Wildcard Quilts

Friday nights at the park

Most of my summers as an adult have been lazy. A lot of lounging, a lot of laying--or is it lying? Either way, lazy. Slushy, liquid motion for a solid three months. But my past few summers as a mama mandated a different rhythm. A high energy. Run, laugh, create, play. From sun up (just barely up) to sun down (way, way down). Every day. No exceptions. No Sundays off.

That's Jack's rhythm. (And that's me three paces behind Jack's rhythm, panting and wiping my brow.)

This summer, Charlie joins the get-up-and-go vibe that now surrounds our family summers. But at just over three months old, Charlie likes lazy. (I so, so love that Charlie likes lazy.) The puzzler--how to enjoy each other's company without denying my little summer dreams (hand-stitching outside in the shade, a Diet Coke on standby) or Jack's big summer delights (running, running, and running). Where's the middle ground? The ground where all six of our feet are deeply planted in happy?

Hee-hee. I figured it out. That ground exists. I found it a few Friday nights ago. It's at the park, when the day is cooling down and the bands at the ampitheatre next door are tuning up.

Jack--complete with specially selected parktime attire--races toward the playgyms to climb, jump, and say hello to his fellow climbers and jumpers. I set up home base under a decades-old tree, with just a few essentials: two quilts, a baby sling, and the diaper bag. I walk Charlie to sleep in the sling, and then return to home base. Lay Charlie down (or is it lie?) and check my watch. It's 7:15 p.m. Take off my shoes. I feel light and lifted. Free.

I watch Jack climb.


And dig.

 
And return to home base.


Just to catch his breath, of course . . . in moments he's running again.

 
Charlie. Lovely, lazy Charlie.


And what Charlie sees when he opens his eyes.

Jack and Charlie, free. Watching Jack play and Charlie doze, I get it. In their little ways, they are gently reminding me that it IS possible to create situations for us where I feel free, too. Like at this shady park on a Friday night. With my boys.

Free.

ALERT: Jackspeak

As I'm making dinner Jack runs into the kitchen, wrapped up all cozy in a Batman beach towel...

Jack: "Mommy, I took a bath with Daddy!"

Me: "Great! You look all clean."

"Yep. But I have a towel on. Wrapped around my pregnant parts. So no one can see my pregnant parts."

"Huh?"

"My pregnant parts. So my butt's not sticking out."

"Oh. Do you mean your private parts?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm such a silly!"

Obviously, there's been waaaaay too much talk about babies in our little house this past year...

Baby Quilt Friday!: Ten Little Piggies

It's been just over a year since my book (but actually, it's a box) The Little Box of Baby Quilts was published. And almost a year since I quit my day job. Geezo peety, time flies. With children and pregnancy and weaning myself from work life to stay-at-home life, I still haven't gotten around to doing what has been a longtime goal of mine--to post a bit about each quilt in the "little box." Reaching that goal begins today!

I'm setting aside time during the next 20 Fridays to blog about each baby quilt from the "little box" (grouped into a new blog category called Quilts from the Little Box). Each girl will get her own special day. Today, fittingly, is "Ten Little Piggies" day--the first quilt I designed for this collection. Here she is:

From The Little Box of Baby Quilts, copyright 2006 Jenny Wilding Cardon/
That Patchwork Place. Machine quilted by Cheryl Brown.
Nine piggies on the front. Piggy ten is on the back.

Gosh darn it. I do think she's cute.

This is the quilt that launched the whole idea of the "little box." At the time I started sketching out the design, Jack was just about ready to toddle. And I was completely wrapped up in the world of babes. I hadn't touched my sewing machine since Jack had been born, and I missed it. So with baby on the brain--and Jack as my muse--I started sketching, then sewing, whenever I had a few quiet moments.

(Oh, I thought those quiet moments were few and far between. They're even fewer and farther between now. I had NO idea how quiet I had it back then. Heaving sigh.)

Jack and I were inseparable--pretty much still are--and he got to know the local quilt shops very well. It was Jack who chose the hot-pink fuzzy fabric in the quilt above. He couldn't stop touching it, with his hands and his face, at the shop. So I brought some of the fuzzy stuff home to experiment. Ten Little Piggies is the result. The quilt is made with simple machine piecing, a little hand applique, and a little perle-cotton embroidery.

After the quilt returned from her trunk-show tour of quilt shops, I sent her to her final home--with my niece in southern Utah. Janessa likes to play with the project cards in the "little box," and her parents say she points out this quilt as her favorite every time. So now it's hers. I hope it will be well loved--enough to be in need of repair--the next time we visit.

You can view more quilts from the "little box" here, and a video about it here.

