house. Why? Simple enough: we don't play basketball. No one living in this house has played basketball since my brother was a teenager and that is a good, oh, I dunno, fifteen years ago? The hoop had only an ugly scraggle of net and by the time our boys will be old enough to use it I doubt we'll be living here any more. Also, mud wasps persistently build a hive behind it, which is annoying at best and dangerous at worst. So I agree that it should come down. That is not my problem with this picture. Look closer:

Uh hunh. Do you see it now?

Seriously? THAT IS NOT A LADDER!!!! That is a rickety old stool on an old wooden plinth. Sigh. He's a problem solver all right. Didn't have a long enough ladder he tells me. I shake my head at this man. I'm just glad to say that we did NOT end up in the hospital. But if we had, I would not have stopped saying 'I TOLD you so!' for, like, a week. 

Honestly. Then again, it could be worse. 

 

so tired

I know, we're all tired, but I think I'm going to take a night off from the blog and go to bed early. I'm pooped and I can hear the Little Dude coughing in his bedroom already, so I have a feeling it might be a bit of a tough night. Sigh. 

But thanks all of your who came by and made suggestions yesterday about wheat-free, dairy free stuff. I have a bit of shopping to do, and some plans to make. I need to work on bread tomorrow, my usual gf/df recipe came out quite compact this week. Gonna have to try some alternate leavening techniques. 

Oh, and as side note, I'm reading Stephen Fry's autobiography "The Fry Chronicles" and really, really loving it. Gosh, I could read that guys writing all day. It makes me have to look up words now and then (subfusc. Who knew) I love a good autobiography, especially one that opens up a little window to a world that I know nothing of (for some reason I forgot to go to Cambridge University with Emma Thompson when I was a young man) but make it feel like I was almost there. His enthusiasm is so contagious and his wit is so subtle and lovely. Anyhow, I'm going to go and read for a bit and then fall asleep. Hopefully for a long time. But that coughing is not letting up, so I'm not going to bet on it. sigh.

Its good to know that I'm not the only one. Jennifer Garner is tired too.

pinterest tips

I must say, I really, really enjoy pinterest. It just a whole world of pretty things and good ideas and I love how clean and neat and tidy it all looks (unlike my life). But I've been noticing how I pin a lot of good ideas and interesting things, and how I rarely do any of those interesting things. Its like I'm a pinterest voyeur. Just a lot of looking and very little action. Or as one well pinned funny bit that describes the inner monologue of a pinner goes : "I want to sew! No, I want to workout. Wait, is that a mason jar? Oh f*#k it, now I want cake." 

So I've decided that at least once a week, I am going to take action on something I've pinned. Whether is actually making that really cool recipe (hello Warm Gingerbread Cake with Caramel Sauce), or doing a little home organization (refolding t-shirt drawers anyone?), or a little beauty DIY or whathave you, I'm going to stop pinning and start doing. And then after that I'll pin some more. 

And in the interest of sharing what I've learned, I decided to tell you all about it. So far I've done this foot treatment that was really lovely.  I have super dry feet with chronically cracked heels, and spending time at the pool and the beach does not help. So I tried this soak/scrub deal. You take a hand full of rice flour, add a generous squeeze of honey and then add enough apple cider vinegar to make a paste. Since my feet are so dry, I also added a slug of olive oil. The vinegar is supposed to help to dissolve the layers of dead skin and the rice flour will gently exfoliate the top layer off. Honey and olive oil are natural moisturizers and will l prevent further cracking. I slathered on a thick layer and then put my feet up and watched tv for a half an hour. Then I soaked it all off in a warm bucket of water. And I must say, they did feel softer. Though a foot massage would have been nice as well. 

