Changing Status: When do I stop being Red, White and Blue?

I was struck by a tricky modern dilemma this morning. My Facebook friends (thankfully many of whom are real life people who I can actually talk to, you know, face-to-face) started changing their profile pictures. Back.

Within hours of the terrible events in Paris, Facebook profiles and Twitter accounts started turning red, white and blue. It was a beautiful stream of colour and in turn, symbolic support for a nation that were in the midst of a catastrophe from an online community who could only sit and watch it unfold.

We were encouraged by Facebook themselves to place the French flag overlay, over ourselves with a handily provided gadget. There was implied support, implied solidarity, implied prayer. Others chose a French themed profile -perhaps a photo they took on a trip to France, or an image of one of the world's landmarks lit up.

Monday marked the last day of national mourning and on Tuesday, Parisians tried to go back to work. Back to school. But you can't go back and make it better.

No more than my profile picture on Facebook being able to act as a visual-Band-Aid to those who are hurt and grieving, can my actions on Tuesday, or Wednesday, with their routine normality turn the clock back. We can't erase what has happened and yet at some point it became ok to change our profile pictures back to what they were before. No one prompted this. No-one said it was ok. But I want to be able to justify this action, more so than switching it 'French' in the first place.

With every suicide bomb, with every bullet, with every fist-fight over who is better, truer and purer in this world in some twisted attempt to enter whatever it is that happens next, we take a step forward into chaos. We demand that 'something is done' when all we are often willing to do ourselves is throw money and rhetoric at the issue and hope deep down that it doesn't darken our door. Who signed up and joined the military this week? Who volunteered to help loved ones connect with those they can't find? Who has put themselves forward for election, to make sure they are the kind of politician they want to see making the tough decisions?

We try so hard to connect with the act of changing our picture to one that makes us fit with the people in the world that are good, so we don't stand out as the rapidly emerging 'other'. And there it is. The line is drawn and we are 'us' and 'them'.

I'm not sure I want it to be a case of 'Us' Vs. 'Them'. I'm pretty sure that in this war of ideology and faith it just isn't that simple. So today I turned by profile back, in full knowledge that it will, in all  likelihood, have to change again.

"You can't throw that away Mum!!"

After several days of threatening, I gutted my son's room. I think the threatening out loud was more for my benefit that his -there was no way he could sort that pit out, and I needed to brace myself...

As any mum knows, this kind of bedroom purge has to be done when said occupant is at school -or more makes it back in from the recycling bin that exits.

Once the Lego pieces had been repatriated, dragons parked on the wooden castle and money box raided for parking change (before you shout, I'm honest and put the money in his bank account!) I tackled the 'special shelf'.

This is a very wonky, hastily put up shelf that he can park little collections that he doesn't want his sister to mess with (as yet, she can't reach). Precious things go up there, collected shiny objects, badges, snippets of this, that and the other that at that moment in time were all important and priceless.

Once the dust had been chiselled off, and I'd put the tiniest bits into an old letter press tray, I stood back and looked at it. I can remember when some of those things were won, found or discovered. Other pieces that I thought were rubbish and might have thrown away have been placed on the shelf, away from pesky sisters and over enthusiastic, duster-weilding mums.

You might think you can work out what your kid might like to collect, to play with, and to get interested in. But the truth is they will kind of work out it out for themselves. I love Sam's little shelf of curiosities, and it teaches me a heap about what who he really is x

Getting back...

I hate those blog articles that people write when they've neglected their blog for ages and then decide to put the work in again...only to ignore it. Which exactly what one of these is.

I've been working away at another type of job -and kept the Mrs B thing ticking over on Facebook. Let's face it, it's quicker to post pics, and scribble 15 words and feel like your building your business the speedy way.

Sadly that doesn't leave time for the contemplative stuff. The 'mindfulness' when your mind is actually full and the kids are pressing 'shoot' buttons on the toy tanks and screaming. And there are soggy cheerios stuck on your Macbook.

And then you have a couple of knocks (things that need repairing, a customer that goes quiet) and you realise that having opted for the speedy entry into the craft community, your resilience is knocked.

