Finished Product and Other Important Things

I hang my head in shame.  It's been well over a month since my last confession and there is no excuse as to why this is other than complete laziness.  And lack of subject matter, but who is asking anyway?  I come today to update on my last post.  The Angel Costume!

I can't believe I actually finished it!  Granted, I didn't put on an official clasp or button on the back to enclose my Little Chick into the garment, but none the less, it was finished well in advance of the Big Day-or Big Night as the case may be.  And while I have been so excited about my accomplishments, Little Chick of course was only ho-hum.  Even after procuring the appropriate "millinery wire" for the outstanding halo, she wasn't as impressed as I thought she'd be, but we are talking about a 7 year old so I've forgiven her for the time being.  Thankfully by the looks of her face, she seemed ok with the angel-ness of the costume so I'm happy.  See for yourself:

While I confessed about the closure, I suppose I must confess about the wings.  The wonderfully old and great pattern talked about in my earlier post, also had directions for hand-made wings.  Not the feather type but good, old fashioned metallic paper and interfacing.  And while they were cut out and on their way to being fabulous, I petered  out and opted for real feather wings-all the more angel-like if you ask me.

This whole sewing machine project got me really going later into the month of October and after having been invited to a Halloween party where dressing up was an option, I decided to tackle a costume for myself and my Better Half.  No easy task to say the least because we aren't exactly the Ken and Barbie types with bodies to back that statement up.  I hemmed and hawed for quite some time only to be thwarted after several ideas from the Better Half.  Until that is I stumbled on the perfect costume.  Here's the scoop:

Littlest Chick and I happened to be in the fabric store picking up the last bit of ribbon needed for Little Chick's halo.  And while standing in a dreaded line to get it cut, I saw this streak of light flash down from the Heavens, (well, not really but it sounds good, no?) only to fall on THE costume for my Better Half!  It stood on a dress form, in all it's bright, orange glory.  A bright blue tie finished it off and I knew right then and there, that was the one for him!  Fred Flintstone would never look so good!  I immediately asked if there were directions to making the costume and was promptly given a fuzzy copy of the said details.  I set off to find the fabric.  I was at a FABRIC store mind you so I thought how hard could it really be?  It called for a couple yards of orange fur  (Yes, that's right, fur.)  and after having no luck in locating the locale of the required fur, I went back to the cutting table only to be told "We don't carry orange fur."  Huh?  You're a fabric store and you're advertising this costume with the directions yet you don't carry the fur?  I wanted to say a few choice words but held things together since my Littlest Chick was sitting right there, as were several other dignified ladies.  I clearly didn't fall into that category as I marched off with my costume directions, heading in the direction of the next FABRIC store.

To the first fabric store's credit, second fabric store didn't have orange fur either, so I remained calm and picked out this fake orange suede type material.  (What the hell is one going to make with fake, orange suede anyway, I asked myself....)  If I thought the line at the first fabric store was long and laborious, I was number 34 in a line that was only at number 6.  I was in for a long wait, time to decide how much of this new fabric to get.  Wouldn't you know, I left my directions in the car....so I punted once I reached the cutting table-THREE yards please.  (I knew immediately I had over done it.)  $45 later and I knew this Fred Flintstone costume better be the best one out there because at that price, my Better Half needs to be happy.

Once home, since Better Half was slaving away at making the bacon needed to purchase all this fine fabric, I had to punt once again and used one of his sweat shirts to measure out where exactly I needed to cut-with those Cadillac of all scissors, my Ginghers.  Turns out, I shaved a little too much fat off the sides so to speak, so I had to re-attach some fabric.  But really, the costume looks great and with the black triangles I colored on with a black sharpie, along with the teal-ish blue swatch of fabric added as a tie, Better Half was a huge hit as Fred.  And Wilma you ask?  Well, you know the direction that had to go.  It was a real Calamity....even if I used a 400 thread count flat sheet, it was a rough piece of work in the best sort of terms, all of which is in my next post.  Come back soon, ya hear?