But my favourite pinterest tip so far was this home-made bath scrub originally from MarthaStewart. Non-toxic, cheap, smelled good and it worked great. There will be a jar of this ready to go in my cleaning cupboard from now on. I used one cup of baking soda, added one tsp of Dr Bronner's Castile soap (orange citrus flavoured) and a few drops of Eucalyptus oil (which I just happened to have on hand) and then added just enough water to give it a paste-y texture. Next time I'd like to use peppermint oil because I'll bet that also smells great.  I'm not a huge fan of artificial scents, as they are chemical-ly and weird and give my mom a headache and may even be carcinogens, but both the Dr. Bronners and they oils are scented with, well, natural essential oils and extracts, so I have no worries there. This was great on my tub, and I used it in my sink and countertops as well. We have hard water that has lots of tannins in it, which can make for very stubborn dark yellow stains. A couple of weeks ago really had a go at the shower to get all the tannin stains off, and you know what worked really well? Cream of Tartar mixed with Hydrogen Peroxide. Another good pinterest tip. You make a paste and put in on and let it sit for a couple of hours and then scrub at it with a brush or a scrubby pad. Took a bit of effort but made a huge difference. Now if I just keep on top of it every week with this new baking soda paste I'll bet I won't have to work so hard at it again. 

For other tips and tricks have a look at my pinterest board titled "good ideas". 

ouch

You know how you hear about these weird accidents and then you think, really, how could that happen. How could someone get their hair caught in a car power window? or something like that. It just seems too appocryphal and it always happened to your friends cousin in shop class or something like that. Well, urban legend no more people because now you know someone WHO SEWED THROUGH THEIR FINGER!!!!! Because IT WAS ME!

oh. my. gosh. I totally sewed through my finger tonight. I don't even know how it happened. Ok, first of all, let me assure my mom and mother in law and all the lovely people I'm related to who read this that its alright, I'm fine, I didn't have to go to the hospital or anything. But this is what you get when you sew whilst tired. Its like riding a bike when you're drunk. You think to yourself "eh, what's the worst that can happen?" And then you end up in sprawled in some bushes with a bloody nose and torn tights and you're like "oh, THAT." Not that I speak from personal experience or anything. But I have a friend who's cousin... oh, never mind. 

Anyhow, tired. Sewing. Thinking about how I'm running out of flannel and why, for the love of Mike did I not pick some up when I was at the fabric store today and *BANG* I yank my hand away and snap my needle and think "what just happened? And why does my finger hurt?" So Iooking at my finger but its not bleeding or anything, but I think I must have sewn through it because its throbbing. And like a little kid, I need to go and confer with someone before I freak out, so I went to  where Hubs was in the garage and said "I think I just sewed through my finger." And then I look at it again and turn it over and there's a big blob of blood. And then I start to cry. Because I SEWED THROUGH MY FREAKIN' FINGER! The needle went it right beside my nail bed (which is so gross) which is why I did not see it at first. And nice Hubs hugs me an pats me and gets me a band-aid and some polysporin and I calm down and watch a bit of TV and eat a little medicinal chocolate. And then I'm fine again.

And then I get back to sewing. But much more carefully this time. Because I like my fingers. A lot. 

I'm off!

Ok, so I meant to post last night but then it was the season premiere of Downton Abbey, so I HAD to watch that. So, so good. If you don't watch it already, you totally should.

And now tonight I'm running around like a chicken without a head because I'm off on an adventure tomorrow. I'll be commuting into Toronto (sans enfants, yikes!) for the next four days to do a little temporary work that I'll tell you all about when I get the chance. But for now, all I can tell you is that I'll likely be absent from this space for the week.

Which is too bad because I have so much to tell you. Did some great thrifting on my birthday. And the Baby stood all by himself for about a minute today (not with my prompting, or assistance or anything) He was just standing by the window eating a baby biscuit, and then took his hand off the window to switch hands with the biscuit and in the process was standing all alone without even noticing it. I just happened to look up and see him at the exact moment it happened, which was a lovely coincidence. Oh, and I'm doing more knitting and have a lovely little home decor crafty repurposed thing to show you how to make. But that will all have to wait for next week, because tomorrow there is a train to Union Station with my name on it. 

Now I have to go and pack some snacks and knitting (a whole hour or so to knit on the train. Heaven!) and figure out what to wear. So much to do. So exciting! How will I ever sleep? 

links and things

I almost never do this, but today I am bringing you some links to interesting things I found on the internet. As I mentioned before, my we have company this week and it is pretty much a constant whirl of (fun)activity. Lots going on, shopping, (I'll have a thrifting post for you later this week), outings etc. but on the downside, not very much time for me to get some stuff done. I have a few sewing deadlines coming up, so that's what I'm going to try and use my little bit of free time for tonight. 

