Clean.

Craft therapy

Goodness.

Let's lighten things up a little, shall we?

Thanks for your kind comments and messages over the past couple of days. You are lovely.

And yes, I'm feeling so much better.

Thank you for asking.

That's the medicine of time, perspective, and a three-day craft binge.

Okay. And a bowl of popcorn, a glass (or two) of red wine, and copious amounts of sleep.

The crafting I cranked out this weekend was over the top.

I completed some rockin' pants and a sweet sweater for my girl; curtains I started this summer for my craft room; and a skirt for myself.

Unprecedented.

The curtains are made of an old pillowcase and some scraps from my stash.

The solid pink is from Lupine's first twirly skirt.

The upper creamy striped fabric is from curtains I made for the first house we owned, where Sage was born.

And the vintage lace from a friend's garage sale.

Sweet, easy, messy, and girly.

My kind of curtains.

And then I got to work on my skirt.

The pockets are from a scrap of fabric a dear friend wrapped a gift in for me in years ago. I loved it so and knew it needed to become something really special. Done.

The pattern (McCalls 5430) boldy proclaims this to be a "1 HOUR SKIRT".

2 1/2 years after I started sewing it, it's ready to wear.

Welcome to my life.

And then, these sassy pants. 

The pants (which I'm referring to as trousers on account of that vintage corduroy) were from a pattern I found in this book.

They were my first attempt at these crazy European-style patterns, and overall I think they turned out sweet. The knees were tricky, but after a few attempts I found success.

Me and my seam ripper? We're tight after this weekend.

Are these trousers perfect?

Of course not. (You know me well enough to have guessed that by now.)

Are they adorable? So. Very.

Lupine agrees.

And without the cost of the pattern book (which I had already) they cost me all of 50 cents. Whoot!

(The main color was once a pair of XL men's cords from a thrift store's clearance bin. I bought up all the corduroy they had for future kid pants, six pairs for $3. Score.)

Homemade and free?

Best crafting yet.

Oh, yes. And finally that sweater.

It's been Lupine's vest since spring when I bound off the sleeves instead of knitting them long.

This weekend I pulled out the cast off and knitted on long sleeves for winter.

You can find the free pattern link and details on my variation here.

The main yarn was a gift from a friend, from her Icelandic sheep.

Her flock is made up of the offspring of the flock we just adopted, so the yarn is almost like family.

 

Sentimental yarn, worn by my girl. Double perfect.

 

Overall, crafting made for good therapy this weekend.

A bit of focused work, a bit of creativity, and lots of hard work.

Now that's my kind of healing.

 

I'd love to know: what's in your workbasket these days?

 

Love,

Rachel

 

Oh, wait. And one more thing:

I thought you needed this picture.

Just because.

Because more than my craftiness I think you love me for my dirty floors.

(And walls. And door. And... well, you get the idea.)

 

 

Moving through.

I had a terrible day last Friday.

Complete with confusion, adrenaline, fear, sadness, shame - the whole package.

It sucked.

And I'm not telling you this to be dramatic or mysterious, but instead to remind you - when you slip into that wormhole-of-a-terrible-day yourself - that you aren't on that journey alone.

We all have brutal days. Or moments. Or experiences.

The kind that leave us feeling shaken and emotionally gutted.

 

Some we own the responsibility for, others feel like they happened "to" us.

Often it's both.

Either way we can get stuck there or we can get over it.

Get on with it.

 

After a day or so I got my head back on straight and realized that you know, it wasn't nearly what it might have been.

Really, few things we experience are.

Because even if your day felt like a train wreck, there probably wasn't a real train wreck involved, which would have been way worse.

 

Most of my hard day isn't something I want to talk about here. It isn't my story to tell, and out of respect for the others involved I won't be more specific. 

I will say however that sometimes this life business is a damn rocky ride.

 

Work can be hard. Marriage can be hard. Mothering can be hard.

Life can be hard.

You hope to do right by your loved ones at every turn.

