Budget Ballet Backpacks, or How to Make a Little Dancer's Eyes Light Up on Christmas

I'm a person who'd rather spend time than money. Not that I have excess time; it's just more readily available these days. So Christmas usually means I put on my thinking cap (a striped beanie with a red propeller) and rummage through the Stuff Stash. I have a few kids of my own, and several nephews and nieces, so it's always a long rummage.It's always been fun to pull out long-forgotten bits of fabric or trimming and consider what they might become. Over the years I've turned out a few princess dresses, "board" games made of fabric--still in use!, dolls, stuffed animals, all sorts of things. My sister says she never knows what to expect when her kids open presents from me. I choose to call that a compliment.

This year I spied a bolt of gorgeous white and gold fabric I had bought with visions of re-creating something from the 1770s. (Dreams, mere dreams.) And I remembered I had thought of making pillowcase backpacks for my nieces and daughter. The idea that came to mind was slightly more elaborate than pillowcases, though. That fabric was perfect for suggesting the elaborate leotard-and-tutu ballet costumes most little girls love. So, ballerina backpacks were in the works.

Backpacks are easy--trace a circle for the bottom; measure the circumference (geometry is FAR more useful than my math teachers ever let on); cut out a panel equal in length to the bottom's circumference and twelve inches in height; measure and make straps. Sew  the two short sides if the backpack body together; attach straps; sew on bottom; repeat with lining, then attach a closing system. I'm not going into the technical stuff here. better, more detailed instructions can be found all over the web.

The fun part in this case was the decorating. I have boxes of fancy scraps--too sheer, lacy, or satiny to be used in quilts, and not large enough to be used in clothes. I label them as "fancy costume" and hope to use them some day--and their day came a-callin'. Each backpack has a fancy center panel, lace trim with a ribbon draw-string closing, and beads, sequins, or gems for added interest. The part that gets the concept across, though, is the tutu on the bottom of the pack. I used tulle-on-a-spool, usually used for decorating weddings. (It's always the details that make things special, no?) I admit I had to buy the tulle; not even I have everything I could possibly need. But the results were totally worth it. The backpack itself suggests the ballerina's body (if the ballerina were a pudgy five-year-old. It could happen!), and the tulle floats just like ballet costumes do.

Two specimens:

(These went to Canada. Maybe I should have sewn an anorak on each one, just for fun.)

Ultimately, I made eight of these packs. each one took around three hours to make--with the greatest time going into the decorating and tutu-making. (I will go on record as saying tulle is a PAIN to work with slippery, stretchy stuff.) I hope the girls like them on Christmas morning!

If I were a cuter person I'd title this one "Darlin' Garland", but I'm not, and I can live with that

When the Holiday season rolls around (or, as it does around here, pulls up shrieking and smoking from excess speed), I tend to step into the studio (hahahahaha) and say to myself, "Self, there's got to be something festive and moderately attractive somewhere in this mess." This year visions of soft blue and white decorations on the mantel danced in my mind--maybe something like frosted jars and mercury glass filled with blue glass ornaments and delicate snowflakes, accented by peacock plumes for panache. I know: expensive tastes. But it's no good having foie gras wishes on a bologna budget. So I entered the "creative zone" with an open mind.

The first thing I saw were some pine cones gathered from under the pine tree in the yard. "Seasonal," I thought. "Workable, could be a jumping off point.) And then I spied a jar of beads from a garland given to us fourteen years ago--which split asunder ten years ago, and which has been waiting in that jar for just such a moment. A plan hatched itself somewhere in the depths of my imagination.

Ultimately my materials list became:

• pine cones 
• beads 
• white spray paint (left over from another, non-studio, project)
• green felt (originally intended to be made into a bag, but not enough yardage left after various projects through the years)
• wire ( Left over from making corsages a couple years ago. Not even eleven wrist corsages can use up an entire spool of florist's wire.)

I sprayed the pine cones with the paint to make them frosty looking--because when one lives in a desert one's white Christmas is limited to what one can create artificially.

When they were dry I wired them together in groups of three, adding wired red beads (also in groups of three) to each group. (The odd-shaped objects in the jar and on the work surface are "hunny" pot beads, It had been a Winnie the Pooh garland at one point. Someday I'll find a use for those things.)