So I write a little bit again (with a toddler firing a micro machine tank in my ear) without any promises that it will be more, but just because you are here, and I wanted more than 15 words to say: Sometimes this is hard. Fitting creativity into set hours of childcare doesn't always work. Getting where you want to go is tough. And there are still soggy Cheerio's on my screen.

Starting out with a hook -Learning to crochet

I led my first class last week, teaching a group of school-mums how to hook. It was hard, for many reasons. Despite the fact that I love crochet and I'm a trained teacher, I had to teach adults, people I know how to do something that I want them to love as much as I do.

In November a shining bright lady asked me to teach her and her best mates how to crochet in the New Year. I was meant to keep it quiet as it was to be a surprise, a gift.  It was in a car park, after the school run, it was cold and with a curly headed monster of a two year old and a grumpy six year old (it was too wet for the park) in tow, I hastily agreed and bundled them in the car. As with most crafters at that time of year I was snowed under with Christmas stuff and thought no more of it.

By the following Monday, that lovely lady wasn't there anymore.

In December, some of the other mums asked me again. I said yes, of course. Then one particular mum thought it would be a good idea to learn granny squares. We could put them altogether and make a blanket she said, for our shining bright lady's two little stars. Done deal I said.

So after some lesson planning (hide fear in the routine of what you know!), resourcing (quell panic through retail therapy) and a last minute search for multiple hooks we were good to go.

That first lesson was hilarious. For those of a sensitive disposition I suggest you stop reading now. Have you gone? Excellent. "I can't get it in the hole", "my hole is all saggy", and "why have I gone tight?" are the politest offerings. Pure filth. Told you craft was ace.

But after two hours of utter concentration everyone had something to show for it. My knees were knackered from crawling around a living room floor (now then...) helping people out. Teaching a fine motor skill is a tricky one -sometimes you have no choice but to take someone's arm or hand and make them work the stitch to show them the movement. Diagrams and written instructions are all very well and good, but it's muscle memory that sticks.

I realised at 2am the next morning I'd made one stitch too complicated -the 'posh' version of a treble, that sits nicely especially in fine work but made my students go more cross eyed than perhaps needed. We can sort that next week. I also realised I talk too fast, impressing my impatience at wanting to move on , hurry up, get to the next thing because it's brilliant when you can do it!

Five (almost) mummy squares!

Here is what we made. Ok, the mums did the coloured bits and I've added the white borders to straighten it all out a bit and prove that even after only two hours you can make something pretty. With class No.2 coming up this week, I think we might be getting well on the path to learning a new skill, spending some time with good friends and remembering a fantastic lady that hopefully would approve xx

Calming down in January....

I get to the other side of New Year's and want to get rid of the glitz and glitter. This doesn't make me a scrooge -I've LOVED Christmas. I just want some calm. And vegetables. And less cake.

I get drawn to calm, grey, soothing things, which is odd for me being a colour-fiend and usually loving deep brights. It's alright. It doesn't usually last long. Here's an etsy treasury to tide us all over until I return to normal. xx

Hooking up on Le Tour de Essex!

We can't avoid it...It's looming and the best we can all do is batten down the hatches, grab some wool and wait for bicycles to zoom past and the roads to open again. Aside from those poor unfortunate souls that gets stuck in an almighty pot hole.

Here's the best of what a couple of crafty types have been up to in the UK leg:

This fabulous lady decided to seriously hook up her bike -possibly better than the spokey-dokies we used to get in cereal packets?

Cambridge University Engineers had to get involved when there were fears that the knitted bunting may weigh down local lamp posts. We are all mightily relieved to know that after they applied some scientific methods (getting a mini jumper soggy, weighing in and then applying some light maths), we should be fine....I was concerned for a while...

Either way, if you can't avoid the traffic you might be able to pack your hook, a ball of yarn and sit tight for the day!

50 Shades of Disarray (or, why you shouldn't take 'lifestyle' magazines seriously)

I have an Instagram habit. I like searching other people's calm shots of perfectly tidy houses, mostly painted in chalky whites, with vintage approved accessories. The kids playrooms are immaculate with  a large curated selection mostly wooden toys of a Scandinavian origin that you know are wholesome and will raise their offspring's IQ by at least 50 points just by pushing them along the floor. The bathrooms never have hair caught behind the door, or blue toothpaste smears on the bath side, or a crappy plastic bin with a flip-top lid because the toddler will eat the contents out of the ethically produced raffia ensemble that you'd otherwise have.