Pin Here, Pin There, Cut Here, Cut There, Sew

Well I've done it, I've started on the Mother of all projects.  A behemoth I'm sorely intimidated by.  A project so huge, I've started well over a month in advance of needing the actual finished product.  It's a Halloween costume for my Little Chick.

Since her birth I've been pretty lucky in finding all the costumes she's worn online.  From her first year Pumpkin get up (Thank you Gymboree) to her fabulous Little Bo Peep get up one year, to last year, Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.  I found a wonderful seamstress on Ebay of all places and she makes THE best costumes out there.  Her attention to detail is amazing and we've always gotten rave reviews on the ones she's done.  Last year's Dorothy was probably one of the best in my opinion as my Little Chick looked beautiful.  Right down to her ruby slippers and a stuffed Toto in a basket, I couldn't have envisioned a better get up than that.

Fast forward to present day: 

Little Chick exclaims, "I want to be an angel this year!"  Angel?  As in Hark the "harried" Angel sing" kind-of angel?  I was perplexed.  Never in the years of talking costumes had an angel come up.  I decided this meant she was serious and I didn't even try to talk her out of it  No fear, I'll check my trusty Halloween Seamstress and get a jump on a purchase...she does not make angel costumes.  And then in a light-shined-down-on-me kind of moment, I said to myself, "Self, how hard could it really be to make an angel costume?  Find a pattern and make one!"  Found the perfect pattern on Ebay (I just LOVE Ebay.  I could go on and on about that site, but it would take away from the Mother of all projects so I'll just leave it at I Love Ebay).   From 1952.  I know, totally vintage and I thought perfect for this project.  Well, come to find out, sewing patterns from the early 50's are slightly different from patterns of today.  To start, fabric came in a different width back then, than what they do know.  So a slight accommodation had to be made right from the get-go and thankfully my MIL is in the know of such things.  She stopped by and lent me a hand in deciphering out what needed to be done (helped determine what to skip over since it didn't make any sense to her either) and watched my Littlest Chick while I ran to our favorite fabric shop, Material Girl.

Now I know next to nothing about fabric and all the notions that accompany projects of this magnitude.  Luckily, Material Girl herself was there to help me and she is such a big help.  It's clear she loves what she does and I wish I had an ounce of her obvious talent.  Anyway, I start of by telling her what I'm making and show her the pattern.  She is all kinds of vintage so she loves the look and idea.  I feel like I'm on to something here which makes me  have even more confidence in this project.  We start with the fabric and head toward the simple cotton.  I find the perfect one with teeny, tiny stars on it, in white.  Very subtle but perfect for my Little Angel.  6 1/2 yards later, I'm moving on to scissors.

Let's talk scissors.  If you're not a scissors aficionado like I'm clearly not, you wouldn't know the first thing about scissors.  But MG has the Mother of all scissors there in her shop.  Gingher Scissors are like the Rolls Royce of scissors.  Made with things like "hard carbon cutlery steel" and technicians that do a "hot-drop forge" to the scissors, well it's not hard to understand why MG actually tells me they can be heirlooms, and you know I'm all kinds of all over that.  Not only are they the top of the line, they are bee-uuu-tee-full.  Check them out:  Bee-uuu-tee-full-ness.  Of course I had to have them, thinking that they quite possibly may make the costume on their own.  I can't even talk price as my  Better Half may be reading this and I don't want him suffering a heart attack, but I will say it was and will continue to be one of the most ridiculous purchases I've yet to make on the onset of a project I'll probably only do once.  But hey, I'm right on course after all!