I cut the felt into wide strips, then persuaded my son Jay to "feather" them--cutting from the sides toward the middle. When he was done I used a long running stitch with embroidery floss to loosely gather the felt into a long strand. When I was finished, I "smushed" the garland in my hands to separate the feathered edges and to produce a more natural look (Well, as natural as one can be when suggesting fir with felt.)

I wired the pine cone and berry groups more or less equally along the length of the emerging garland, then added additional berries in between groups. (And tucked the wire ends underneath--much neater looking than the picture, taken before said step, suggests.)

That was it. Once it was hung by the chimney with extreme care, it looked pretty good. A fun project with a great price for my favorite time of the year. (The "mirror" there on the mantel is another fun "studio story". Thrift store frame, aluminum foil, dish soap, and black shoe polish. Faked my sister out the first time she saw it.)

In the bag

Unbelievably, it's almost Christmas time, and around here that means I'm rampaging through the studio (HAHAHAHAHAHA) looking for materials and inspiration for gifts. Just look at that header photo--LOTS of inspiration just waiting to be unearthed. (Judging by the dust, almost literally.)

*Note: if you are a family member, or a friend hoping for or expecting a gift this year, DO NOT READ THIS BLOG FOR THE NEXT MONTH. You will learn entirely too much about what you are getting in a few weeks. That would be a bummer.*

Anyway, Every year I make a few fabric bags to put gifts into. It's like using those ubiquitous paper gift bags, but far cooler and longer lasting. Plus, I can use almost any fabric to make them. (Torn tablecloths have been transformed and been placed under trees around here.) This time I decided my stock of felt needed thinning. I went with orange, mainly because I just happened to have lots of coordinating fabrics, but also because it's going to a person who appreciates a bold statement. Later on I'll use up some of my green felt to make another bag. Heck, even the pink may be pressed into service this year. I have a lot of felt.

So, the starting fabrics:

I've had the gingham forever--it may have come from my mother's stash from the '70s, because I know I never bought any, and it looks suspiciously like some of my dresses of the era. It became the lining for the bag. The fun crazy-patch floral is a remnant left over from Elle's school clothes last year. It was used for the handles and the finishing band at the top.

With all that VERY bright orange, something else was needed, or I was afraid people's eyes would bleed when looking at it; so, into the studio once again. This time in hope that the yo-yos I had made for a quilt eight years ago were still around. (I knew I had used most of them in a doll for Elle--very nice ruffly arms and legs they made, too. The quilt itself never was made, but the yo-yos were not created in vain!) I was in luck--plenty left. (I must have been more industrious at the time I was making them than I had thought. I really wish I had stuck with it and made the quilt. Sigh.) So, with some shell buttons my sister, who keeps an eye out for this sort of thing for me, had given me fro Christmas last year--the great circle of Christmas-giving Life, sort of thing, no?--I made flower details to adorn the bag:

I like how the whole thing turned out:

Rather cheery, don't you think? And just the right size to hold a couple bottles of . . . . well, I'd better keep that one a secret yet, just in case.

Shirt Rescue, Take Two

Again I find myself staring at another shirt in dire need of rescue. Same owner, different trauma. This time the shirt faced torture by bleach. ("Children--one last time: do not clean the bathroom in your good school clothes! Or THIS may happen to you!" With graphic visuals, of course.) So now it's a new-ish (naturally, since old clothes never get ruined. EVER.) turquoise tee with a trail of white spots running down the front. What's a provident mom to do?

Well, if I had dye in the studio (hahahaha) I could strip the color and re-dye it. Sadly, no dye--all used up in projects previous to this blog. But I do have lots of fabric. (See photo above for confirmation of this statement.) So let's take bleached-out lemons and make cheerful lemonade.

I found two fabrics I liked. One--appropriately enough --was left over from my wedding dress. (Considering that's the project that has made all subsequent projects necessary and possible.) Another was a remnant from pajamas I made last Christmas.