Olivia Palermo in Elledecor.com

In the living rooms the plants aren't dead or infested (as mine were, I'm grim I admit it) with diddy flies, and more to the point they are 'on trend'. Yep, certain houseplants are 'trending', adding an additional life form to maintain aside from the kids and the cat. These houses don't have cats because the 'worn to perfection' supple brown leather sofas have no scratch marks (or felt tip, or mushed biscuit, or husband's spag bol because, who are we kidding, we can't sit up the table unless it's Christmas?).

And so to bed. We crawl under mismatched duvet covers and pillow sets, chucking out Duplo, last week's T-shirts and various copies of the Farmer's Weekly as we go. The beds in these interiors shots are made for princesses that float 6 inches above the heirloom patchwork personally gifted after a summer spent writing the histories of Amish folk in Pennsylvania.

Look at me with my trending flower pot and succulent thingy...

The point is, they aren't real. I can take the occasional good shot (usually close up) of a little corner of my house that I've grouped stuff in that makes me smile. And it can look pretty cool. But it doesn't show what surrounds me. That's real life. Just saying.

A Very French Affair...

So we spent the week in a giant tent (it was all very Crimson Field) in France opposite a cow field -which cheered up the children and husband no end and provided me with amusement.

The point was to soak up the atmosphere, history and sense of commemoration of the 70th Anniversary of D-Day. We out-field tripped ourselves, and by the end of it I was struck by several things:

1. The French way of managing events is great. Why have a roadblock when you can just leave people to sort themselves out? This (in our experience the other week) works. So you want to have a picnic and watch a parachute drop from the slip road of a motorway? Sure.

2. D-Day is Northern France. I've tried over the years to get husband to understand that there must be more to France's history than WW2 (and of course, there is), but for that week, in that place, there really wasn't. I guess the feeling of being liberated from occupation is one that they can understand all too well, but I certainly can't and that makes the experience unique.

3. Re-enactment is for winners. They throw themselves into Jeep and truck ownership in a big way, kitting themselves out in period (and not so period) costume and setting up camp. I want to join in. I've started saving up.

4. There is a fine line between commemoration and a big, slightly inaccurately dressed excuse for a party. This was the only unsettling feeling I had about the whole week really. Everyone seemed to be in the party spirit, those that liked dressing up in camp gear had a great opportunity to do so, and the drinks were in abundance. But. Then you catch sight of a veteran, French, American, English, and you realise that their day was very different 70 years ago. It's at that point that the warm glass of cider in your hand is a bit too sickly sweet and perhaps you've misjudged the sense of occasion.

The value of creative industries and creativity in industry (or, wind your neck in Esther McVey)

Sweet potato makes this a vegetable serving...

This week Employment Minister Esther McVey dropped the metaphorical coffee cup with her suggestion that young people need to take entry level jobs in 'Costa' before aiming for higher paid (and the suggestion was therefore 'better') jobs in management. In terms of getting the skills required to function as a productive member of our economy (punctuality, customer service, efficiency) she isn't wrong. But that's where it ends.

You see, the inference was that jobs in coffee shops are 'entry level'...'basic'...'low skilled'. And I don't think that this is the case. After picking up my friday morning treat (kids in school, crochet awaits) from my local coffee shop (The Linton Kitchen, go there, it's ace and they are happy to be complicit in deceiving your husband about how often you visit) I got talking with the lovely lady serving me. We talked about the 'McVey slur' on coffee shop workers and I can understand why she was so livid.

Firstly, it does the millions of people in the service industries a massive disservice to suggest that their job or chosen profession (yes, people choose to do this) is somehow low-skilled and not a long-term prospect. It infers that the skills required to be a successful small business, or even a thriving franchise of an international chain are somehow less valuable and easier to pick up than other 'proper' professions. It's also does nothing to value the creativity and understanding of community that service jobs in general require in order to be effective.