Back at home, Dear MIL sets out to help me decipher the cutting directions and how to go about pinning the pattern onto my star fabric.  I had been thinking this was going to be the most tricky part but it actually turns out that it's the easiest and with those Gingher scissors mentioned above, well, I felt like I was cutting through butter.  As a matter of fact, I'm more in love with these scissors then I was before and quite possibly will be buried with them, even if this is the only project I'll ever do with them.  But I digress.  After cutting the fabric pieces out, I'm finding myself being rather proud of the fact I'm actually making Little Chicks costume.  Today, I managed to sew the two back, and two front pieces together, along with the sides and shoulders.  I've neatly pressed my seams flat-something I remember from my High School Home Economics class-and have ended my sewing session for the day lovingly eying what I've accomplished so far.   Honestly, I'm worried a real Calamity may be ahead because I can't make heads or tails out of the next directions about bias binding and adding the collar piece.  The sleeves (bell shaped of course) are bound to be just as big of a mess and I'm steadfastly losing hope that those scissors will cut my way out of the Calamity that's bound to happen.  I'm all kinds of nervous and am not sure what to do next so of course the next possible thing to do is to stop.  And with that, this will have to be continued.

Inactive sewing machine.  Can you spy the Gingher Scissors?

Laundry-The Other Horror

In trying to keep all things together, there's the laundry.  Something I have failed miserably on.  It looms in my closet and the closets of my Little Chicks, just begging for the tub of my washing machine.  There's just something about it's multiplying nature that simple throws me off every time I attempt to tackle it.  Call me shallow, but I swear, it's out to get me any way it can.  From the sorting, to the carrying down the stairs of my two store home, to the venturing out to the garage (where I swore it would be so convenient to have the washer and dryer) to the actual loading, soaping up and DOING the laundry.  I won't even start on the transferring of the wet laundry to the dryer or the folding and putting way of the said clean clothing.  It's plainly, a red hot mess in my household.  Let me give you the history on why that is the case.

Of course there has to be a blame.  It's always that way...blame what can't be seen and everything will be all right and rightfully justified.  Back in my earlier days I took upon myself to be the care taker of four young boys.  That's right, count on your fingers, f-o-u-r boys.  All under the age of 10.  The amount of laundry those boys created was absolutely amazing.  And you think girls go through massive clothing changes through a day?  Forget about it.  Boys rule in that department, mainly because they are Marvin's of the Messy realm.  I averaged approximately 5 loads a day for that family, including the parents.  I'm not sure if they rolled around in their gravel driveway before depositing their clothes in my care, but there was always about 5 loads to do.  And that's not counting the weekly sheets and duvet covers and towels to sort through.  I think I quit that job on the merits of too much laundry.  Or perhaps it was the fact the youngest liked to throw his lunch out the car window while barreling down the freeway at 65 mph.  In either case, I left that job in a red hot minute and haven't looked back, except to place the laundry blame where it's clearly due.

In any case, I started out my day at an early 6:50am with high hopes of tackling the small Mt. Everest brewing up in my closet.  I invisioned myself sorting into piles, grabbing the smaller of the piles and treking downstairs to start my first load by 7:30am.  By 8:00am I realized my first vision was too lofty as I hadn't had my coffee yet and the Little Chicks needed breakfast of all things and the oldest of the Little Chicks needed shuttling off to school.  For sure by 9:00am a load would be well, loaded.

9:30am rolls around and I'm busy waiting for a prospected buyer of my sleigh bed frame.  (More on that in another entry.)  I realize the laundry has yet to move an inch out of the haphazard piles it's in, in my closet and of course I see my error.  I've allowed myself to get sucked into the usual morning routine of doing the dishes.  There I said it.  I'd rather do the dishes than do laundry.  It's true I scrubbed that pot a little longer then was necessary and certainly I didn't need to hand towel them dry when the air does just as fine a job.  But the thought of sorting that laundry?  It's a Real Calamity and will wait, yet again, for another day.  Just another red check against my ever growing list of how I'm not keeping it all together.   

Picture of my empty washing machine as of 4pm.

