Posts Tagged ‘cheap’

My own idea! Not an idea from Pinterest! It’s amazing how excited I was to make something that I came up with on my own after months of pinning and making, pinning and making (not sure I’m sticking to my “make one for every ten pins” rule). I was led to wonder then if Pinterest is really a conductor of creativity, or an hinderance. Am I spending so much time and thought on pulling together other people’s ideas that I can’t think up anything on my own,  or do these ideas foster in me my own desire to create, improvise, and discover, stimulating my creative hemisphere to the point of spontaneously birthing out something all mine? The other day I saw ON Pinterest a quote that someone had pinned, “You were born an original, don’t die a copy,” and I couldn’t help but comment that a quote like that on a website for sharing/stealing/whatever you call it other people’s ideas and inspirations is sort of a contradiction. Please note that none of this is a complaint. I love my Pinterest and will go right on pinning, using, making, revising and all of that. I was just musing about it. Any thoughts on that my fellow pinners?

ANYWAY . . . . here’s my idea. Which, by the way, if you search for on previously mentioned website, you will probably find twenty other versions of the exact same thing, so DON’T.  I want to go on thinking my idea is really special.

I went to the wedding of some friends Saturday and was rushing at the last minute to pull together my outfit. I ended up in something that needed just a little more oomph but I was clean out of time. I had these old strips of lace lying around here in my scraps basket. They’re the outer lace trim from a round table cloth. Think something like this.  So at the last minute I cut some strips of it to fit my wrists and I tucked it in my sleeves, pinned and ran out the door. I really enjoyed the steampunk sort of feel it gave to my outfit and decided to turn them into permanent accessories. Here’s what I did. Actually, it was sooooo easy, so I’m mostly just going to post pictures . . . I think they pretty much show how they came together.

Cut scraps of lace about 7.5 inches plus an inch for a seam allowance.


Cut a pannel of scrap fabric and pinned along bottom edge. This is mainly to give the hem something to hang on to and to keep the lace from itching my wrists. Am I the only person with sensitive wrists? In hindsight I should have hemmed that top edge of the pannel too, because it will probably start to unravel, but I didn’t think about it until it was already sewn to the lace.
Ready for fasteners and embellishments–be still my heart, I get to use some buttons! This was simultaneously the most difficult and the most enjoyable part. Have I mentioned that I love buttons?
Sew on fasteners. I don’t care for hooks and eyes very much, but it’s all I had and I was too impatient to learn how to do the cloth button hooks. These are working quite well, but I’m definitely doing another pair with cloth button hooks next.
Up close view of the vintage buttony goodness . . . and . . .
Ta Da!

Super fun!


I couldn’t help but check out others on Pinterest to see what was out there. I know, do as I say, not as I do. Here are a couple I thought were just too pretty to not share.



So pretty and a little sexy

Takes a little more talent












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Remember being a teenager and doing something just a little bit dangerous, a little bit bit forbidden? I’m not talking about something sinful or illegal, just something your parents probably wouldn’t let you do because something COULD happen, or because  (own it moms and dads both new and old) it just might have made them look bad? The excitement, the “oh, what if we get caught” feeling,  the freaky sensation that when something goes a little wrong it’s some sort of sign from God that you’re doing something REALLY bad? I had just such an evening the other night with my friend Tab.

We were out in good ol’ TR (that’s Traveler’s Rest, SC for you non-locals) visiting another friend from our shepherding group. Earlier that day we’d been driving through there on our way home from Hendersonville and I missed my turn back toward G-ville. When I turned  around at a gas station, we noticed an abandoned building with TONS of pallets piled all around. Both of us being addicted to Pinterest right now gasped audibly and immediately began to visualize all of the pallet projects we’d recently pinned. We looked at each other excitedly, both obviously salivating. We made all the necessary justifications about the abandoned building and how the pallets clearly couldn’t have been wanted, so it wasn’t really stealing and on and on, planning to come back that night and swipe a few.

