Can I just say now how cranky hand carding makes me without a drum carder? The mere thought of it makes me extremely cranky.

The first week of high school has gone swimmingly for Josey. His school is amazing, and I was informed yesterday that he wants to play bass guitar. Bass. Rhythm is genetic, I’m sure I read that somewhere (or just made it up) so obviously he got all his good genes from me. Of course, general awesomeness is also genetic (citation needed) so that was from my side of the family too– I knew my baby was too smart to be a drummer.

Deb from Come Yarn Over left a message for me asking if I could make my little sheep with tape measures inside as customers were asking for some. I haven’t called her back yet. First because I wanted to get a tape measure and see if it was possible (it is) and second because I wanted to blog about it.

This is the difference between men and women. Women think it’s a super cute idea and want to know if it’s doable, and if it is what kind of variations are possible. I’m going to paint with a broad brush here but in general crafty women get cerebral about design and want to help troubleshoot.

Men on the other hand (crafty or otherwise) overwhelmingly turn into immature little boys that think all things potentially butt-hole  related are fascinating and immediately suggest that the fob for the tape measure should come out of the sheep’s butt. This idea is generally hilarious to the men folk, and they think it awesome and good. I have no idea why but every single man that has heard about (prior to my prototype) or seen (post prototype) the sheep tape measure project has insisted that the tape should come out the sheep’s ass.

Here’s the deal fellows, if you want a tape measure to come out a sheep’s ass then you can order one ($9 + shipping) from me special. Email me. Otherwise they are going to be nice and not have anything come out the ass.

My singles from the dyed roving are coming out a little fuzzier than I’d hoped. I’m  adding a little extra twist for a harder more defined yarn. Sometimes dying does a little to correct the texture, this time that was not the case– I’m sure I’ll live through it. Pretty sure at least.

Today is Josey’s first day of high school. I think I can say with some certainty that he’s taking the transition from home-schooling to high school better than I am. Pretty much any casual observer could say that, since I’m the one freaking out and he was (as usual) all not freaking out.

Lexi made two egg heads but she’s refused to allow me to photograph them because she wants to post them on her blog.

For some reason I thought this project would be a little more involved than it actually was. Eggmond’s collar is a bit of cardboard tube scavenged from an aluminum foil box, connected with white glue. I drew his face on using sharpie marker. Then we filled his head with potting soil and topped it off with a sprinkle of wheat grass grain (which are just starting to sprout.)

I’m growing quite fond of Eggmond.

Physical symptoms of the flu aside, I get this antsy feeling because I’m not doing anything other than taking periodic swigs of cough syrup and popping ibuprofin along with minimal housekeeping duties. I know myself well enough to know that I am not in the right state of mind to start any projects.

However this self knowledge didn’t stop me from trimming Josey’s hair, and giving Lexi a touch of color.

Isn’t she just the cutest?

I think it turned out well.

Alexanne seems pleased with her new look. She told me that she looks like a rock star now and she wants a motorcycle. I told her to reign in that inner diva and that I don’t think anyone makes a motorcycle with training wheels. The conversation ended well enough, although Lexi made it clear that she was not amused by my flippant attitude.

This is not just an amusement park. There are rides, but the main attractions are fairytale and western themed walk throughs, mazes, tunnels, and slides and tons to see so the kids actually end up quite tuckered out after a few hours of running around, crawling through the rabbit hole, and exploring.

Her birthday party was on the 2nd, so today is more or less going to be a quiet affair with some cupcakes, a stroll down to the park and library, and if the weather permits some running through the sprinkler.

I have Lexi’s latest dress cut, pieces surged, sleeves basted, pin fitted, and darnit– it’s just not finished. My last excuse was that I didn’t have the zipper and I needed new blades (upper and lower) for the Babylock. I have the zipper now, and the blades did come in the mail, but I haven’t put them in the machine yet. I briefly considered adding eyelet lace but that would be a poor excuse for my procrastination since I think I actually have eyelet lace somewhere.

I’m on the verge of breaking down and admitting that pixies are not going to sneak in and finish my sewing projects. I’m not quite there yet, just very close.

Does a bear live in the woods?