And usually you get it right.

But sometimes you don't.

 

And other times you mostly nail it but shit goes haywire anyway.

 

Either way you'll probably stand in shock or despair now and again, wondering if you made the right choices.

And sometimes you'll know that you didn't.

 

The truth is, we all have hard days.

Or weeks. Even years.

It's part of this "life" deal.

 

We also get weeks when we have everything dialed in and we just can't miss.

You're a superstar!

 

Until you're not.

 

What made my day hard isn't relevant.

 

What's relevant is that it's universal.

Pain. Hardship. Fear. Vulnerability. Struggle.

And we have to get through it, because who wants to live there?

So we walk on.

We find healing.

 

For me, I put away the to-do list.

And I picked up my knitting.

I went to sleep at 8:00 and woke at 7.

I held my children close.

I talked to a few folks who I knew would understand.

 

And slowly, slowly I'm feeling like myself again.

 

Because your life and mine will have painful stretches.

Where small or big things go wrong and we have to keep plodding along.

It comes with the job description of being a living, breathing, feeling person.

 

The best we can do is muster the strength to lift our head and walk on.

And then, when we're ready, we can celebrate all that didn't go haywire this time.

 

And we'll count our blessings in friends and family; tea and sleep; sunrises and fresh yarn.

We'll notice everything that is just so, right where it should be, right where it is.

And we'll know that we're okay.

 

 

Connecting with strangers: lift me up

So often we walk through life, insulating ourselves from the strangers around us.

We keep to ourselves.

We mind our own business.

We go it alone.

 

The chance for connection is there, just below the surface.

But we let is float by, unacknowledged.

We don't bring it up into the light.

And then yesterday something incredible happened.

 

A stranger stopped me at Goodwill to tell me that I was "a wonderful mother."

I stumbled around, searching for grace, and tried to quiet the knee-jerk dismissal of her compliment that was bobbing to the surface.

Blushing, I thanked her and we walked away.

 

We ran into each other again and she repeated her praise.

This time I was ready. My acceptance came easy.

 

"I wish everyone spoke to their kids that way," she said.

"Yes," I said, "but we all have different personalities; different fears; different life experience."

"Different stresses," she added.

 

And before I knew it we were deep in a conversation about parenting, compassion, non-judgement and respect.

 

She talked about her own childhood.

 

We connected.

 

And I don't even know her name.

 

Later that day in a moment of struggle, one of my kids told me that I was "the worst mom in the world".

 

I held the space for my child, allowing a full expression of big emotion.

And in that messy moment a stranger's words were in my head.

I am a wonderful mother.

 

And I thanked her again in my mind for having the courage to tell me so.

 

Somehow her words helped me do better in a difficult moment.

For that I am so thankful.

Each day we have the chance to connect instead of walk on by.

We have the opportunity to lift someone up.

We have the power to choose compassion instead of judgement.

 

Even someone you've never met before and will never see again.

Someone who is struggling to keep her head above water.

Or another who's brimming with grace.

 

What would change if you chose to reach out?

 

To connect.

Uplift.

Support.

 

To reach into the space between strangers and create community, if only for a moment.

Because if you listen just so, the screaming baby at the grocery store isn't an irritation.

It's an invitation.

A chance to give of yourself.

Your empathy, your compassion, your arms.

 

I once offered to hold a crying baby at the coop. And that mama, three-fourths of the way through a day of wrong-turns and struggle, looked me in the eyes and began to cry.

And then she said yes.

Thank you - yes.

Because it was so hard that day.

 

And when you notice a parent being patient or kind or compassionate - pause and connect.

Tell them.

Let her see herself as you see her.

She might just need to hear it today.

 

My challenge for you is this:

look into the eyes of a stranger and lift them up.

Release judgement and find compassion.

Reach into that space between strangers and create community.

 

Because we need each other.

It's just that for a moment we had forgotten.

 

Your choice to connect could change someone forever.

And yes.

It might just change you, too.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

More inspiration here and here. You'll love these. I promise.

