1. Yesterday my firstborn got severely plicked while checking for eggs. It seems Lucida is broody again. I’m not sure whether I should give her a copy of Gloria Steinem or a bullet between the eyes.
2. I bin sewing.
That was Miles in a weskit, ascot, shirt and trousies made by me. You will notice that the next photos are in the same location. This is because our camera battery has lost the will to live, so we can only use the camera while it’s plugged into the charger, which is plugged into… I don’t know… the wall, the energy of the cosmic spheres, Helpdesk Man’s lag rage… behind my computer desk, from whence I cannot be bothered fishing it out. So we can only take photos from about a two-metre radius from my desk. Thanks to an optical zoom and a handy French door, this isn’t too disastrous - I’m exceptionally smug about my barrel of snapdragons - but it does somewhat limit the backdrop. So here he is again.
What you see here, aside from a none-too-shabby trousies-and-weskit set with lions on, is the hunted, intent visage of a baby whose tummy button is temporarily MIA. Tiny Miles is a great fan of his tummy button; many’s the time I have rushed to his crib upon hearing a wail, only to find him standing up frantically scrabbling around his midriff. Upon locating the errant button, he will rejoice greatly and sigh “Buttie!” in a tone of great relief.
He also likes to squeeze his knee-flesh. Never have I met a baby so taken with its own fat self. We took off his trousies the other day when it was hot, and every four seconds he would stop mid-stride and giggle at the sight of his own thighs. It was awesome - although on reflection, one hopes he will grow out of it.
In deference to his knee-squish, I also made him some shorts. I used the same pattern as the lion trousies, only without the bottom panel; and made some back patch pockets with inverted pleats, just for the heck of it. Only I sewed them too high on the back panels, so when it came time to fold the waistband down for the casing, I realised I was going to run over the pockets, rendering them inoperable and (more importantly) funny-looking. So I unpicked the top inch or so and folded it down, cuffwise, with the lining showing.
Then as I was basking in the glow of a completed garment, I snipped the threads of the pockets and managed to cut a small hole in the fabric. After a short burst of denial, I then spent another half-hour constructing an elaborate X-shaped belt loop detail to conceal and mend the hole. It looked nifty. I’m not sure if that was a good sewing day or a bad sewing day.
All this sewing was necessitated by Miles ungratefully growing out of his clothes. Poor timing on his part, for it is my aim before Christmas to sew:
-a Cinderella dress for the pig, including choker, armwarmers (in lieu of gloves) and that weird headband thing she wore
-a pink summery dress with roses on, for the pig to wear on fancy days
-a pink chiffon circle skirt for the pig to twirl in
-a tutu for the pig to pirouette in
-a wardrobe’s worth of Waldorf doll clothes for the pig’s Christmas present Waldorf doll, including a mini-Cinderella dress… all sans patterns, naturally
-a dowelling-and-sturdy-fabric teepee thing for the pigs to chill in on the lawn, and to introduce them to the concept of combined Christmas presents, which are (surely) a Good Thing
-three sailor suits and one sailor dress, for the pigs and their cousins; possibly including hats
-something for the McMiles Muffin so I don’t feel guilty about neglecting him Christmas-present-wise, even though he don’t care
-three things I shall not mention because their recipients read this blog, or jolly well ought to
-four Christmas stockings - I’ve gone off our old ones, and Miles needs one too now, although what I will put in it I do not know. He likes vanilla essence bottles; I could stock up.
-a Christmas tree skirt, which the pig is helping me make. This item aroused scorn from a friend of mine who grew up with her Christmas tree stuck in a bucket of rocks; she feels creating a ruffly cream skirt to cover one’s green plastic Christmas tree stand is, like, the most First World project ever; and she is probably right. But I like it, and there is plenty of long, straight seamage for the pig to sew.
-Tea-dyed tulle ruffle ball things to hang around the living room as Christmas decoration. See above, probably. Again, tough. I never bought the “dusty kindergarten ornaments made from Popsicle sticks are the spirit of Christmas” thing - we had those, growing up, and I always admired the shiny, matchy-matchy Christmas trees in the shops. And this year I wish to be fancy. I will probably fail miserably, mind you - as a small person I used to aim for Class by putting sprigs of parsley on our Corelle plates as I set the table, under the impression that’s what they did in fancy restaurants. Bit of a pathetic vignette, innit? The longing for higher things combined with obliviousness (oblivity?) and lack of funds. That’s me. Oh well. I shall have ruffle balls, and a tree skirt, and mismatched socks and a shirt from the op shop, and so it shall ever be, world without end, amen. Perhaps I can Marry Up in my sixties, like me gran.
3. This afternoon I was flipping through a cookbook, had a momentary blankness of the brain and accidentally made tortillas. They were nice, but I should probably stay away from heavy machinery, moving vehicles etc.
4. Later this afternoon the pigs and I were trundling through the orchard when we came across some girls on bikes. I vaguely recognised them as belonging to a chappie who works at the sawmill. Said chappie then emerged and asked if we were doing anything tomorrow night - which, it turns out, is Halloween. We are not, but his pigs wanted to trick-or-treat around the orchard, so I promised to have something sweet on hand.
The pig was most excited. “Mummy, we should vacuum my room and make it all nice! And I will wear my Snow White dress like a princess, so they can see how nice I am. Should we sew them something, do you think, like a little jacket? Or could you make them an apron? Maybe we could pick them some flowers. When they’re my friends, do you think I can borrow their bikes?”
Sadly, the pig is going to Nana’s house tomorrow night for dinner, and her father would not let her cancel. She has left me strict instructions to “be nice to the girls, and let them stay until I get back”. I am slightly nervous, myself. Should I make arty sugar cookies in the shapes of ghoulies and poltergeists? Or would it be less lame to be lazy and just buy a packet of Snickers bars? I don’t want to be That Mother. And the pig’s social future is at stake, apparently.
At least we have plenty of cobwebs around the house. I can pretend it was deliberate.