And this is my real point. I walk into my local coffee shop and there is an atmosphere that has been created by a team. People who understand how to work together in a small space, within a community to not only provide coffee, but intelligent conversation, excellent products that are tailored to a specific market, and with the flexibility to allow the use of that space for meetings, emotional chats, humour, post-school run 'make it better' cake and on a Friday morning, sanctuary.

This takes more than entry level skills. More than just punctuality. It takes creative intelligence to succeed, and increasingly it seems, we value this less and less. The 'Arts' get hacked out of the school curriculum. Students become assessed on their ability to complete an exam, the ultimate administrative task that praises conformity to a set standard and allows little deviation for lateral creative thought (I know, I've been an examiner!). We push our children harder and ever younger to make decisions about their career path rather than allow them experiences that might tap into unexplored talents that they are told won't make them money. We don't even teach children that when they are adults, there will be hours in their week where they aren't at work, and they have choices about how to use that time in a more fulfilling way than just think about...work.

So yes Minister, there is a need for the next generation to be able to be punctual, to get up in time, to be able to perform tasks with accuracy and diligence. But I hope that my kids will be getting up earlier than the alarm to go a job that makes that happy, that makes use of their left side of the brain and that treats all people, regardless of pay-grade and job title with respect.

Join the conversation -let me know what you think! Better still, visit your local coffee shop (you can post a link here and share their awesomeness) and have a chat with the folks that work there. And say 'thank you'. xx

The Space Between (or, that weird week at the end of the year)...

I'm sat surrounded by the detritus of Christmas -it's a mince pie leftover hangover and oddly I'm not bothered. Yesterday I was bothered; I threw pegs at my husband and it felt better. (I do actually throw things, usually inanimate, but pegs are a new thing).

I like this week. It's a time-gap somewhere between New Year expectation of a new beginning and the ability to have one last chance to finish what you've started. It's like being Doctor Who (ok, not like that at all, no Tardis, and think what I could get done with a sonic screwdriver) where you can shift between the almost back to work normality of your average week, and watching Scooby Doo in your PJ's if you really want to.

Nobody expects anything of this week so there is nothing to prove. My house is messy? Hey, it's just after Christmas. Taking up something new? That's fine, it's almost the New Year. You can honestly get away with most things in this one week which isn't a proper week and never will be.

And I like the build up to the next bit. The promise of another year to 'get my shit together and get stuff done'. Being a list writer, I want to write resolutions down, but not this time. I have a different plan.

Choose Motherhood (although at this time of year, one wonders why sometimes....x)

I loved Trainspotting...I quite like being a mum too, but bloody hell, am I glad it's the last day of term before the holidays. I'll be back in January 2014, but until then, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year xx

Choose Motherhood. 
Choose 50 unenumerated festive jobs alongside the usual weekly marathon. 
Choose a career ‘break’ which also means no office Christmas Party. 
Choose an extended family, each with their own interpretation of parenting style, appropriate tea time snacks and noisy battery operated presents, 
Choose a f**king big television that will only stream CBeebies so you can write 148 Christmas cards that have now missed the last post,
Choose stickle bricks in washing machines, Cheerios in cars, 
Haribo in compact disc players, and a tacky non-themed Christmas tree. 
Choose persistent poor health, high cholesterol 
and post-pregnancy dental woes brought on by a candy cane diet in December. 
Choose high-interest credit card repayments and the promise to budget in the New Year. 
Choose a dream home, in a magazine and stick it on the fridge as motivation. 
Choose your child-free friends and live vicariously through them. 
Choose easy to wash leisure wear and Tesco’s ‘Bag for Life’ as luggage. 
Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase 
in a range of light fabrics then let the kids loose with felt tips. 
Choose DIY projects that will be finished before Christmas and wondering who you 
are on a Sunday night. 
Choose sitting on that plastic chair watching ear-aching, tear-jerking nativity plays,
Stuffing smuggled in Smarties into your mouth. 
Choose cheering like a loon at the end of it all, 

grinning like an idiot with a tinsel hat, 
Nothing more than an embarrassment to the sugar-fuelled,
End of term-exhausted gremlins 
You have spawned to replace yourself. 
Choose your future. Choose life (it’s alright really xx). 