Next Friday comes another fuzzy one, called "Fuzzy Wuzzy Hearts." Lots of fuzzy-wuzzy quilts in this collection. Hope to see you back here next Friday!

A boy's life. In pictures.

Yet again, I'm lifting ideas from the book The Creative Family by Amanda Soule. For me, the book is like flipping through pages made entirely of gold--there are so many unusual, inventive activities to try with children. LOVE IT. The activity in the following story came from the book...

Anyhoo, this weekend Jack and Charlie and I made an unexpected stop on the way home from the grocery store after a huge yard sale came into view. Oh, good heavens. I'm so glad we stopped. Not only did I get my dream rotary-cutting table for 15 bucks:

And these fancy shoes (that cost more than the table):

I also picked up an old Polaroid One Step camera for $1. During my next trip to the grocery store, I picked up Polaroid film. For $16. For 10 pictures. Eeek. But wait, I'm straying from the story...

After loading up the camera and making sure it worked:

  It does...

Jack and I set out on a neighborhood walk to search for ONE SPECIAL THING Jack could take a picture of. We walked and walked. And then we walked. And then we, well, you know. Finally, Jack stopped. He pointed toward some coneflowers in full bloom in someone's yard, just along the sidewalk. "I want to take a picture of these," he said. He plopped the cowboy hat he was wearing down on the sidewalk. He was ready.

I gave Jack the camera and told him to look through the hole until he saw what he wanted to take a picture of, then to push the button. Big bulky camera in a boy's tiny hands. Jack squinted one eye, then the other, moved the camera this way and that. Then he pushed the button. The photo shot out of the front of the camera. "Let's look!" Jack said.

We set the photo on the sidewalk and sat down in front of it to watch the image emerge. First textures, then hues. This is what Jack captured:

Jack looked at his photo for a few moments. "I like it," he said.

"It's beautiful," I told him. "You know what you are now?"

"What?"

"A photographer."

"I am?"

"Yep."

"That is so cool. It's just awesome! You know, Peter Parker is a photographer too, mom."

"Yes, I know."

(For those of you who aren't familiar with the superhero world, Peter Parker is also known as the amazing Spiderman.)

So, a life in pictures begins. I've started an "On Polaroid" blog category to share more photos as Jack takes them. We'll keep the originals, numbered, in an album. My plans are to make time for one special Jack-and-mom walk each week to let him take more pictures. My plan is also to have him continue to take them until he turns 18. Although I'm terrified to think how much the film will cost then . . .

I'm the mom--my view is certainly subjective. But heck, I think this kid's a natural.

Four years.

What a milestone, Jack turning four. No longer a babe, no longer a toddler, and just barely hanging on to preschooler-hood. Through diapers, through babbles. Through words and sentences. All the way through to back talk. Through walking and running and jumping and spinning and tumbling. Through owies, so many owies. And through quiet moments when mommy can still make the owies all better. Through big boy beds and big boy bedtimes and big boy behavior.

But he's still my little boy.

Jack woke up on his birthday and asked, "Am I four yet, mommy?" I said yes. He jumped up and down and clapped. "Now I have four year old feet, and four year old hair, and a four year old head, and four year old . . . everything! I can't believe it!"

The now four year old tour of becoming a mother made a stop in Superhero City for a little party with preschool friends. A chance for me to be creative in bits and pieces. We made a superhero training course in our backyard. When all training was completed, the first task of the new superheroes was to find Jack's missing birthday cake.

Each superhero received a handsewn cape at their graduation.

Star stickers were earned for each skill the children mastered (like throwing bean bags into hula hoops, balancing on 2 x 4s, and shooting balloons with a water hose).

They also passed a team skill--winding themselves round and round with black yarn until a spiderweb began to appear.

Each superhero decorated a one-of-a-kind mask.

And yes, they found the missing birthday cake. I know, I know, a birthday cake. The leftovers were mine. Mine, mine, mine.

We also hosted a small birthday party just for family.

Family feet.

Of course, the superhero theme remained a thread . . .

Daddy and Jack checking out Jack's loot after the festivities. Love those big four year old feet!

So, the tour continues--for Jack as the son, for me as the mom. Back on the tour bus, getting ready to begin the journey toward year five. Five. My heavens. Only 363 days left until five. Please, tour bus, don't take us there too soon.

Oh, wait, hold up, just one last stop before we really get on the road . . . to mark Charlie's three month "birthday," yesterday.

"What the hooey is a birthday?"

Oh, my sweet and still little one . . . I guarantee Jack will fill you in on birthdays, and the parties that go along with them, soon enough.

ALERT: Jackspeak . . . I mean, Mamaspeak

One of many examples of a mother's deteriorating mind the second time around...

While thinking about feeding Jack breakfast, I notice a piece of garbage has flown into our backyard.

