Card carrying over

 Here are the cards I made in May. Yes, I know it's July - but I'm what my husband calls 'slowly efficient'! 

I experimented with a few new things: torn paper, metallic pens, abstract designs, backgrounds. I like them but I have to admit I could do better - as usual, time and I have been at war again and, as usual, time won. My favourite is the cupcake design. I quite like the fire engine too - nice and simple. The Little One is crazy about ladders so, once he saw the fire engine I had to make him his own paper ladder stuck to a square of paper. He was too lovely to resist. As I said in my last post, it's the little things!

A few words

I feel I am holding something back from you. All my primary-school years I wanted to be an artist. All my secondary-school years I wanted to be a writer. All my adult years I've thought the writer in me was a dream, and I had to live in reality.

This year I've been dreaming. Who says your work has to be a 9-5 that pays the bills and slowly drips on the fizzling-out fire of your hopes? That work stays in one box, and your talent, your joys and interests go in another? I want to have a vocation. I want to find the things I love to do, get better at them, and then find a way for them to sustain me through life - and not just financially.

So I ought to tell you that when I write this blog I'm letting the writer out of me. She's a little rusty. She's a little war-torn. But she's a dreamer.

Post-script: I have to say though, I read quite a lot of other blogs (see list, right), and they're all talented word-smiths. The writers field is as crowded as the flower meadows at this time of year, and I'm not sure if I'll ever grow tall enough to show my head at the height these other blogs reach. Still, I have to be true to myself and so I'm going to keep typing and see where it takes me.

Photo courtesy of my lovely brother

It's the little things

It's the little things that get me. A wild strawberry wiggling its roots into the lichen-covered ruins of a home, bursting with sweetness promised. A pair of foxgloves growing tall together, standing competitively back-to-back to see who's highest.

My day can rise out of the doldrums at the sight of the first yellow poppy of the season on a familiar walk, at the smell of lemon balm on an unfamiliar one. My little boys laughing at something - one in unaffected joy, little as he is; the other dressing his laugh in all the drama he can muster, to show how big he's getting.

The eldest boy making scrambled eggs for breakfast by himself today, and making extra for his little brother. My husband holding me yesterday, telling me I'm good enough, when I had been secretly feeling I wasn't up to scratch, when I had secretly been feeling alone.

I've always been about the little things in life. The older we get the more we pass them by unnoticed, looking for the Next Big Thing. I like the simple pleasures, the things cynicism turns its back on. I like to keep my child's eyes on.

Quilt-envy

There is a lot of quilting going on in the blogosphere. I'm sure there are other bloggers with three-month old babies who can manage to quilt too, but I am not one of them. I try to be glad of the little things I can do, rather than bemoan the things time will not allow me to accomplish.

But oh, how I wish I had time, sense and skill to do so! If you have time, do look at the farmer's wife quilting on 'Quilt while you're ahead' and 'Dragonfly'. It's a level of quilting far beyond my previous regular-square attempts, but I'm hoping it's within me. And if you have money, buy me this Jane Brocket book! One day I will have the time. One day.

Lastly, this is one of my all-time favourite quilts, from one of my all-time favourite colour-masters. Enjoy!

Anna Maria Horner's 'Wildflower' quilt

Cooking the books

How do you feed your family? Some people feed them off the supermarket shelves, straight into the oven then into the mouth - minimal cooking required. Some people have more-or-less the same shopping list each week: fish on a Friday, mince on a Tuesday - minimal planning required. I am not very minimal.

I have some laudable motivations: health of the family, health of my purse, variety of diet, foods in season, throwing little away, planning around my weekly organic vegetable box (my only remaining monetary treat since our income was squeezed by three boys, a new house and my stay-at-home-mummy dreams).

I also have some selfish motivations: an obsession with gorging myself on recipe books - the reading of, rather than the eating out of (though I do that too), being a bit obsessive with planning and listing things (luckily I'm not the only list-crazy lady around), and that lovely smug feeling you get from pretending to be selfless and feeding your family healthy, hearty, yummy food.

Here's what I do: I see what's coming in the vegetable box each Wednesday and then I plan a week of meals based on that and what's in season. I try to stick to it to avoid chucking once-edible things away. But behind this weekly activity is a longer-term, very self-indulgently selfless one: I go through every recipe in every recipe book I have. I check for what we'll like, what I'll cook, and what will feed us all. I write each recipe down in a list. I keep all my recipe books in an order (alphabetised by author; dated within each author - I know, OCD). And then each week I move on to a new recipe book to choose my menu from. I try new recipes as far as I can, before recycling old favourites (after cooking, the recipe gets a little rating/comment). So I aim to one day have cooked every recipe we'd like to eat from every recipe book we own!

