I have sewn a skirt-pictures to follow, I have dipped into Lebanese cooking simply because I have always loved Lebanese food. I have painted stuck printed and stamped all of this since I started this blog.
The idea of the blog was to get me started again. I used to be a papercrafter, I used to make cards-some were pretty OK, I sold some gifted them and for a while I even dabbled in Stampin Up! I started to sew though when we adopted our little boy- he would accept nothing from me, this walking talking little guy, he had learned to survive for himself before most kids have been weaned and he wasn’t about to let me take over his self survival strategies. He wouldn’t cry in pain, he wouldn’t let me hold him or comfort him, he wouldn’t let me get in the way of him looking after himself.
But what he would let me do was make him stuff- toys mostly, and so I sewed, I made a quilt and a stuffed toy and mittens, I made trousers and a bear and a coat. I sewed and what I sewed for him he accepted. The den, the bean bag the baskets for his toys. He trusted the gifts even if he didn’t yet trust me-and he watched me make them and I think in his own way he understood what I was trying to say. And I knitted, and again he accepted these offerings shabby as they were. But he hasn’t always been an easy child to parent-and other stuff has been going on-and somehow the crafting drifted as I got through to him on other ways, the need to make him stuff lessened.
But what I realized tonight, emailing a friend was that I have been creating. I have taken a child who initially wouldn’t even let me touch him without flinching away and I have a son who wont go to sleep unless I am there stroking him. I have patiently waited whilst he expressed his anger and his fear and his rage, whilst he learned to express himself. Somewhere somehow I have started to create a boy who no longer shuts off his feeling but feels them- and I watch his progress I have been creating a life for a child where he stands a chance of reaching some pretty awesome potential and I have been helped by the power of craft, my escape my refuge my bit of control-my I did that moment time after time gave me the mental strength to handle my son and that has given him the chance to be something not even his psychiatrist thought he would achieve.
So maybe the bleakness of no crafting should be reconsidered as a crafting act of greatness. I have a child who is not only dearly loved but now can actually love.