Me: "Jack, it's time to eat some garbage, so go on and sit at the table."

Jack: "Mommy, what did you say?"

I guess sometimes it's okay to question your parents.

The winner. And the loser wins too.

I'm thrilled to announce that Amy from Heber City, Utah, is the winner of the little blogiversary contest I held last week. Congratulations, Amy--I hope you enjoy The Little Box of Baby Quilts and the quilt I'm sending as well.

I didn't have as many contest entries as I had anticipated for giving away a quilt. In fact, only two people entered. Two. How do you choose a random winner from TWO entries? I had to get a little creative.

I wrote the names of both commenters on separate pieces of paper. I folded up each paper and threw them over the deck into the backyard. 

Then I had Jack fetch one of the papers for me.

And that's how Amy won.

Jenn from Independence, Kansas, gets a copy of the "little box" just for playing. That's one nice thing about only having two entries--I can easily end up with two winners. (Hey, looky me. I found the bright side!) Thank you, both of you, for entering.

ALERT: Jackspeak

After several conversations about first and last names, Jack surprises me with a 12-inch toy lizard in the bathroom...

"Mommy look, it's Godzilla! So his last name is Zilla, and his first name is God."

Seventeen days late and four posts short

No, no, no, no no no . . . not seventeen days late THAT way.

My blogiversary was two Saturdays ago. I've now spent one year out here in bloggerspace. My goal was to post 100 times during my first year. I posted 96 entries. Hey, not bad for a mama times two!

So, in celebration of my little 'ol milestone, I give you a little 'ol contest. Well, just a random drawing, really. Leave a comment on this post--about anything you like--and you'll be entered to win not only a signed copy of my book (but actually, it's a box), The Little Box of Baby Quilts, but an actual QUILT from the "little box," too!

This is the quilt up for grabs:

"Elementary!" by Jenny Wilding Cardon. Machine quilted by Cheryl Brown. Finished quilt: 42 1/2" x 58 1/2".

It's a pretty big quilt for a baby quilt--size-wise, it'll last a kid through their preschool years. So if you have a toddler or preschooler who is beginning to learn their ABCs and 123s, post! Just leave your comment by Friday, June 20, 2008 to be eligible for the giveaway.

I look back on some of my 96 posts and wince. Some posts I'm proud of (like this one and that one and this recent one, and some of my favorite Jackspeaks, here and there). But mostly, I see how much can change in a year. Namely, a little boy named Jack. And a big girl named Jenny.

On the other hand, in my debut post I used phrases like "pee my pants" and the distinctive Utah slang of "Oh my heck!" So, some things never change.

If you have a good home for the quilt above, I beg you--please post. I really do want her to land somewhere where she'll be loved. Good luck!

Now, on to year two.

ALERT: Jackspeak

With potty humor now at full-tilt in our home, Jack practices the fine art of joke-telling.

Jack: "Mom, why did the sheep cross the road?"

Me: "I dunno. Why?"

"Because he wanted to go pee-pee on the balloon."

[silence]

"Jacky, that's the weirdest joke I've ever heard."

"Awesome!"

Decorum? Deceased.

There’s life before children, and life after children. After children, you’re still the same old you—you just start playing life by different rules. Less stringent rules. Whenever and wherever you can.

When I realized I had modified yet another rule I had previously adhered to my entire life (see first bullet below), I started thinking about all the rules I have adjusted to fit my mama lifestyle. There are things I’d never done, never heard, and never experienced before I had children. Here are just a few of them—the few I could share and still keep things fairly sanitized, anyway.

• Wore a pair of underwear two days in a row because the laundry was so backed up.
• Decided it was okay to shuffle out to the curbside mailbox in my jammies. (We’re talkin’ Utah here, folks. The axis of modesty.)
• Taken my bra off and given it to a child so he could wear it, just for fun.
• Colored my toenails with magic markers. Five different colors per foot, even.
• Explained what “placenta” is to a three year old.

Yes. This is a drawing of placenta. I was told by the three year old.

• Learned the name of every superhero IN THE UNIVERSE. And each of their special powers. And each of their everyday names—you know, the names they use when they aren’t being superheroes.
• Exposed my breasts at the dinner table. (Hey, Charlie’s gotta eat, too.)
• Stared at a sleeping baby’s face, fingers, and toes—then looked up to find that 45 minutes had gone by.
• Left the hair dryer on for a solid ten minutes AFTER drying my hair because it stopped a baby from crying.
• Had someone happily yell to me from the bathroom, “Yay, I pooped! Now come wipe my butt.”
• Wiped someone else’s butt.
• Created a Spiderman-themed sticker chart for someone in order to get them to do whatever I wanted.
• Had someone cut up one of my quilts with scissors.
• Been told “I love you!” so many times in the span of a day.