Glue Gun Burns and Such

I've been at it again, trying to compete with Martha Junior.  Only this time, it's not Martha Junior but someone else who wants to be like Martha Junior just as bad as I do and is succeeding in ways I can only dream about.  I found this gal just by happenstance; well, actually cruising through Martha Juniors site, but who's asking anyway?  I can admit that I "cruise" through MJ's site without feeling inadequate and a complete failure...after my regimen of prescribed drugs.  But back to the story. I find this other person's crafty, craft site and think "Hey I can do that!"  And so I've set off a chain of events that is sure to lead me to some catastrophe, which the title clearly indicates.  It's a wreath of all things, I've decided to tackle.  And not any wreath this lady proclaims but one that is both easy and affordable as everything is had and begotten at the Dollar Store!  Detour here please.

The Dollar Store!  My friends, it's BETTER than Goodwill, and you all remember my success at that place!  But instead, everything is a Dollar!  Tax of course is added on but it's a dollar nonetheless.  I'm sure you've frequented one on occasion, as had I.  Now however, it's like a regular pilgrimage.  From cheap dish sponges, to those little "brush your teeth on the go" brushes to a whole plethora of junk toys, my Dollar Store has it all!  And it's clean to boot, so what's not to love?  And if this other Martha Junior want-a-be says to go there for my craft supplies, that's exactly what I'm gonna do.

Back to the plan. The wreath is made from a Dollar Store book or two (title unimportant, thanks be, as have you SEEN the books they offer?), a foam wreath and, wait for it.  Your trusty glue gun.  If you remember I couldn't find that blasted gun to save my life while making the now infamous faux fireflies.  I looked high and low at the time and ended up using a Billy Mays (God rest his soul) knock off.  (Which by the way is still working.  Will wonders never cease?)  But alas, I found the glue gun in my very disorganized craft closet, which is disorganized because I can't seem to get it together to get IT together!  *sigh!  Anyway, the idea is to use these folded pages from the book to form a beautiful wreath that would be worthy to hang in your home.  I'm excited about the prospect and even more so since the all the items, save for the glue gun, are found at the Dollar Store.  Off I go!  And success!  I end up paying the required Dollar.  Granted, I bought 6 wreath forms, two books, sponges, a timer, purse sanitizer spray, marbles, tuna snack packs (???), and a bunch of other stuff I've lost track of but the total came to $38.  I'm not stressed as of course, all those items were absolutely needed.

Back at home I start the task of prepping the books by inking the edges.  I happened to already have the proper ink for this and created edges that looked old and worn, though not ripped.  No ripping allowed.  After the inking, I began tearing pages out of the book.  I feel no remorse whatsoever about this and found it kind of cathartic actually.  Heated up my gun and started rolling pages and gluing them to the form.  1/3 of the way through and I realized I needed a better glue gun as the mini one I had was eating through my small supply of mini glue sticks.  So of course, I'm off to pick up a new gun.  What Joy!  I find one with duel temperatures that has the ability to go with-out it's power cord for a whole 5 minutes, I'm sold!  Back home, I successfully complete the wreath, but only after several burns that have now blistered.  I commandeered my Better Half to take this shot as it's of my "choice" finger of the left hand.  I'm including the picture here because frankly, it's just exactly how my luck goes with these projects; one burned something or other at a time.  It's a real Calamity.

P.S. The wreath looks great though, so I've got that going for me.

Project #2

Martha Junior has been at it again, and we all know what this means.  I HAVE to attempt the project she's put forth as being easy, fun and cheap.  Whether or not any of this is true?  Well, I'll be the one to prove it.  And chances are, I'll go way over board in a miserable attempt.  However, I actually think (perhaps hope is a better word?) that I may be able to turn out a respectable project, and here's why.

Her latest project involves the art work of a young child of your choice, a dark crayon, fabric of your choice, though a more rustic appearing one the better, embroidery floss and needle.  The art work should consist of a simple drawing; trace the drawing with a dark crayon.  Lay traced drawing face down on fabric, iron with a warm iron; this creates a transfer of the artwork onto the fabric where you then follow the line in stitches using the embroidery floss and needle.  I think it looks fabulous, see?  Artwork re-done  I don't think it could really get any easier and it doesn't look like much skills in the way of sewing is required.  Saying that, I'm feeling rather confident as I've had experience in cross stitch.  This, is in no way suppose to look perfect like those little X's you cross stitch so I'm feeling VERY confident to say the least.

