#my sewing skills are really rudimentary

[eternal-reverie]

Another thing to add to my list of kh crafts I wanna make but finding time & resources is difficult: I wanna make a plushie doll based on Naminé’s doll. Look at her little wings!!!

[thatpodcastkid]

Hi!!

I'm new to blogging, but excited to start! This is something I've been thinking about for a long time because I A) Love media analysis and would love to talk to others about it, and B) Love writing and think blogging is a good exercise to build skill.

As I'm sure you could gather, I really like podcasts. While I don't want to make this exclusively a podcast blog, my main goal is to start a Magnus Archives relisten. I'm hoping to get through an episode a week, though it's possible for life to get in the way and change the plan.

I want to share any analysis I have of the episodes in general as well as make a rudimentary avatar and entity catalogue, plus document early foreshadowing.

I am also planning on using this blog to write about my other interests such as comic books, writing, exercise, sewing, literature, tv, and more! Follow if you're interested, excited to see what you all have to share!

[doecrossing]

Tagged by @hillcrypt :)

Rules: Answer and tag nine people you want to get to know better and catch up with.

Favourite Colour: GREEN. My room is green my bedclothes are green much of my wardrobe is green my eyes are green the world is green.

Last Song: Silver Dagger by Joan Baez

Currently Reading: The Waves by Virginia Woolf!! I'm almost done it Virginia Woolf is like crack to me.

Currently Watching: I don’t watch much television but I've been switching between episodes of Parts Unknown and the Golden Girls in my downtime

Currently Craving: I've been really dying to try octopus recently

Coffee or Tea: Tea!! I like chamomile before bed and a london fog at cafés. I'm not above a cappuccino though.

Hobby to Try: I'd really really like to get into sewing my own clothes but my skills are rudimentary at best

Tagging any of my mutuals/followers who want to do this :) you can just say I tagged you

[ianfm]

closed starter for jane howard ( @bitcme​​ ) location: bo & ian’s apartment

It was rare for Ian to have the apartment to himself. The couple spent most of their time together even in the company of others and as much as Ian loved (and needed) Bo by his side it made it extremely difficult for Ian to find the time to do things for Bo without the man finding out his plans prematurely. That was why he called upon Jane’s help today while Bo was working a shift at Showtime. Ian preferred learning on his own, he was much better independently figuring out a new skill with the help of a book but time wasn’t on Ian’s side right now. He had a deadline to reach and couldn’t fumble around as much as he usually did. His sewing skills were rudimentary at best and he wanted to make something he was proud of so it only made sense to find someone who could teach him a thing or two.

That was how Ian wound up struggling to thread a needle with Jane as they sat on his living room floor. Ian was far from being able to properly construct a puppet but he hoped he could at least learn a few stitches to help him get started. “I really appreciate you getting the fabrics for me. I’ve got money for you,” he insisted. “I just didn’t want to use any of the stuff here in case he noticed, you know?” Ian admitted. While Bo often let him use whatever it was he wanted he didn’t want to raise any suspicions or draw attention to anything Ian was doing behind the scenes. It was no secret to Bo that Ian planned to propose, he told him he did frequently but that didn’t mean he’d let the surprise of when that would be get ruined. “And he definitely would. Knowing my luck he probably has plans for all his stuff and I just don’t know it,” he said. It was hard for Ian to keep track of all the various projects Bo had going or wanted to get started on.

[luxlightly]

Man, that post about like ‘communal sharing of goods/materials’ got me thinking of my ‘Sewing to Increase Your Worth in the Zombie Apocalypse’ thing I wanted to do. And the idea of doing that as a multi-person thing, instead of just as a solo series.

Like, project undertaken by a group of people with different skills and access to different resources, working through creating and sharing goods, ideas, and skills in order to simulate life rebuilding post zombie apocalypse. 

Kind of the opposite of those ‘doomsday larpers’ who think they’re preparing for the end of civilization by buying a lot of guns. Trying to simulate the actual community based efforts to recreate a stable society. Focusing on the sense of togetherness and utilization of all talents and abilities.