I fused both fabrics to iron-on interfacing, to make sure when they were cut and later washed they wouldn't fray to shreds, since there would be no edge treatment. Then I traced circles (with the classic sewing tool, a drinking glass) of three different sizes, and cut them out.

I made flowers from the circles--each circle becoming a petal. I folded each circle into quarters, and pressed them. With washing they've unfolded a bit, just enough to give additional dimension to the petals. Then I arranged the petals, four to a flower, to cover the bleach spots. (If you can't beat them, hide them in plain sight!) I used my trusty fabric glue to fix them in place, and to prevent sliding when it was time to sew the petals down.

The petals were sewn down the middle of each, so the sides could puff out from the center. Extra dimension and depth are my friends. To finish the flowers, I added buttons (saved from a dress I made and wore in college. And no, I'm not really a pack rat! I just sound like one when blogging.) to the center of each. Then I added machine embroidery to create the stems of the flowers.

I think it turned out quite well, and now it's Miss Elle's favorite shirt. Go figure. (Don't even THINK about doing this to your other shirts, Missy! I may not be this creative next time.)

Freeze Frame

A few years ago my  baby brother (all of six feet and several pounds of him. "Baby" is a relative term here) made me picture frames for Christmas, and we used them, standard-style: one large picture per frame, parents and children. Ho hum. Until we had another child, and then another, and suddenly there weren't enough frames to use them as I had been doing, and into the studio (hahahahaha) they went.

They've languished there long enough, I think, so I pulled them out to put them to new use. I wanted something to lend some interest to a long stretch of wall going up the stairs, but I didn't want anything standard: no 8x10 photos, no self-portraits, no silhouettes. I wanted something that could be changed easily, because the one constant of children is that there is no constant.

In our family room we have a LARGE fabric-covered bulletin board. Four feet by eight feet large. It dominates the wall over the couch, and I love that I can pin stuff up there, rearrange it, and pull it down without committing pin marks to eternity. So why not so the same thing in miniature?

Our bulletin board is made of sound board. We got it at Home Depot, and it's relatively inexpensive, and
I had some scraps left over. It is, however, a royal messy pain in the patoot to cut. (It might have helped to have done so with a saw, but all I had were a utility knife--wholly inadequate, and a bread knife--which will never be the same again.) The debris field was significant.

After I roughly--very roughly--cut the sound board to fit the frames, I covered each one with a scrap of fabric (no shortage of that around here, no matter how much I use or give away), and secured them with staples. Then I inserted the boards into the frames, set them in with more staples (nit a permanent job, but I might want to reuse them later on.), attached hanging hardware, and put them up.

I like them even without the photos--sort of abstract art-inspired. But I eventually put pictures in, using silver thumb tack, applied so the tacks don't puncture the pictures, but just "push" them securely to the board. That way I can change the pictures at will, without making holes in something I might actually scrapbook if I suffer major brain trauma that alters my personality and I start doing such things.

(Wasn't Miss Elle sweet as a baby? They all start out that way. Fakers!)

I have room on each frame to add another picture, and the freedom to re-arrange the pictures as often as I like. Frugality and freedom--good things come in alliterative pairs.

Let There Be Light!

We've lived in our house for twelve years now. (Unbelievable--where does the time go?). When we bought it we were poorer than any church mouse--we were probably as poor as the church mouse's poorer cousin, shack mouse. (How, then, did we buy our house? Bought it from my parents, who are kindly, generous souls, and then scrimped like mad to pay the tiny mortgage each month. I'm frugal for a reason!) We've lived through quite a few changes since then: renovations as we could afford them (two years without a master bathroom, tile purchased a bit at a time) ; landscaping (sort of--sorry, sweet neighbors!); ; the birth of five children (the reasons for much of the renovating, which you understand if you, too, have children); etc.

In spite of the time span, and the changes for the better, I still remember how thankful I was to own a house--and how excited I was to buy the very first item specifically for that house: a lamp (on sale for $9.99!).
This lamp:

It's a little tired looking now--but so would you be if you'd watched the whirlwind this household can be for twelve years. (Come to think of it, I'm a little tired looking! I think the lamp has aged better.) So, I thought it was time for a little spruce-up, provident style. (The lamp, not me. That'll have to come later.)