Today is shopping list writing day. Last week we were on Nigella Bites, this week we're onto her 'Feast' book, and next week it's her 'Kitchen' before we move on to another cook. I really like 'Feast'. It's a good read, a novel approach, and it suits our tummies.

A lot of my blog so far has been sewing-related, as that's my new crush. But cooking the books is my long-term love, and I really ought to include more of it here. I thought I'd try to do a weekly round-up of what I've cooked and what we thought. What do you think?

A sewing frenzy

I've been on a sewing frenzy. I can't tell you how lovely it has felt to feel the fabric under my fingers again, passing rhythmically through the sewing machine's foot as it stamps and dances down the bags I have made. The parallel lines, the carefully chosen colours, the 'hmmm, what can I do with this?' feeling... I'm so lucky that my selfless present-making is really such a selfish indulgence.

The Little One met six other little friends when they were all babies at postnatal group. We still meet once a week, and they all have their birthdays within 2-3 months of each other. This is what started my little sewing frenzy. And these are the first of seven little bags I will be making (four down, three to go), each with the child's initial on them, each edged in Eleanor Grosch's beautiful Zoo Menagerie fabric, and each with the straps sewn stiffly into the sides to hold the bags slightly open (to make it easier for little hands to delve in and out, rather than the usual struggling to separate sides).

Bags 1-4 gratefully received so far. I still have my own little man's bag to make - he's a bit bonkers about yellow at the moment, and I don't have any yellow fabric to hand. Excuse for another few hours spent perusing the long list of fabrics on Ebay perchance?!

'Arts and minds

Trampled down by the drudgery of unfinished housework and a 'to do' list that appears to have over-eaten, I am reminding myself of the days when my heart soared and I felt inspired.

We've done a few walks recently with the two littlest boys. Little One in a carrier on my husband's back; Tiny One in a sling on my front. We waited for the right conditions: decent night's sleep, dry weather, no one too hungry, no one too grumpy. The walks were glorious.

One was up a hill behind our house, round the top and past the reservoir. The last half-hour of the two hour walk was murder on my under-used legs and my dragged-down shoulders. But the physical exhaustion was worth it for the mental elation. A walk! With the kids! There was wind in my face, a hill beneath my feet, nothing but nature and space all around me, and inside I felt like Maria spinning on top of her 'Hills are alive'. Best of all it showed us both it could be done - that the boys would let us walk, would sleep or look around, but not moan incessantly to get out or get home.

One was up and down beautiful valleys and hills; a whole morning in the warm sunshine. We saw birds, streams, a ruined stately home, lizards, grasshoppers, a ruined mine, glistening water, trees of every ilk. I'm not sure how long we can do this, for though our strength carrying the boys will increase, I think their weight will increase faster. How long will we have to wait while the Little One's too heavy to be carried but too little to walk? I hope not too long. I have to be able to get up a hill to blow out the cobwebs and put the skip back in my trudging feet.

Another, disparate inspiring day was had about a month ago now, when our county held its Open Arts event. We managed to get to just one exhibition, little boys in tow, in the house of an artist. There were six exhibitors in total, including a crocheter (that can't be the right spelling!), sewer (always want to put a hyphen in 'sew-er' to remove lavatorial connotations!), illustrator, and several artists. I even spoke to some of them. I could hardly speak to anyone about it afterwards though. It was like that moment in Sleeping Beauty when, after 100yrs of sleeping, someone clears the jungle of vicious weeds and finds the castle again. I haven't done any art for 13 years, even though it was my raison d'etre for so long. About five years ago I dared to pick up a pencil and found I couldn't draw any more. But seeing that exhibition and talking to artists who believed in me despite not knowing me or my non-existent work... part of me woke up again. It's pretty scary, but I think I might be able to train myself back into doing it. And the sewing is a part of that.

Am I rambling? Time to get back to that merciless 'to do' list.

Twice was nice

Happy Birthday dear Little One! Well it was a few weeks ago but I'm only just getting around to posting.

I can't believe he's two. I remember his little squashed-up face lying serenely next to me in the cottage hospital where he was born. Breastfeeding while his little hand held my finger so firmly in his grip. Lying his little strong body against my folded legs so I could look into his big eyes and wonder about him. His confused face when we tried to tickle him (he's not very ticklish). The weeks of whinging that preceded the first crawling, when we realised our little lovely had bundles of energy and was desperate to be on the move. Him tottering around and laughing on the cricket pitch that we use as our extended back garden. Him perfecting the perfect take-off and landing to a jump but not managing the off-the-ground part in the middle of it. His first word ('bye') that took so long to arrive. His little teeth emerging with very little protest. His growing obsession with builders. This list could go on and on.