So I begin by asking my Little Chick to draw me a picture of anything she wants.  She asks for more direction but I wanted her to decide on her own.  First go around it was a skinny flower, which I really liked, but I didn't think I could get it to transfer well so I asked her to draw a self portrait.  She agreed and here's  her finished product: 

I went over it with a dark crayon, just as Martha Junior indicated.  The results were pretty crisp and I thought perhaps I was really onto something!  The excitement was abound!  I quickly dashed out to get the fabric that I just knew I could find.  And find I did at the small, local, independent stitchery shop.  It's a rustic linen that cost me a whopping $16.00.  I'm disappointed in that aspect to be honest because once again, it was more than I wanted to spend on this project, but a sacrifice had to be made obviously, after I saw my Little Chick's self portrait.

The attempt at doing the iron transfer did dampen things.  I just couldn't get it to work all that well.  While some areas did come through on the fabric, the majority didn't.  I had to resort to Plan B, which often is the case...in my case.  The type of linen I chose was fairly thin and I could see the drawing just fine through it.  So, pencil in hand, I simply traced the original drawing onto my fabric.  It was easy, peasy and I was pleased with the results.

As luck would have it, I had all the remaining supplies from my cross stitch days.  I chose a nice brown floss, three ply, placed a hoop on the my work area and started in late afternoon.  My Better Half was pretty perplexed that I had once again started another project.  Since the Faux Fireflies are still an on-going thing, currently sitting on my dining room table, he had a right to be questioning my stamina.  But BEHOLD-The Finished Project!  

I'm so darn proud of myself, I could practically scream it from my front door.  And, I can't really say there's been any Calamity with this.  Therefore,  I'm just going to sit back, and appreciate the results of my labor!  Rejoice people, there is hope after all!

The 4 hour tour: My in-flight Diary from SFO to MSP

So I had the opportunity for a little trip this past weekend.  I actually traveled alone, sans Little Chicks and Better Half.  It's something I've done before so I'm used to it by now, save for finding long term parking at the airport, but that's another story.  As always, it was a great way to get some solid people watching in.  I don't need to tell you how successful people watching can be at an airport.  There's a plethora of things to spy on.  From the harried mom with two kids and no Better Half to help her (who I always can sympathize with) to the old couple who have traveled maybe 3 times in the 65 years they've been on the planet, to the hippy chick and her boyfriend who is trying to get his surf board through security and stowed as carry-on baggage.  It's like a buffet of fun.  So let me start my buffet line right here....

Security.  Or more specifically the TOES you see in security.   That's right, I said it.  Toes.  With the new rules since that infamous day in our history, shoes must come off and into the buckets to be x-rayed and given close examination in ways you didn't think possible for a pair of shoes.  This always leaves me mindful of how recent my pedicure is.  I've learned this past weekend that I'm in the minority when it comes to that type of thinking and following is my case in point.  The gentleman in front of me had the most ugly big toe I've ever seen.  It was long, hairy and I swear, the nail had some funkiness going on.  He didn't seem at all bothered by it, and walked along as if it was perfectly normal to have a huge, hairy gorilla as an appendage.   And gorilla it was.  It most likely was a good half inch longer then the rest of his toes, at least as far as I could estimate from a standing distance.  The hair growing off the thing could have rivaled King Kong himself, and I was half expecting to see the tip of a banana appear.  I contemplated taking a photo w/my phone, but being in a tight line, I knew my chance of getting caught were high, so I gave up that impulse.  You'll have to just believe me, how very disgusting it was.  But he seemed nonplussed by the whole thing so I tried to hold my cookies and kept moving. 