Like, someone with sheep or alpacas sends a box of wool to someone who is a amateur wool felter and yarn spinner who usually just buys their raw materials off the internet. That either gets made into something by that person or sent to a  seamstress who turns it into clothing given to the wool worker and the sheep owners in return for the raw materials. Person with a fruit tree they always have extra fruit from giving the seamstress some in exchange for a mended coat or shirt.

Trying to create in a way that relies entirely off of what you can make for yourself or get from others within the project or what you could feasibly scavenge from a post apocalyptic world. 

And it could be any level. Like, from sending bacon grease to someone really into home soap making or candle making to trading textile goods and fabricated items in exchange for tools and materials to even creating home made power generators that can power tiny home,made internet antennae. Or creating a rudimentary telegraph system. 

It could be as simple or as complex as you’d like. Rules as lenient as ‘don’t buy the main things from a store if someone else in the group could provide it’ or as strict as ‘can’t be made/gotten with electricity unless you are somehow powering it yourself’ or ‘no part can be obtained from a store’ or even ‘all communication between group members should be through a group-made system’

I just love the idea of that kind of ‘hopepunk’/’solarpunk’ version of post apocalyptic stories. The ones that center around ideas of creation and rebuilding and togetherness, instead of this endless slog of ‘kill/loot/burn/move-on’ mentality so much of the genre tends to be obsessed with.

[spell-cleaver]

Swords & Starflowers, Day 9

DAY 9: FLUFFTOBER: Monochrome @flufftober​

Spell’s October Writing Aims

This is, of course, set in the Swords and Starflowers AU -- it’s a sequel to this ficlet from a few days ago.

⚔💮⚔

Luke would not confess to being nervous. Not at all. His father had agreed to let him go to town on his wardrobe, shifting his monochrome proclivities towards something with a bit more colour—something Luke and his mother could enjoy, would have enjoyed, far more—but… No. He wasn’t nervous.

His father still had to wear them. They still had to look nice!

“Is it time for the dramatic reveal?” Vader asked, not without amusement, as Luke ushered him into an unused guest room. The amusement tightened the knot in Luke’s stomach further. As did Piett’s professional grimace—Luke had employed him to help him set up the wardrobe and the display of capes in the bedroom, and the way his eyes had widened minutely, lips pressed tight together, before he schooled his expression into neutrality again… had not helped.

Luke ushered his father to sit down. Vader raised an eyebrow and did—on the bed.

It was weird seeing such a large, dramatic man perched on the edge of a fancy four-poster bed—or, perhaps, it wasn’t—so Luke shooed him into the stately chair next to the window. The diamond-paned glass let in a lot of sunlight, so it was good lighting to view some of the things Luke had... put together.

“I don’t think I asked you, Luke,” Vader said calmly. He smiled a little—perhaps he was picking up on Luke’s nervousness, and wanted to put him at ease. “Where did you learn to embroider? Darning and rudimentary sewing I can see being useful, but—”

Luke bit his tongue. Did his father know how long his mother had survived? How was he going to tell him? It would be a massive shock… it wasn’t— it wasn’t exactly something he could just shout out at a moment’s notice—

“My… aunt encouraged it,” he said finally. It wasn’t a lie—it was doubly true, in fact. Aunt Sabé and Aunt Beru had both encouraged him to try all sorts of crafts, anything to channel his energy into something that could make him happy. And embroidery had been his favourite, because Mama had taught it to him, and done it so often—half of his clothes as a child had had tiny thread jackrabbits and birds in flight and sheep and unicorns and dragons sewn and tucked around the folds, for him to discover as he wore them. It had been a game of theirs: she’d give him a new garment of clothing, and he’d try to find the pictures she’d no doubt put into it. There was always a heart, too.

She would always tuck a little heart somewhere in there, as well—as a constant reminder of how much she loved him. He’d treasured them then, and he’d treasured them even more after she’d died.

And if he’d used some of his spare red thread to do the same for his father… No one needed to know.

Let him find them for himself.

He gave a little shrug, and walked over to the wardrobe where the capes were hanging in. “It was a fun hobby to pick up, and… I really took to it.”