I have some wallpaper that I fell in love with a couple years ago, and which I used to redo our kitchen table:

(The marine varnish I used to seal the table has a deep yellow stain to it; that's why it's such a different color--but that's okay, my kitchen is yellow, too. Serendipitous!)

I still have a lot of the paper left (and I'm seriously considering which small wall to cover it with), so why not use it to recover the tired old lamp? The leafy motif is perfect for the family room, and the stiffness of the paper would make the recovering process easier--far fewer wrinkles to worry about.

First I measured the circumference of the lamp shade, and added a half-inch to top and bottom and one side as overlap. Then I measured and marked on the paper where the shade support wires were. I notched paper out at those places with scissors and a hole punch so the paper would wrap around the wires and not tear. Then I placed the paper around the frame, matching notches to wires and folding the top and bottom "hems" over the rim supports. I glued the side overlap and the hems, and clipped it all securely to let it dry.

 

It was just a simple project (no cost, because I used only what I already had on hand) but it made a big difference. I hope we get another twelve years of use of of this thing!

Rescue Operation

Miss Elle is hard on her clothes. I realize this is most likely normal, since I hear a lot of mothers complaining about the various atrocities committed on clothing. Still, to see a perfectly innocent t-shirt lying stricken in a laundry basket--having done nothing to merit the punishment inflicted on it, beyond maybe straying too closely to the freshly-painted wall or the nail sticking out of the door jamb--my heart bleeds. "That," I say, to no one in particular, but hoping my children are listening while in instructable frames of mind, "is a waste of perfectly good money. Just look at it--good for nothing more than the rag bag now. Poor t-shirt, to have its promising life cut tragically short." (I throw in the extra pathos in the usually vain attempt to play on my children's otherwise steely heartstrings. Perhaps I think shedding a tear or two for the lost of the laundry will prevent them from committing clothing-related barbarities later in the day. Hope springs eternal.)

In months past I would have cut the shirt up for weaving fodder--I have a lovely collection of t-shirt strip balls, just waiting for the day I can clear a path to the loom and finally put them into the rug I've been planning for nigh unto five years now. But I have more than enough material for this projected rug, and a good non-holey t-shirt should have another chance at life, whatever its past sins may have been. So lately I've become a salvager of shirts--creatively trying to overcome whatever damage has been done in the names of education, entertainment, and/or high-explosives experimentation.

A while ago, Elle dumped into the laundry a shirt which had somehow been stained with paint. Red acrylic paint, on a white t-shirt. And I knew it was acrylic, because a dried glob of it was still there, clinging with almost child-like stubbornness. "And what," I thought in despair, "am I to do with this?" Two stain treatments and a bleach wash later, the stain was just as present (but the spaghetti stains had faded somewhat--a minor but gratifying triumph for me.) Time to break out the odds and ends from the studio (hahahahaha).

It just so happens that my sister, ever thoughtful and somehow prescient, had given me several spools of eyelet trim in assorted colors, and I had been a amasser of useful buttons for years (Cheap, folks, I'm cheap!). I was going to save this shirt, so help me Hannah!

I wanted the eyelet to look as if it had been there originally--not like I had attempted a salvage, so I opened up the shoulder seams, inserted the eyelet, then closed them again. Simple.

I once heard the statement that you should never trust your sewing project to something as dumb as pins. I figure sewing glue is smarter, so I basted the eyelet down with it, then pinned. Two methods are better than one--and I hoped their collective IQ would assure success here.

Once the glue was dry I sewed the eyelet down, making sure to tuck the lower edges back under the hem. 

Then I brought out the button jar--reds and pinks to match the eyelet, and to better disguise the red paint stain. (That's me, always thinking!) I didn't want a formal, graduated arrangement of buttons--too staid, so I mixed several shades of pink and red, and multiple sizes of buttons randomly.

Once I sewed them on, I permanized the buttons with  a dab of glue on each--no unraveling stitches here.

I like how it turned out, and Miss Elle has been told her "new" shirt is "cute" by the ultimate fashion authority: another seven-year-old. A win all around.

Since I used items pulled from my stash the total cost for this project= nothing. That's a price I can live with.