He armed himself with some wool, I set the drive band and tension for him, put a drop of oil on the flyer to keep it from squeaking and tried to keep myself from giggling with maternal delight. I’m not one of those moms that makes her children learn to do everything she does, but when one of my offspring chooses to do something that I like– it’s pretty cool.

I did try to convince him to sit in one of the lower profile chairs but Josey seems to think being on the couch gives him more leverage when treadling.

This has spawned some really interesting discussions with some other home school families over the past few days. First, yes– my kids do have access to most of craft supplies, not just the scraps. And for the most part, they get to use the grownup tools (with the exception of grownup tools that can cause significant amounts of bleeding, blindness, or disfigurement.) And yes, sometimes I cringe a little when they pick the more expensive stuff– but I behave myself.

My major peeve (or at least one of them) is when people expect their children to learn to be Monets or DaVincis and then give the little people left overs and crap art supplies. That makes no sense at all– during the learning process, that’s when one needs the good stuff that works right–not brushes that shed goat hair and partially felted short ends that would frustrate an expert.

The other issue, that of spinning being “womans work” I think Josey answered rather well. He pointed out that historically there have been pirates and sailors that spun and/or made rope, as well as repaired netting and knitting between stints of pillaging and pirating– depending on their needs. There’s really nothing more manly than a pirate is there?

If that argument wasn’t enough to stand on it’s own; he pointed out that there are more girl knitters than girl gamers.

He’s ten going on eleven so while the boy isn’t that interested in girls yet, he’s very aware that his older friends find them fascinating. Well played, son, well played.

If you live within a 3000 mile radius of my house it’s possible that you heard a string of profane observations on the character and lineage of an oak door on the evening of the 6th between 6:30 and 7 pm PST beginning with the exclamation “Oh!!!” and ending with the words “that hurt.” If you did; that was was me– sorry.

Between schoolwork, housework, sewing, cooking and running after the children I managed to spin up an impressive hank of tussah silk. I have yet to find batteries for the camera, but when I do you can bet I’m going to be posting some pictures.

In a fit of cleverness I bought Josey one of those packs of Sculpey that has the smaller individual packages of different colored clay in it. As time goes by I filter a few different colors of clay to him and he sculpts them into toys and figures. I think we’ve finally found a creative outlet that works for him, that is truly his.

Its a weird position for a kid, to have artistic parents. I know, I was there once too. I couldn’t do anything without one or both of my parents telling me I could do better, or how I might improve my technique or waiting (I kid you not) until I was asleep to disassemble whatever I’d made and redo it. It’s sort of sad really, as my sister and I don’t really have a collection of stuff from when we were little that is all rough and crazy.

Our crayon people were proportionate, clouds looked like clouds, and cars looked like cars. If it makes any sense, I think little kid art is the best art because it is more of a reflection of what is happening inside than out.

Anyway, that’s why I try to stay as hands off on the kids’ creative work as much as possible. I’m there to help, if I’m asked. And to make sure that clay is not eaten and fingers are not lost, but otherwise I just like to enjoy watching them discover and explore.

Josey’s tooth fairy box disappeared some time ago, although he has a very promising wiggly tooth that will need to be exchanged in the near future. Lexi hasn’t yet started losing teeth but it’s never too early to prepare is it? Hence, the beginning of a tooth fairy box for my little darling.

I seriously forgot how fun decoupage could be. There’s a lot of waiting for the modge podge to dry. There’s also a lot of fussing with air bubbles. Fortunately after it sets up I’ll be able to sand it and then start adding all the necessary bits of trim and whatnot to pretty it up a bit.

And because I really don’t have an off button when it comes to crafting, I brought out another box to work on while the tooth fairy box was drying. This one is larger, creatively enough made from box wood, that I purchased years ago from a now defunct art and quilt store.

I honestly do not hoard art supplies. I swear I don’t. Some grand project will strike me as a fantastic idea and I’ll go get what I need. Then some part of the greatness of my project will be undermined by this really stupid thing called “reality.” So the supplies go into their newly assigned places and I go on with life. Then during the holidays, my birthday and every other time I see a family member someone will give me more art and craft stuff.

So right now I have the creative equivalent of religious guilt (for not using what I had at my disposal) and craft oriented attention deficit disorder. I will call this state “craftaholism.” There is no 12 step program, there is no cure.