Don’t trash it, repurpose it!

Don’t trash it, repurpose it! This is why I am sort of a hoarder-light. There are so many things that I can look at and think, “NO, that’s not GARBAGE! It can be reused. Into what, I have no idea.”

My darling husband is more of a, once a shower curtain, always a shower curtain kind of guy. So when our dog decided to protest the Small People by eating most of the puzzle pieces JB would have tossed the leftovers.

But I saw future opportunity! Snatching up the square tiles and hiding them adding them to my craft collection, they sat patiently for 3 years.

Apparently I’m on an anti-Pottery Barn kick. Because as I flipped through their christmas decorations and saw these signs (and prices), I immediately thought about my lonely puzzle boards.

Pottery Barn Hanging Signs

In two nights of half-watching South Park and Robot Chicken with the husband, I made these. Not perfect, not totally done. More importantly? Definitely not $100 worth of once-a-year-signs. I’m going to guesstimate my cost at $10 bucks, because once upon a time I had to buy the puzzles, the paint and the brushes. But they were all in-house when I got inspired. Which is why I don’t throw anything away.

Scattermom version

Craft Bonanza

This time of year is Merry Important! (New phrase, courtesy of Z.)

My version of holiday decorating–especially with the Small People. This kind of magic is important to them– they have no idea what all the social implications are behind a Made In China Snoopy ornament, or the amount of money and fossil fuels that are wasted in the name of Griswald. They don’t conceptualize the vomitous greed that is stabbing someone with an ornament. Or that the current Occupy movements across the country are fighting the corporate greed of the credit cards that are underwriting everyone’s holiday cheer (and January antidepressants).

Now, as the adult, I do know about all of that crap. And as the adult, I get to decide how much of that crap comes into my house. Knowing about it is how I ended up on this crafting ride to begin with, you know? Because while I can’t craft a Batman Geotrax train (no really), I can craft something to offset that purchase.

It’s the crafting version of carbon credits.

And making new decorations after copying becoming inspired by more expensive options makes me happy. Case in point– this Christmas tree shaped advent calendar from Pottery Barn, for which they charged $69.

I started this last December… somewhere around December 6th, because that’s how a scattermom does things. I used felt because I have an abundance of green felt (situation NOT improved by a husband who thought briefly of being Gumby for Halloween this year).

As I tried to coax my aging, and damn cranky, sewing machine into cheerfully sewing 3 layers of felt last night, I realized that I didn’t care enough about the finish work on this particular project. You know– decorative zig-zag stitch around the pockets, quilted batting, etc. Ahem… numbering the days. (okay, I will add the numbers).

My husband– always my biggest supporter *sarcasm*– critically pointed out that mine wouldn’t ever look like the pottery barn one anyway, so why bother? I choose to take it as a compliment that he looked at my version against the picture of theirs and replied, “I stand corrected, that’s not too bad.” 

PB Advent Tree

Where the felt tree monstrosity secures its position in our tradition is what was left behind from last year. I had spent the evening up to this point sort of wailing and complaining about the testosterone in this house. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only one here that makes any sense.   Probably as often as they mumble about crazy mom.

No matter.

As I had finally calmed down about the injustice of my force-the-constipated-three-year-old-to-graciously-accept-the-suppository kind of day, I noticed a piece of paper in one of the pockets.

And this is what I found:

*Love* my short-hand on the word complaining. Adds to the appeal? I have no recollection on when/where/why I wrote this down- but it’s my handwriting so I claim it.

A not-so-subtle reminder that *my* life is also a carnival, compared to many others. And even my day, fraught with sibling bickering and general domestic nonsense
wasn’t that bad. After all, it was a suppository, not an enema.