And so, I take the lazy way out and bring you links.

Lodekka. I think that this is the best idea ever. A woman from Portland who took and old double decker bus and turned it into a vintage shop. GENIUS.  

And in the 'sad but beautiful' category, the winner is: 100 Abandoned Houses

Closet Visit is a very lovely concept that will make you want to spend more time with your clothing. 

Rae. I want to knit this. 

The Pioneer Woman. This is quite an enjoyable blog. Though there is much less calico than I imagined from the title. 

Dear Me: Celebrity Letters to their younger selves. My favourite line is from Gillian Anderson "follow your dreams, not your boyfriends." 

Hope you have a lovely day.

what's that smell.....

....I thought as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. It was Saturday morning, and I had a big day ahead. Both the Ukranian and the United Church were having rummage sales on the same morning. I was bound and determined to go to both. I'd slept a little late (7:40) as both L.D. and the Baby had taken a turn at waking me up during the night. The Baby likes to squirm/scootch his way up to the top of his crib and then I waken to the gentle, intermittent 'thunk...... thud....' as he bonks his head against his headboard. I like to get to him and return him to the bottom half of his crib mattress before he works his way into the upper corner and wakes scrunched up there at an odd angle and crying. Then, the Little Dude, has started waking up during the night to go to the bathroom. At which point he sits up and bed and calls "mama..... I NEEEEEEEEED yoooouuuuuuu! Daday.... pee pee on the POTAAAAAAAY" Until one of us goes and gets him. And I'll bet you can't guess who goes. Yeah, its usually me unless I get my elbows sharpened and in action and give Hubs a good jab, two or three times until he finally wakes up and then I have to explain to him why he's awake because he's all disoriented and groggy. ("L.D. needs to go to the potty. He wants YOU. Go before he wakes the baby!") Which reminds me, I don't know why they say 'sleeps like a baby' because a) anyone who's ever had a baby can tell you that long stretches of unbroken sleep is not most baby's strong suit at first. and b) it should be 'sleeps like a husband'. Because if there is anyone's sleeping abilities to envy, its the man of the house for sure. I hate to generalize/brag, but I'm awake and fully lucid and halfway down the hallway to a child's room in seconds during the night at the slightest noise and most of the time when I wake up, Hubs appears to be in a coma. He insists to the contrary; that my getting in and out of bed to tend to the boys disturbs his sleep terribly, (boo hoo) but then, I always ask, if you were awake, why didn't you get up? Hmmmm? I rest my case.

Oh, but I digress terribly, my point was, that on Saturday morning, groggy but determined, I went and took a shower. And after throwing on some decent clothes, and brushing my teeth I looked in the mirror and though, 'sheesh, that's some bad hair. The least I can do is slap it into a ponytail and straighten my bangs.' So I plugged in the flat iron, helped L.D. onto and off of the potty, and then took the hot straightener to my wet bangs and....

...burned the crap out of them. Yeah, that burning smell... that's the smell of my impatience and stupidity. Sigh. 

Its hard to see in this picture*, but see how its all frizzeldy and weird over on the right side? About a third of the bangs are burned, so that the texture will never be the same. It sort of shriveled up and got crispy. I went straight to the hairdresser, who cut off as much as she could without making me look like a lobotomy patient, and then wore a hat for the rest of the day. And I put mayonaise on them and vaseline on them and olive oil on them and anything else anyone suggested would rehydrate them and make them not look like dried grass. 

The next day I washed them and dried them and then carefully used the flat iron again, and they don't look ridiculous, (though they do stick out in a funny way, and definitely feel different from the rest of the hair) so I guess I'll survive. 

But I know what you really want to know. Yes, I did get to both the rummage sales and a random garage sale that I passed on the way home. So overall, the day was a success. You can see where my priorities are. 

*please note that in real life, both my eyes are the same size, although in pictures for some reason, my right one often looks slightly smaller than my left. Another reason I'll never be a model. Along with "I like eating", "plane travel sucks" and "the hours are ridiculous".