He knew his father could tell that wasn’t the whole truth, but any further interrogation was forestalled when Luke brought out the first cape, and held it up.

Vader’s scarred face shifted as he looked at it. Luke shifted, glad that he could spread his arms and block his own expression, to fully present the pattern. “Do you like it?”

This one had a simple pattern, which was why he showed it first: an alternating, interlocking pattern of swords and starflowers spread all over the fabric, glinting the same silver as the chain, the deep blue of the starflowers practically glowing against the black.

When Luke peeked out from behind the cape, his father’s face was slack.

He shuffled forward. “Do… do you want to…”

“Try it on?” Vader blinked, and stood up. “Yes, of course.”

He took it from Luke and slung it around his shoulders—carefully, far more carefully than Luke had ever seen him do so before. He fastened it at his neck and stared at the mirror set into the wardrobe door—observed the way the silver and black and blue fell around his suit.

Luke swallowed. “If you don’t like that one,” he said, “I have this one”—he held up one with a pattern of a great sword across the back, white light fracturing on the fabric—“or this one”—a more loopy, floral pattern of green and blue and splashes of red, starflowers and hydrangeas flowing from the shoulders to peter out in spindles of green down the back—“or this. Or even quite a few others, I— I didn’t do one with the pattern of a chimaera, I figure I should’ve, now, that’s your Lord Father’s symbol, but—”

“Luke, I have not worn the chimaera crest in years,” Vader said. “I understand why you did not want to touch that. I do not want to touch it.”

Luke… didn’t think he wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean. His father was loyal to Palpatine, the Emperor, his adopted father.

Wasn’t he?

Not now. Not now.

Vader ran his fingers down the patterns on the cape he was wearing, then the one in Luke’s hands. He particularly lingered on the starflowers, marvelled at the sword, and finally he said…

“You are extremely skilled,” he said. “And patient. You must have been working on these for an age.”

Luke shrugged. “Some of the seamstresses helped me out when it looked like I was struggling. I could never have got all three done without their help.”

“But you worked very hard on it, did you not? It shines through.”

Luke nodded hesitantly, and tried not to blush.

Vader turned away from the mirror to look Luke in the eye for a long, tender moment. Then he cupped the side of Luke’s face in one of his massive hands and pulled him towards him.

Luke stumbled forward, letting out a small gasp when he found himself enveloped in the cape as well, his father’s arms around him. He buried his face in the armour on Vader’s chest.

“They’re beautiful, my son,” Vader murmured. Piett, still standing stoically in the corner, looked like he was torn between cooing at the display and remaining stoically neutral in the face of it, but Luke couldn’t see that. He was focused on the sensation of being, quite literally, wrapped in a parent’s love. “I… I did not know what to expect, and I should not have doubted you. I will be glad to wear them.”

A pause, then… “I… was hesitant, I confess. About wearing the starflower, your mother’s symbol”—the symbol of Rebellion, Luke thought to himself, the symbol she rebelled and died under—“when her family loathes me so. But… this is your symbol. The swords and the starflowers. They are yours.

“I am prouder than anything to wear your colours, my son.”

Luke wanted to cry. He tilted his face to look up at Vader, and found a soft expression of unspeakable devotion gazing back.

“You are so much like her, you know,” Vader murmured. “I look at her, and think she’s still with us.”

Luke’s hand crept up the fold of the cloak, thumb skimming over the inside lining until he ran over the little heart he’d sewn there, where it would fall to settle over his father’s breast.

“Of course she’s still with us, Father,” he said. “Where else would she be?”

[tmnt-brave-new-world]

Good evening gentlemen, and welcome. My name is Blossom. I hope y'all, and your Mun, are well, and hope this hasn't been asked of the others, If you have a spare time in your day, how do you enjoy passing it? And if you don't mind my asking one more question...Leo, I heard you've studied and enjoy music, art. Do you have a preferred medium in either? Thank you kindly.

Good evening Ms. Blossom,

 its a pleasure to meet you. Myself and Raph have already answered this, however Mikey and Donnie have not been asked this of yet.