And this post from my own archives might be something else you need today.

 

Snuggle jail

 

I woke up this morning (as I have each morning for the past week or so) wedged between my two kids in bed. Pete's in there too, barely hanging on to his piece of real estate.

Four across in a king - with two of us around six feet tall - the other two gaining fast.

Hello, cozy.

 

Lupine refers to my position in this family squeeze chute as "Snuggle Jail".

With a kid on each side, snuggled in as close as can be.

 

My dad was that parent when I was small.

It was his side of the bed that my sister and I climbed in on when we woke scared in the darkness.

Where we knew open arms would greet us to chase away the shadows.

 

And now it's my turn.

 

When I wake up in Snuggle Jail I wake simultaneously grateful, sore, and cranky.

Grateful to have these people around me to hold so close. Grateful for the safety our family, our home, and our bed provides.

Sore because I haven't rolled over for hours and my back objects to this arrangement. Loudly.

And cranky because it's impossible to extract myself without waking everyone in the room and that means I don't have my quiet half-hour of writing and tea-drinking time in the morning.

Which I love.

And which I kind of need.

It's my anchor. My bookend. My start-up.

My one solo moment of the day.

 

And yet...

And yet.

 

I have three sweet people who love me, need me, and want to snuggle on me.

One of whom I've know since the tender pink-haired age of twenty-one; the others since they took in their first perfect breath of air and gazed up at me with their knowing eyes, right there in our living room.

 

Life could be so much worse and I'm hard-pressed to think of many ways to make it better.

 

So let's reach for gratitude and get on with the rest.

 

It's a busy time over here.

We're learning a new rhythm of farm chores with the arrival of the cold.

We're reluctantly abandoning some of the projects on our to-do-list until next year. (Because, no, I can't plan these iris bulbs in frozen ground, and no, Pete won't be climbing on the roof to fix the chimney so we can put in a wood stove.)

We're taking long walks, looking for tracks in the woods, and then coming home to gather and homeschool around this old kitchen table.

 

We're taking it day-by-day.

Because it's the only way we know.

 

And even if we're out of milk and the chickens have hidden all of the eggs, we've got soup we can eat for breakfast.

And even if it's cold and windy out there today, we just stood together in silence and watched in awe as a coyote hunted a mouse down by the creek.

And even if I woke up wedged in Snuggle Jail I can't think of three people I'd rather be in this lovey-lock down with than these.

 

Yes. I'm shaking off the last of the negative and diving into all that is good.

Because really, it's more than I could ever hold in my hands.

 

Join me.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

How to make a Gratitude Tree

When I was a child I don't think I really "got" Thanksgiving.

Sure, we gathered around my grandparents table and used the fancy dishes. We said grace and ate a glorious meal.

But I didn't get it.

Not really.

I knew the story of the first Thanksgiving (the version we were told at school anyway), but the meaning was lost on me.

Because grace was just a prayer we said before meals.

It was a memorized and recited, not felt or understood.

I was glad to gather and eat my grandma's cooking, but that was as deep as my gratitude ran.

 

And then one year - as an adult - I got it.

I really got it.

I'm not sure when Thanksgiving clicked for me, but now I count it among my favorite of the year.

Because it's all about gratitude.

("Well, duh," you say. But truly. It didn't sink in until adulthood.)

It's counting blessings. Being thankful for the abundance that we possess.

It's about deeply feeling and noticing all that we have.

And as you might guess, I'm all about that.

And now I look forward to Thanksgiving like I once looked forward to Christmas.

 

Several years ago we started a Gratitude Tree tradition.

It quickly became our favorite Thanksgiving tradition, and one that really brought home the meaning of Thanksgiving for our kids. And come to think of it, for the adults as well.

The Gratitude Tree is a place to note all that you are thankful for.

A way to count your blessings and be mindful of all the richness in your life.

Quite simply it's a tree branch decorated with leaves upon which you've written what you're thankful for.