So, yes. My sense of decorum has died, at least partly. I still insist on a bath each morning. I still believe in a clean kitchen. And I still remember to brush my teeth almost every day. There’ll be plenty of time to relearn the rules of etiquette in the years to come.

Oops. I forgot. I guess it’s also up to me to teach those rules, isn't it? Well, I guess I can guarantee that at least one etiquette rule will never be broken by my boys. I’m the only one who will ever be flashing my boobs at the dinner table.

ALERT: Jackspeak (to melt my heart)

While getting ready for a family birthday party, baby Charlie lets us know he doesn't particularly want to go--by crying and then crying some more. I decide to stay home with the baby while Daddy and Jack head out for a night of partying.

Jack: "Mommy, please go to the party."

Me: "Well honey, I'd really like to go but I need to stay home with Charlie. He needs to stay home and I need to stay with him."

"Please go. Because you're my best."

"I am?"

"Yes. You are my best, and Daddy is my best and Charlie is my best."

"Oh, that's good. We're all your best."

"Yeah. But you are my MOST best. You are my MOST best, but not Daddy and Charlie."

"You sweet pea. You are my most best, too."

Feeling a tad guilty about the omission of Daddy and Charlie. But not that much.

Sleep Worship

When Jack was born we received a gift from a former coworker and kind friend. A Baby Papasan. A cozy, cuddly bouncer that doesn't bounce. It just sends babies into a gloriously gentle sleep. And keeps them there. Glory be.

Jack loved the papasan. Then it was passed on to my niece for 11 months, who also loved it. Now the papasan is back home--a little godsend I can count on amidst these crazy, kid-filled days. What I didn't anticipate is how much our little Charlie would enjoy the papasan. He doesn't just love it. He adores it. In fact, I think he even WORSHIPS it. I mean, how else do you explain what he's doing while he's sleeping in it?

Former coworker and kind friend, thank you. I can't explain how much this papasan means to me. It has brought me much-needed minutes--sometimes even hours--of quiet peace. And a whole huge mess of the giggles.

 

Sewing with sons

Well, sewing with one son. The other son is too busy to bother, with his daily lessons on sleeping and pooping and all.

I thought I'd have to wait quite a few more years before I could sew with Jack, but with a simple idea from a fantastic new book called The Creative Family by Amanda Soule, he's on his way. Check out his first stitches--and his astonishing concentration:

If the thread comes out the BACK, put the needle through the BACK.

If the thread comes out the FRONT, put the needle through the FRONT.

My boy--the next rock star with needle and thread.

Charlie, soaking up the sewing vibe.

The finished piece.

After borrowing a purse of mine to haul special belongings (like superhero figures, doctor's rubber gloves, and nail clippers), Jack decided he would like me to turn his stitchery into a purse for his loot. When Daddy heard the news, he had only one request:

"Don't call it a purse. Call it a man bag."

Jack, sew on. Purse, man bag, tote, whatever. My son is sewing. SEW ON!

The good, the bad, the good, and the ugly

ADJUSTMENT: [uh-juhst-muhnt] noun. Change, alteration, modification, fine-tuning.

Ah, yes. A new baby brings ADJUSTMENT. In the first three weeks since Charlie arrived we've had our good days and bad days, our proud moments and maddening moments. Like these:

The good: Jackspeaks.

"Mom, is he really our baby? When you pushed Charlie out, did the doctor SAY he was our baby?"

"Mommy, look at his teeny-tiny pinky toe. It's really, really tiny. It's so tiny!"

"Charlie is sooo, sooo cute."

"Charlie is my favorite baby in the whole wide-wide world."

The bad: Meltdowns. I took Jack for a special mama/son trip to the toy store. Ended up getting screamed at, spit upon, and smacked in the face by my sweet three-year-old. Jack loves the baby. That day, it was me he had a problem with. ADJUSTMENT.

The good: An unexpected helper. Jack fetches whatever I ask for in a flash--as long as it's for Charlie--and he does it with an eager smile on his face. He just pranced downstairs to grab clean wraps from the dryer. What a shock. What a blessing.

The ugly: Diapers. We love cloth diapering but--changing them, checking them, washing them, drying them, folding them, cursing them. When one is in diapers, we're ALL in diapers. (And this kid can PEE.)

So, we are ADJUSTING. Minute by minute, at times. But these kind of moments make the ADJUSTMENTS worth the effort:

Big feet, little feet. Old feet, new feet. Dirty feet, clean feet. Feet, feet, feet.

Next on the ADJUSTMENT to-do list: figuring out how to have two children and make dinner at the same time.