Patience -a virtue begrudgingy learned.

I am not a patient person. No matter how fast broadband becomes it will never be quicker than turning a page in a magazine or book, and even then, that can be too slow. Projects get started and then I get excited about the next, then the next, turning what I'm doing into a chore. My relationship with my smartphone is tempestuous and unforgiving -accessible, yet demanding, ever present, but not quite close enough to the information I wanted to have an hour ago.

And this is not good. It means I stop enjoying the hand crafted projects I undertake as they become to-do-list items to be finished. My success has become self-measured my the 'amount' I get done, as if quantity of 'things' said, written or produced validate me. This is particularly true since as of this week I am the most occupied unemployed person I know. I catch myself sat on the floor with my children making mental lists of the things I could do, or say, instead of doing or saying things to the two people who are present at that moment, not the imagined possibilities of a day that hasn't arrived yet.

Slowing down is next on my list. Not the laundry, or the cleaning, that can still be blitzed out of the way. But the space that's left for the things that are mine, theirs, ours, should be taken slowly. Harriet will not learn to crawl while I write a blog post or update Facebook. She needs my help. Sam will not suddenly wipe his own bum with the required precision whilst I am scribbling notes to myself on the back of an envelope. The blankets and creatures I make will not have the perfect finish I want to achieve if all the while I'm mentally engaged in an affair with the next ball of wool.

So if you see me a little less regularly, it's because I've put the brakes on, just a smidge. What comes next will be better I'm sure...But I might need a little help.x

Springing back...

Hello! As promised, a bit of a spruce up for the old blog...I hope you find it a bit fresher, brighter and easier to mooch around.

While we were apart, I've been busy trying to finish off a ton of 'works-in-progress'; a 1950's vintage dress (terrifying!), a buggy blanket, and some upcycling of baby clothes...

Having a bloggy-holiday is all well and good, but it's nice to be talking again, and I hope to see you back for a brew soon...Let's make a date for Wednesday as to celebrate Spring, there will be a 'Mayday Giveaway' with lots of lovely crafty goodies up for grabs x

Under (Re)Construction

My blog is well overdue a Spring clean...It's been over a year since started making this a regular thing, and frankly, it needs a spruce up. So please bear with me for the next few weeks, as I sort out the jumple, add a new coat of paint and maybe hang some new bloggy curtains. Please still drop by and see how I'm getting on (bit like making someone a brew when they're tidying out the attic) and let me know if you like some of the new bits (or even dislike!). xx

Ranty-Friday: Does Facebook Make Me a Bad Housewife?

Aside from the fact that I think smart phone manufacturers are in league with Vision Express in making screens smaller so that anyone over the age of 30 will need a stronger prescription after a year of use, I'm increasingly concerned by my own use of Facebook let alone anyone elses. I'm not talking about the usual stories of neglect -how much time we spend uploading our daily life whilst it merrily carries on around us. After all, Enid Blyton abandoned her kids in their cots for hours at a time with only a teddy and jam sarnies for company to write about other kids she probably liked more. That's neglect, not 2 mins on your phone.

In the age of instant gratification, we also seem to require instant congratulation. My Nan (super-woman that she is) had twins in 1958 without the aid of the NCT, or an epidural. This alone should qualify her for free monthly deliveries of gas an air from the NHS just as a bonus for enduring ridiculous torture. She sent my Grandfather off to work with a cooked breakfast, lunch, did the housework, looked after 3 kids and went to work herself...And couldn't shout her highly praiseworthy achievements from the rooftops and into cyberspace. I don't even think she expected a 'well done' in that this was life and she got on with it.

The cold that won't go away...

It's been two weeks...Honestly. I think given the recent news about growing resistance to antibiotics, the common cold will be the end of the human race as we know it. Cockroaches and squirrels will prevail...

Anyway, feel like crap so thought I'd winge, and share some remedies that I've mostly been going through at a rate of knots in the last fortnight.

1. Sainsburys raspberry, cranberry and echinacea tea. Only about 70p, ruins your teeth less than hot Ribena;
2. Sainsburys green tea with jasmine -because drinking pink tea all day can get a bit weird;
3. Homemade bread made into toast. Tastes ace.
4. Good old fashioned Radox bubble bath. The green one. It works.
5. Port.