We are so head-over-heels with him now. We love the effort he takes to string two- and three-word sentences together. His amazing ability to throw and kick in the right direction, and even to catch. How his little teddy is getting more of a personality (and bodily functions!) every day he plays with it. The way he tells us off. The fun he has with his brother, the Big One, and the tenderness he shows to his other brother, the Tiny One. Him laughing at jokes (he was a serious little baby) and making them. The drama he bestows on finding a fly indoors. The pure joy he experiences outdoors, with space and freedom all around. His beautiful face, his slight but purposeful body, his funny little dance.

He had a lovely birthday, with his beloved grandparents there, a picnic, a sandpit, only one small meltdown and lots of (but not too many) great presents. And he understood the specialness of the day and the specialness of him. It was lovely to see. I am so enjoying seeing him growing up, and trying to remember to savour every moment and milestone as they pass by and vanish.

You do something to me

Here is a baby card for a friend's new little boy. But I'm just using the picture to introduce a few thoughts about my own baby boy. My Tiny One.

Oh he is so lovely. He has the cheekiest, silliest smiles. The Little One didn't smile as much as a baby so the Tiny One's smiles are so much appreciated. They usually make me giggle, and a little giggling goes a long way.

He smells delicious. Bury-your-head-in-his-hair delicious. I sink my nose in his big, soft, cushiony cheeks and smell him while I dance with him. I dance with him a lot - he's not too good at getting to sleep on his own, so the ever-familiar mummy-jig comes out of my hat regularly.

He is solid yet delicate. He has a bit of strength and control but is still so baby-like. Today I caught him trying to control his arm as he swiped for something on his baby gym. I think he is very clever.

He has beautiful eyes. I thought the Little One's eyes were just glorious, and they are - so round, big and blue. But the Tiny One's eyes are shaped like almonds, with lovely curled lashes, and a strange, bewitching colour that could either clear to blue or thicken to brown.

I feel like I am getting to know him. I know he is getting to know me. He lights up when he sees me. He relaxes into my hold. If he's getting a little tetchy on his own and he sees me, he goes up a few gears to crying because he knows I'm the one to tell how he feels to, and I'm the one to help.

I think I am falling in love.

Thinking allowed

The Little One has been with us for two months now. I spent a lot of time yesterday feeling low because I was thinking about all the things I cannot do with two children under three. All the things that would have been populating exuberant blog posts full of successes and challenges. Things like...

• I cannot cook or bake as much as I'd like. I wish I could be making stews and exotic salads, scones and quiches regularly. But having said that, there's an oxtail stew spending four hours softening away in my oven right now, and I made a lovely birthday cake for the Little One at the weekend.
• There is never enough time for anything. It was my dad's birthday a fortnight ago and he's yet to receive his 2/3 sewn present. It was the Little One's birthday but he ended up with shop-bought quiches for his birthday picnic and none of the number '2' biscuits I had planned, making me feel thoroughly incompetent (I know I'm not, but every time I have a plan and don't achieve it I feel like a failure). But having said that, I made quiches (shop-bought pastry, but still) the following night for dinner, and I did make the cake. And I suppose sewing any kind of present with a just-out-of-newborn baby and a toddler around is not half bad.
• I've been late for all the presents I should've given in the last month. There's a seven-year-old child of a friend yet to receive April's present, there's my dad, and a good handful more. But having said that, nothing would've been late if I'd have just bought the presents, and things are starting to move again on the sewing front.
• The house keeps descending into what my mum called 'A Bomb Sittit' (but once I'd grown up I realised she was saying 'a bomb's hit it'). But having said that, I did get it vacuumed before the weekend. And a grimy sink here and there is not the end of the world.

Oh I could keep on with this list for hours. But today's me has been adding 'having said that' to every item, because today's me is feeling much better. I've achieved a lot more today, not least the oxtail stew. But I've also been remembering to count my blessings. Some of my friends and acquaintances would do anything to have a busy, slightly out-of-control, baby-filled life like mine: theirs are baby-less. And I keep feeling like a failure for not getting the vacuuming done, or for not making the scones I had planned, but then I remember the reason my time's been full: three lovely boys. Three boys who I've been spending time with. A Big One with whom I spent an hour the other night chewing the cud of life when I 'should've' been ironing. A Little One with whom I've been bouncing balls, setting up toy farms, reading stories and going for pottering little walks when I 'should've' been doing the housework. And a Tiny One who I keep feeding then sitting with making him give me more and more cheesy grins when I 'should've' been hurrying to get on with things.

What I should've been doing is exactly what I have been doing. Domesticity can take a slower pace for a while. And domestic tasks can certainly wait. We are getting there with both. But I'm here already mothering these three boys and there's no more successful way to spend my time.