Donnie flicked his eyes from his older brother back to the small brunette before giving a small nod of his head. “Right. I’m afraid my down time is limited. Even with our extended life spans, there never seems to be enough time for all of the projects I have planned. I do however make it a point to pull myself away from work so that I rest properly, eat three times a day and groom myself as needed. I have also learned that stopping when I’m starting to feel fatigued is necessary if I plan to continue in a productive fashion.”

“I enjoy gardening, and studying the different needed variables within the contained ecosystems in which I create. There is something to be said about being able to take the time and learn such a rudimentary art. It also reminds me of the days in the resistance when the time needed to grow nutritional food was almost no existent. I take great pride in what I create, and the resistant strains of certain species of fruit and vegetable I have managed to create with my knowledge of genetics and field observations. I also enjoy dabbling in each of my brothers hobbies. they would be loathe to admit it, but they become so excited over their favorite topics and the knowledge they can share. Its nice to see that sense of peace on each of their collective faces.”

“Another area of interest is archeology, from collecting fossils to ancient jewelry, a tie to the past has always been of significant interest. I believe my bothers enjoy playing in the dirt when I go to a dig site, or harvest a crop as a type of trade off for time spent with each of them.”

“Raph and I work on different mechanics and converting both classic cars and the newest toy into something that works better than originally planned, or is better suited for one of use to use. I’ve had to make a special booster seat insert for when someone drives them as a result however.”

“I have attended many a gala and charity event with Leo, He has a sizable art, and artifacts collections that can be observed in many rooms of the house. Albeit he does have me research each event to make sure the big ticket items aren’t stolen or haven’t been reported as missing since the fall of Earth.” 

“Mikey is always looking for someone to attend the opening of new restaurants or to assess some type of new technique related to a style of art he’s suddenly become interested in. I’ll allow his to explain in further detail, however.”

Mikey shot her a big grin before he started in, “I guess I’m next?” 

“Man I don’t think I really have a job so its always down time for me!” The turtle laughed good naturedly. I enjoy bringing people happiness and the best way I have found to do that is with my ability to create. I love being able to have the freedom to create in a wide array of formats. I can use multiple techniques to paint in a multitude of styles. I can sculpt. I can weave. I am actually certified to create and Tattoo. I can blow glass sculptures and pieces. I can carve objects from wood, stone or just about any other medium reasonably well. I can cook, and have actually been featured on a few cooking shows and competitions. I can also sew, which has lead me to creating and collaborating with a lot of other artist.”

 “Time in the resistance let we with a jack of all trades kind of mentality. If its something I think I might be able to learn or understand, I go all in and learn it. I actually learned how to perform professional level autobody work for Raph and Donnie, for when they wanted to be able to do customizations on cars but neither could explain to a body shop what exactly it was they wanted. I even spent several months in the mountains of Tibet and Morocco learning about the different techniques related to ancient dyes and leather tanning techniques.”

“I tend to take contracts and commissions from people when I feel like it. Its awesome because a lot of the time I never know what exactly someone is going to ask for and because of my skills I can combine things in ways that no one has ever thought about before!”

“One of my favorite things to do with my down time though is that I actually teach several classes online and through zoom regarding basic techniques such as cooking, cleaning, sewing, and basic adulting. I found it really shocking how many kids and adults didn’t have these skills after we took back Earth and that their lives seemed to suffer for it. So I did what I do best and I started youtube videos on how to do it and then started offering free classes that are coordinated with local community centers and libraries to help those who need it but may not be able to try it due to lack of resources. I of course send all the needed supplies to the sites that sponsor these classes, so that they aren’t anything for offering to help!”

“For the second part of your question Miss Blossom,” Leo gave an unusually shy smile, “I’m no where near as talented as my brother, but I enjoy painting still life and landscapes. I can use acrylics, oils and watercolor with varying degrees of success. There is something cathartic about slowly transforming a canvas or trying new techniques. As for Music I can play the piano and a few classic songs to completion. I have attempted to learn the violin and the guitar but am no where near sufficient for anyone to hear, except for Mikey who acts as my instructor most evenings.”