Treat me like a lady...

So it's Women's Day...I really wonder how this is the case. Surely it's 2013? Women are equal? But what exactly does it say about the global status of women if we still need to have a 'day'?

I make no apologies or attempt to hide the fact that I'm a feminist. A domestic feminist at that. Chances are, if you think women should be afforded the same respect, rights and equality of opportunity as men, cats and gerbils then you are too. I make the choices I make because I can, because I want to and usually because I've had the freedom to make that decision all by my big adult self. Or so I thought.

You still won't (to the best of my knowledge) find women on a submarine. This is mainly due to the fact that if pre-menstrual, we can't be trusted to not go mental and launch a Trident attack off the Jurassic Coast of Dorset, annihilating the fossil potential and probably wiping out a protected newt population...This is bollocks.

My Fabric Family Tree...

I've been tidying and having a sort out recently(were hopefully selling our house) and I realised that I have something of a fabric obsession. It's genetic. Can't argue with it.

Then I got me a thinking about where all these pieces came from, and there were some good times...Some pretty icky screaming baby times too, but I realised I have quite the stash to pass on to my kids and family in the future. Nice thought that.

1. (Mum) Sam's Birth 2008;
2. (Aimee) Hattie's Birth 2012;
3. (Mum) Hattie's Birth 2012;
4. (Me!) Whilst pregnant with Hattie 2012;
5. (My Nan) My Birth 1981;
6. (My Nan) Hattie's Birth 2012;
7. (My Nan) My Brother's Birth 1985 (I think...!);
8. (My Nan) Sam's Birth 2008;
9. (Me!) Sam's first big bed 2010;
10. (Mum) Our wedding 2006:
11. (Mum) Leaving for university (2000).


I'm going to happily add to my collection (of fabric, not children) if it means I have a little story to tell. What's in your cupboards?xx

Making a week...

This week has been about the making -I still can't get the balance right between actually producing stuff and blogging/etsy-ing and doing the research you need to get going! That, and I had to remake the little kitty cats made earlier in January as good old Royal Mail has them 'somewhere' over the Atlantic...grrr.

So this is what I got up to...More on certain projects later but happily I have completed some and have some happy ideas underway x

One: a lovely bakery visit (Hitchin) starts things off well -French bread that actually tastes French! If you're in the area, pop in and give it a try;

Two: my lovely friend Sarah passed on nearly 90 Craft magazines that her Grandmother had given her -it was a fabulous surprise and will keep me going craftwise, probably indefinitely!

Three: I learnt to 'ripple' (hurrah!) in crochet, and made my first practise piece into a cushion;

Four: Daffies galore -I have a sneaky idea for spring flowers in tins;

Five: I checked out 'Staffy b' in Baldock which is a covetable interiors shop where they sale substantial offcut bundles for £5...

Six: and then I made some lavender bags out of the bits!

Seven: I'm trying to use up the random tiny balls of wool I have left from other projects and so I've decided the make up lots of diddy circles. Seems to be a quick way of trying out different colour combinations quickly...I feel a reference cushion coming on!

Eight: Sam and I (and Hattie but she was asleep so it doesn't really count) joined the library...Scandalous I know that it's taken this long, but Sam thought it was amazing, and I made him a book bag for the job;

Nine: Today was a pirate party...and 5 mins before we were due to leave, I realised we had no wrapping paper...Jim's idea was ace -brown paper and a quick treasure map doodle!

What were you up to last week? More importantly, in a week of pancakes and love hearts, what will you be getting up to?

Talkin' about my education...

So I'm a first class lemon, and drove my car through the carwash without removing the aerial...No problem I hear you say...Not when you've buggered the antenna base, requiring Haynes manual study and a spares website...And resulting in no radio until it's fixed.

Not all is lost -Some while ago, my Uncle Mick, who has always attempted to steer my musical tastes away from tacky pop, and for which I thank him greatly, had a clear out and gave me a big bag of cassettes...yep, my car has a tape player. So turning my act of automobile stupidity into a positive, I've picked a selection, and I'm going old school. It's for my own good!x