Yoga does the fat baby body good

Today we have Mom and Baby Yoga class. This is one of three classes we take each week. There's this one, and then the other yoga class (with a teacher who uses a different approach, as I wouldn't want Phinny to misinterpret yoga as simply a directive, posture-oriented practice, don't you know) and our music class. Here is what happens in the music class, as described in a conversation with my mother.

Me: "It's Pre-Wiggleworms. Pre."
Mom: "Like, you go and play instruments at a tiny baby?"
Me: "No, we go and sing to them. A whole group of moms and babies under 5 months."
Mom: "You go and sing to them. At them. As in you pay 15 dollars to go to a room and sing at your baby, lullabies you sing at home, along with a handful of other moms who all pay 15 dollars to go sing at their babies with you in this same room."
Me: "Yes."
Mom: "Interesting."

Times they are different now. Way back when I was child walking uphill both ways to school, barefoot in the snow, we were very lucky if our parents drove us (standing up in the car) to the beach at the end of the road where, dressed in piecemeal approximations of swimwear, we swam amidst carp and scattered bright orange popcorn in the sand surrounding my mother's lawn chair. So the pigeons would poop on her.

My child, in contrast, attends classes, taught by professionals, and enjoys my undivided attention while we unfold the world for her together, in little organized parcels of wonder.

And we look good while we do it, homies. Check these yoga pants I made for her. Sure they look good on their own, but wait until I post the pictures of these babies wrapped tightly around Phinny's chubby thighs, sleeky defining her amazing yoga-built muscle tone. Just you wait.

Again, thanks to an old t-shirt:

Skirt with orange trim

Who doesn't like some orange trim? As demonstrated by Johnny Quest's bearded father, most things look better with some careful outlining in just the right shade of ginger. I know it looks kind of lame on the wall, but that's because the wall has a flat ass. I do not, and it fits superfine on my booty.

Nothing New

Thus begins my catalog of saving the earth, fiber by fiber, baby by baby. I like to re-configure old things into new, is what, and I've has some good luck so far making new clothes for little people using old clothes from big people. Thanks to some related tutorial I found on-line at rookiemoms, (who got it from redcurrent who got it from someone else who got it from God's Blog hisself), I have been making these pants out of old shirts:





Into:



And here's a couple of others in the baby people pants parade:





This was the first pair, a little rough. But how cute is the tushy model?




Burp cloth from old t-shirt and pillowcase:

Stating My Intentions

In exquisite summary, here's the entirety of my intentions for this blog and for my creative life in general:

Baby, baby, let me fix my weave!-- Missy Eliott

My foray into weaving last fall was a boon to my fragile and scattered psyche and has served to whip my obsession with textiles into an unmanageable froth of excitemet. Now, if I could just find the time to do some more actual weaving. Here's where I started with a test run woven on a little rigid Heddle loom:







This initial entry into the world of weave has yielded two projects so far. A nubbly entry rug made by sewing wool around some rope and weaving on a homemade tapestry loom:







And a scarf-like piece called "So A Swede Walks Into a Bris..." which, much to my excitement, sold to a member of the textiles department at the Field Museum of Natural History. A nice piece of beginner's inspiration, no? Shu. Woven on my 1920s Structo Artcraft 4-harness loom.