[alectology-archive]

Just a heads up: The book becomes really bad and it’s very clear now that it’s problematic

We to get know that the King’s full name is Jameson Barclay only in the 19th chapter. Just wonderful.

_____________________

... Yes, there was something very charming about Silas Eastoffe.

But seeing as he was not Jameson Barclay, it really didn’t matter. Charm wouldn’t give me a crown or bring hope to a kingdom.

I’m really confused. Hollis hasn’t for a single moment expressed any ambition to be Queen, and in fact she’s made statements akin to “Heavy is the head that wears the crown” in the book previously.

_____________________

Silas’s sister Scarlett has tiny fingers and Kiera’s mentioned that too many times to reiterate how important they are for her to be able to “finish off a piece of jewelry or ... polish a sword” when Silas and his brother are done forging. She’s clearly not done her research. -_-

_____________________

Just the next line and Hollis is saying forging is a remarkable skill and that her skill for sewing is useless. -_-

Also, Kiera hasn’t used the words “smith”, “blacksmith” or “forging” a single time so far. Not once. She’s either referred to it as metalwork or just makes references to fire, metal, swords and jewellery.

Also, how is it possible for a metalworker to be able to forge both weapons and jewellery?

_____________________

Now that Valentina and Hollis are friends, Valentina’s been reduced to a dumbass who smiles all the time and laughs at Hollis’s dumb jokes.

_____________________

I shrugged. “I wish everyone felt the same way, but I’m glad Jameson appreciates me. What is it that drew King Quinten to you? You didn’t really say much about it earlier.”

Her eyes were instantly distant. “I don’t talk about it much,” she admitted.

Grammar??? Hello??? “Her eyes became distant instantly” sounds much better!

_____________________

Hollis and Valentina went from talking about King Quentin’s sick son to discussing the weather in a matter of sentences without skipping a beat. Just... wow.

_____________________

Oh my god this conversation is written so badly.

_____________________

They were having a decent enough conversation and then Valentina started to feel sick. For no reason at all she told Hollis she’d “end her life” (Hollis’s life) if she told anyone about her bout of sickness.

*consistent characterisation has left the chat*

_____________________

Some dramatic references to a dangerous they are made by Valentina. Then Hollis thinks this:

Wait . . . what was she trying to say? And who were they? Before I could figure out how to form my next question, she was standing, straightening her robe, and walking from the room.

I’m not even kidding when I say that I last wrote passages like this in seventh grade.

_____________________

Speculations of a dangerous group of people possibly being “gypsies”. Guys... This. Is. NOT. Okay. 

“Who are the Darkest Knights?”

“We don’t know. Some say they are nobles, others say they are gypsies. Some are convinced they’re members of the royal guard, but no one can be sure. Their identities have been carefully protected, which is a necessity, because when they come, their destruction is absolute. It’s inspired rage of the most acute nature in my homeland. I knew a man who lost everything in a fire supposedly started by them, and he went out to take revenge against someone he believed was a Darkest Knight. Killed an entire family.”

_____________________

Valentina asked Hollis to never share their conversation with anyone and Hollis of course went straight to Silas and spouted everything as if she can trust him just because he’s sweet to her. What a fucking dumbass. She trusts the Eastoffe family because they all smile at her every single time they cross paths.

_____________________

Silas and Hollis are making declarations of love and I -

Fucking where’s the buildup? Granted, it had more buildup than her relationship with Jameson but??? All he’s done to garner her “love” so far is win a jousting competition and craft crowns. That’s it. (I also feel the need to mention that she was smitten with him before the tournament and I have no idea why that happened apart from the fact that he has “crushing blue eyes” and his family smiles a lot.)

_____________________

This book is SO poorly written.

Hollis receives a letter from the kind “demanding” her presence and Kiera instills a sense of fear in the readers. Then she does this:

I briefly took in their smug expressions before Jameson leaped to his feet to greet me.

“My own heart!” he sang, holding out his arms. “Are you well today?”

This book is so fucking ridiculous. 

_____________________

Referring to women as possessions:

“At least yours arrives on time,” he [King Quinten] muttered.