That night we ended up leaving our friend’s house much later than planned and it was after midnight by the time we pulled up to the abandoned building and the treasure trove of precious pallets. Now I could have been a better friend when Tab mentioned that it probably wasn’t too terribly safe to be doing this in the middle of the night, but I’ve never had a really good grasp of real and present danger, so instead I was the “oh, don’t be such a ninny” friend who pushes everyone into trouble, and I was driving, so poor Tab had no choice!

It’s so funny how during the day it seamed like a harmless and simple boarded up building, merely a backdrop for the stuff of a DIY girl’s dreams. At night however, the place became this menacing hideout for all manner of unsavory characters, the woods behind loomed ferociously, surely housing poised and violent mountain men, and the gas station lights shone, seemingly fully lit, yet not a soul was anywhere to be seen. Our nervous giggles and racing hearts had started up several miles back. (I’m trying to not think about how unexciting this makes my life sound). Now, I don’t want to throw Tab under the bus, but she was freaking out a little by this point. I pretended to remain cool and calm, refusing to let irrational fears rob me of my intended reading nook or bookshelves. (Seriously, how CUTE are those?!)

So yeah, I was all, “oh Tab, stop worrying, it’s no big deal.” Then my car started making this weird noise. Out of no where, the breaks or something start screeching. Tab’s like, “it’s a sign Beth!” I didn’t listen. I pulled up to a pile of pallets, already rehearsing my speech to the police officer that I was now imagining pulling up any moment. “Honestly officer, I was just going to take a couple for some home decorating! Have you ever heard of Pinterest, Sir?” Then my flashlight wouldn’t turn on. “Another sign!” from Tab. I still didn’t listen. I was determined to get my pallets! I grabbed hold of one and tipped it up to carry it to my van. Of course . . . bugs! There goes my cool. There goes my resolve. (hm, let’s see, what’s more dangerous, creepy people or creepy bugs? Here’s where I join Tab under the proverbial bus.) Stinking bugs! So much for my tough guy act.  I can’t put those in my car! Jump back in the van. Maybe there’s a cleaner pile on the other side. Tab’s like, “really!? are we still here?!”

So we pulled around and I was about to try again when we glanced up at the gas station. The EMPTY gas station. The “we were 100% certain there wasn’t a single person there” gas station. There was this motorcycle sitting there at the door–with no one on it. Just sitting there. Tab’s like, “I KNOW that wasn’t there a few minutes ago,” but we hadn’t heard it pull up at all. It was one of those moments when those little alarm bells that have been slightly tinkling for a while start ringing out in earnest. It was totally creepy. “Okay, let’s go” I say and Tab’s like, “finally!” We were well into Greer before the creepy feeling went away and the remorse set in at not getting our pallets. Oh, but it was so much fun for this mommy of three, so often house bound, whose most adventuresome days are made up of killing spiders in the bathroom and chasing the toddler who got out of the back yard gate yet again.

Maybe you’re thinking it serves us right for planning to “steal” pallets that weren’t ours to take. Maybe you’re thinking “what’s the big deal?” Maybe you’re thinking I need to carry a gun in my car (Dad). I’m thinking that I’m totally thankful for unexpected adventures, for moments that make me feel young again, and for awesome friends to share them with.  . . . . . And I’m still looking for pallets.

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. . . have got to be one of the trademarks of summer. Kids wearing the same pair of shoes sweaty day in and blustery day out. Wet feet going in, trekking through dirt and tall grasses, watermelon and icee juices dripping down into them. You’re unaware of the stench until the fateful afternoon you’re wrestling on the floor with your kidlets and . . . . .


A clammy foot smacks into your face, sticking for a moment, it’s stench robbing you of your breath. Your gaze blurringly glides from the foot, up the leg until you see the face of the child, so beautiful and sweet, so unlike the assault your senses have just suffered. Not my sweet child, you think to yourself. She cannot be the cause of such foulness.

The shoes.


It MUST be the shoes.