But it always seems like more than that.

So much more that my mom sometimes keeps the tree from the previous year on her dresser until the following autumn.

Because these blessings are worth remembering throughout the year.

Want to start your own Gratitude Tree tradition?

I thought so.

But keep it simple, won't you? We get so carried away trying to make our traditions picture-perfect to the end of losing our way and forgetting why we're doing it to begin with.

Don't let perfection stand in your way.

Materials

• One branch (or bundle of smaller branches) small enough to fit in your jar or vase
• Mason jar or sturdy vase
• Marbles or stones (optional) to stabilize vase
• Paper (colored paper or old water color paintings are nice but not necessary)
• Paper punch or something pokey to work a hole through your paper
• Yarn or string
• Scissors
• Pencils or pens

Process

Create your "tree"

Cut your branches.

My kids go out each year with clippers and select our branch. It isn't always the most perfect specimen, but I love the role they play in selecting it. If you want a stunning branch, select one on a hike well before the hustle of Thanksgiving.

Feeling fancy? Coat that baby with silver or white sparkly spray paint. Yowza.

Trim the branch so that it isn't obnoxiously tall or wide on your table. You're making a centerpiece - not a brush pile, my friend.

Place the branch in a jar or base. Add pebbles or marbles (optional) to give it a more stable base.

If you have young children and visions of broken vase and bits of tree branch wedged into your turkey, consider a smaller centerpiece. Or as an alternative you can suspend a single branch horizontally above the table. Gorgeous.

Make your leaves

From your old watercolor paintings (or colored paper, or old telephone bills or whatever you've got) cut out leaf shapes. I free form cut simple almond shapes with a little stem, but you can use these templates if you want something more refined.

Punch a hole near the leaf end of your leaves and thread some scrap yarn or string through. Knot.

Arrange your table

Place your tree on your Thanksgiving table.

Surround the tree with scattered leaves and pencils. (Glitter pens would be lovely, but we eat Thanksgiving on Great-Grandma's handmade lace tablecloth. So pencil it is.)

We put our gratitude tree on the table before the guests arrive. Then throughout the evening we all write down anything that we're inspired to share.

Even my dad - not famous for pouring his heart out through the pen - gets into the act.

Share your blessings

After dinner we remove the leaves from the Gratitude Tree and place them in a basket. Then as we gather for dessert or a glass of wine, we pass the basket around the room, taking turns reading the anonymous blessings that were shared.

It's a magical time - sometimes resulting in tears - as we find the words to express all that we are thankful for.

So. Good.

Want more? Five Family Projects to Cultivate Gratitude might be just the ticket. (A post I wrote for Simple Homeschool last year.)

How does your family make Thanksgiving (or a similar holiday in your culture) more meaningful?

Simple birthday magic.

We do our best to keep birthdays simple around here.

Simple, but magical.

This weekend Lupine turned seven.

We celebrated with family and friends throughout the weekend.

Lupine had a small party with just two friends, and Nanny (my mom) came to share in the weekend.

And then came the snow.

It was a just-right fit for this magical girl.

 

Her gifts were as simple as her day.

Inspired by one of your non-stuff gift ideas on my Facebook page, Lupine asked her friends to give her coupons for play dates together instead of things. (Perfection!)

I knitter her the hat above. (Yes. I gave her just a hat. She was thrilled.)

Sage made her a game.

And Pete put together a father-daughter DIY t-shirt stenciling kit with a plain t-shirt from the thrift store, a coupon for some crafty time together, and textile medium.

Small. Simple. Just right.

 

The best part to me was watching as all four of us slowed down and simply enjoyed being together.

Laughing, playing cards and games, and simply being.

Together.

Our ever-present to-do list was no where to be seen.

It was glorious.

I think the togetherness was the best gift of all.

 

Happy Birthday, Lupine Bluebird. You are a magical soul.

And we're nothing short of crazy about you.

 

P.S. The pie was a shameless second-rate rip-off of this beauty. Whoa, that.