And while we're on the subject of Security, I need to say one more thing: When you pick up your bucket off the x-ray conveyor belt, MOVE AWAY FROM THE BELT SO THOSE BEHIND YOU MAY GET THEIR ITEMS!   Whew, that felt good!

The Talker,  you know the one.  They.  Never.  Ever.  Shut.  Up.  From the time you spy them at the ticket counter, to the time you see them disrobing at the front of security,  to the time you see they are on your flight, to the time they sit in your general vicinity on the plane, they have a running dialog with whom ever will listen.  If you're in a 5 seat radius of The Talker, you're doomed to hear their life history along with any and all ailments that they've been inflicted with.  Any children?  You'll know about them along with any spouses, children or pets they may have.  Job?  Don't worry, you'll have a complete resume in your lap by the end of the first hour.  Travel plans?  You'll know what relative, friend, or job conference, they'll be going to, along with any other thing they have planned on their trip.  You'll also find out when their return flight is, which can come in handy.  Make note and change YOUR travel plans so as not to run into them on your return.  You'll know everything there is to know about The Talker and then some, by the time your 4 hour tour is over.  Keep your ear buds and MP3 handy when you travel Friend, you'll need it to drone out The Talker.

Tomato Juice.  Ever notice how you're compelled to order a complimentary tomato juice when you fly?  What's with that?  I know I'm not alone.  There's something about that recycled air that calls to have tomato juice thrown in.  Never mind that you never buy the stuff at home, you'll always feel compelled to order it when flying.  I don't know why....

Finally, my personal demise on this particular trip: Arm Hair Static.  I had this happen the whole flight.  My hair being statically attracted to the arm hair of the man sitting next to me.  The mental image alone is bothersome, never mind the fact that I have arm hair long enough to be statically charged!  It was a real struggle not to unbuckle my commercial quality seat belt and run screaming down the narrow aisle.  While I contemplated doing just that, the airline attendant stopped at my row, where I ordered my complimentary tomato juice; only to be told they no longer carry it as it's not a popular drink choice.  It WAS a real Calamity.

Zzzzzzzzz's

Let's talk sleep, or lack there of.  You'd have to be living under a rock to not know that once you have children, sleep is a thing of the past.  Kind of along the lines of a statement I made in one of my last posts-"s*x anytime, anywhere."  Where ever that went, sleep followed.  Closely.  At a mad run.  It's never been seen since.  Unless of course, you're able to get away for a weekend, then those two items are almost synonymous in nature, in that, they magically appear.  But THAT is another post, today, it's lack of sleep.

My Littlest Chick is 2 1/2, which means that he's yet to understand and enjoy the vastness of his own bed.  Instead, he finds "Mama's bed" the place to be.  And it's always, "Mama's" bed, not Daddy's bed, ever.  I'm not sure why this is, but secretly, I like it that way.  I only wish that it WAS my bed, but instead it's become his bed.  One where he squeezes himself in the middle of my better half and I.  Pushes his hot little feet into my back, pokes fingers into the back of Better Half, and rests peacefully.  Only to flop this way or that, waking up the two adults that are in bed with him.  It's a constant battle to keep him in his bed, one that I've painstakingly tried to make special and alluring, to no avail.  From special singing sheep, to a plastic light up ladybug, to a silky, celestial blanket (yes, real silk and it cost Santa an arm and a leg), there's nothing that can keep him in his bed.  So of course, I've resorted to the one thing I'm sure will work.  Bribery.

I'm a big believer in bribes.  It's practically a part of the very fabric America was built on (See Here), and still goes on today.  The American Mafia (See Here) didn't get where it is today without the tools of bribery.  Because of their great success, I see no reason to try it myself.  Weapon of choice?  Candy.  Not that he likes candy all that much, I just know he'll never turn it down.  I'm quite sure he snuggles down with the images of sticky gumdrops in his eyes, with the sweet words "Ok Mama" leaving  his lips. Below, you can see how successful I've been in this department-Yes, that is Mama's bed.  It's a real Calamity.