You vow to find them, to eliminate them quickly and painlessly. Then, to your dismay, your eyes fall upon the offending shoes, only to find that they are not the greasy, grimy jellies you imagined.

They are not the soggy, soured sneakers you had expected.

They are the dainty little red slippers that your angel treasures more than her pillow pet, more than catching fireflies, more than licking cake batter from the spoon. The little red shoes you paid a dollar for two years ago at the Safe Harbor thrift shop. Shoes holding deep with in them the grime and grit of how many other dirty little angels?


What do you do? Do you scoop them up in the night and throw them out, hoping she won’t notice? Not a chance.  Do you try to replace them, only to find that the shiny new counterparts are looked on with distain and pinch at the pinky toe? I think not. Do you throw them in the washing machine, telling her how dirty they are, knowing that the cruel spinning and tumbling will rip apart the threadbare footwear, leaving technology the bad guy rather than yourself?

Truly, what does a mama do?

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I’m such a novice when it comes to sewing. It’s really sad sometimes that I spend just as much time seam ripping and messing with the sewing machine as I do actually putting something together. Even though I love doing it, I wouldn’t say that I’m a seamstress by heart. My skill is far from natural if you could even classify it as such. I’m more of a dabbler. The greatest pleasure for me really comes from the sense of satisfaction at the end. I can get terribly distraught during the process. For this reason, I enjoy reconstruction more than starting from scratch. This probably points to my laziness because I get to skip out on a lot of time consuming steps, such as interfacing and putting in zippers.

At any rate, I’m always quite pleased with myself when I can step away from the machine with something that is actually usable and isn’t going to be thrown out in frustrated disgust half way through the project.

Here are my two projects from last night:

The first is so simple it’s almost embarrassing. I had a lovely vintage kitchen towel (rescued from Grandma Bea’s things) that had sweet little tulips and some pretty hand stitched lace along the bottom. One side was stained badly with some ugly spots, but the other side was quite lovely. I simply cut the towel in half, hemmed up the top and attached a sweet lace ribbon to make a tie. Now it’s an apron for a sweet little chef’s helper. I also salvaged the other length of lace from the stained half of the towel and will surely have a chance to use it on another project.

The second was a little more complicated, but really looks more impressive than it is. I had this huge spaghetti strap nursing top that I wore when I had Eliot. One of the straps broke and rather than just fixing the strap and taking it in (which would have been simply to . . . uh, simple), I decided to reconstruct it into a skirt for Gill. It already had elastic across one side of the top, so no need to add a zipper. Just a couple of stitches on the sides and some gathering in the back and she’s got a knee length skirt with a bit of a train and a bustle in the back. I’m sort of amazed that it fits her perfectly. I did no measuring at all! Of course I didn’t think to take a picture of the thing before I started the re-construction, but here’s a picture of me wearing it in the hospital so you can see the change. Although it’s all bunched up and you can hardly see it because the baby boy’s a little distracting. 🙂 I just wanted to have proof that it was a shirt at one time.

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I also took some size 18mo. pants out for Eliot and tried to turn them into shorts. That sort of turned into a bit of disaster. You’d think that would be easy enough. Too bad I don’t know enough about my sewing machine to figure out how to sew over the seam in thick denim without breaking my needle. 😦 They came out still too long anyway. Oh well. Two successes out of three isn’t too bad for someone who got a ‘B-‘ in sewing class. (I actually think the ‘B-‘ was because Mrs. Hill didn’t like me after I unthreaded her serger–I was just trying to help!–but that’s another story).

So there’s my craft blog! As much as I’d love to be posting new and exciting creations weekly, along with tutorials and giveaways (oh, and ADS!), ya’ll know that’s not really going to happen.

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I had a really great mp3 to share with you guys and then realized that I would have to pay $19.95 to get a space upgrade that would allow me to do that. I also realized that I’d have to pay $59.95 to get a video upgrade if I wanted to show you any videos.


Someone please tell me why I chose wordpress for my blog?

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