He’s back

Not that he really went anywhere, but Arthur Cabbage, My sweet little friend is back from the pattern testers and ready .You know, it is the things that I make and really love that I find hardest to share, maybe because I love it so much I worry that other people won’t.

(or maybe I am just a bit mental)

Your local shop can get him in for you, just ask and if you get stuck there are lots of places online – check out my stockists page.

 

I just realised, if it wasn’t for pattern-writing-avoidance, my house would never get cleaned.

eight-teen (s.o.b)

      Wearing the coat to protect you all from the arse-crack

A thrown-together, no pattern quilt

Hand quilted with hundreds of teeny tiny stitches, some straight, some not

Every stitch a labour of love for the birthday, and all joining to create a giant yet subtle piece of text across the quilt.

“Son of a bitch”

‘cause there is something in that for both of us.

In case you are thinking of guitar lessons...

So "the band" are off playing an all-ages gig this afternoon and it is sigh of relief. An all ages gig means that the Mr Ric Rac and I (and all the other parents) don't need to be there to supervise.

Whilst a good parent would never dream of denying her child the wonderful opportunities and experiences that being in a band offers, it must be said that I would be happier if I didn't have to share all those experiences.

Of course I am always as supportive as I can be from the greatest distance possible whilst still maintaining supervision. Under strict orders to go nowhere near the stage, the parents tend to hang in an uncomfortable cluster by the bar. The bar is sticky, as is every other horizontal surface in the place. The floor ? I try not to look but I know it is there because I can usually feel it vibrating.

After the first hour or so as we watch the support bands support we all resign ourselves to the fact that even if we put out lips right into each others ears and yell, we cannot possible hear each other. I usually read all the band posters and mentally correct the grammar and spelling. we text each other comments about what is happening on stage and have a polite shandy.

As the evening wears on, the patrons get drunker and the skirts get shorter. There is a whole world of weird parenting in the observance of drunk girls with their push-up "personalities" at the fore, ogling the 15 and 16 yr olds.

Once the band has played their set, they usually have a juice or two and kick back to watch the other bands (it doesn't matter that it is WAAAY past my bedtime, I have definately turned back into a pumpkin and my whole body and brain is vibrating- nope it is band etiqette to stay and watch the others bands, after all , they got you the gig).

Of course by now I can't even hear the music or tell the difference between one mop of hair and another as the crowd is thick and I am trying to keep my eyes on all four boys at the same time. The polite shandy has kicked in, my eyes are watering and I am clenching the lady muscles to the point of no return. I may or may not try and stare down the bouncer in the hope that he will kick us all out. The polite shandy way back at the start of the night is always a mistake - be warned. There is no horror like the horror of a sober 42yr old visitng a night club toilet in the wee hours of the morning.

Trust me on this and buy them a chess set.

Tis a lonely life

being a blog- especially being a blog belonging to someone all caught up in the school concert. Yes she tosses the occasional thought my way and says "I should blog that" but she inevitably has no photos and its too dark and another day passes.
To be honest she is not doing anything very exciting anyway, She has a basket of half-done stuff and occasionally a dog will get stuffed or a head will be attached. Long car trips are actually a 'sit down and rest bonus" at the moment.

One new toy is trying desperately to emerge but he is fighting an almost pathological obsession with screen printing that will definitely result in "she-who-owns-the-blog building herself a mobile screen printing press. (As soon as time permits).
She is home today, and as usual expected to achieve 50 things before breakfast. She thought about some stuff, she talked on the phone about some stuff, she should be emailing some people, she needs to buy some clamps, she needs to think about dinner and she probably should have responded to her son's SOS about being at school with no lunch - but she blogged.

Mother of the year

This is Jackson, in his funky liberty shirt.

He has a scarf, beanie, coat and man-bag.

Inside the man-bag is a teeny tiny music book.
Jackson is in the band you know

He plays keys.

God help me when the drummer has a birthday.

correlation

Miss almost-19 is on a gap year , you know that time taken between school and university- to learn about yourself,

to help you make those important who-am-I and what do I want to do with my life type decisions ? A time to cast off the childhood and become an adult?

Well , it is only May and already she has learnt one immutable truth

(I'm so proud)