... Quinten nodded at this. “And you’re sure she [Hollis] is from good stock?” (With respect to being fertile)

and now Jameson counters this by saying this:

Jameson straightened in his chair. “Are your eyes failing? All you need do is look at her.”

So beauty = fertility? Wtf is wrong with this book?

_____________________

“Your Majesty, while you have made your intentions clear as regards Lady Hollis, by law you cannot put her name on the document before you are married.”

Jameson huffed. “This is a ridiculous triviality. She’s as good as my wife.”

Hollis is not queen yet. Hollis is not queen yet. Jameson is a fucking dumbass.

_____________________

The kings signed an agreement (it’s not specified about what) which included a promise to marry off Hollis and Jameson’s child with Quentin’s grandchild (if he got a grandchild). They’re not even married. 

_____________________

“It would have been no contest there,” I remarked, and Jameson laughed again. I’d once considered a laugh from Jameson something like a prize; now it was so frequent it felt like noise.

W-what? Kiera just wrote that? So I wasn’t imagining it.

_____________________

So it’s at the end of chapter 21 that we learn Hollis has “olive skin”. Then why’s there a white woman on the front cover?

_____________________

Hollis is “crying violently” now.

_____________________

Hollis and Delia Grace’s relationship is really toxic. Delia Grace has tried to control who Hollis’s ladies could be and Hollis was eager to become queen so that she could use her position to make people like Delia better (she’s a daughter of a divorcee and that’s apparently really bad).

I think it’s best if you read this scene for yourselves. It begins with Hollis wondering whether the crown is worth it because she fears Jameson will become possessive:

“Don’t do this,” she said. “If you fail, you drag me down, too. I can’t stand for it, Hollis, I won’t.”

“Would you ask me to be miserable so you could marry some reputable lord you don’t even care about so people will finally shut up about you?”

“Yes! It’s exhausting!” she lamented, bordering on tears that she refused to let fall. “I’ve lived an entire life with people whispering behind my back. And that was if they weren’t brazen enough to insult me to my face. Now I’m the principal lady for the queen, and that gives me a chance at being respected. Wouldn’t you take it if it was all you could get?”

“What if we could get something better?” I proposed.

“Better than a king? Hollis, you can’t do any better than that! And I certainly can’t do anything if you don’t follow through.” She was quiet for a moment. “What in the world has happened to you? What would make you think . . . Is there someone else?”

“No,” I replied quickly. “It’s the thought of losing . . . myself. The benefits of being queen are not lost on me. But neither are the ones of being a private person. First it was the lords and their many complaints. And then it was dealing with visiting royals. And now . . . Jameson’s promised our first daughter away.” I swallowed, hardly able to speak of it. “He could give all my children away. To anyone. To people who don’t even care about them.”

She shook her head and started muttering. “It should have been me.”

“What?”

She stood there, glaring at me with dark eyes that managed to look icy. “I said, it should have been me!”

... “If you had been paying attention to anyone but yourself, you’d have seen that I was watching Jameson very carefully. I could see he was getting bored with Hannah. I knew he’d be ready for someone new soon. All these little rudimentary lessons you were taking to prepare for Quinten’s visit? I’ve already learned it all. There are plenty of books in that castle to teach you about Coroan history or relations with Isolte and Mooreland and Catal. You were just too lazy to ever go look.” She shook her head, gazing at the sky before coming back to me. “Did you know I can speak four languages?”

“Four? No. When did you—”

“Over the last several years while you were off making dances and whining about your parents. All you ever had to do was try, and you didn’t. But I did! I was perfecting myself. You don’t even look like a proper Coroan,” she shot out.

_____________________

“I [Delia] was trying to make you fall on your backside so I could rush over to your aid. I saw the king coming behind you and was intending to arrange a memorable meeting, one where he might be able to tell me apart from the scores of girls fawning over him. I thought if I could make an impression, he’d at least see me. But I let go at the wrong time, fell myself, and he caught you.” She said this with a bitterness that stung like arrows. “I made a mistake and erased myself from his thoughts completely.”

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

[sky-scribbles]

Some assorted facts about my druid gal Fern:

Having spent eight years of her life druid-ing alone, she’s more used to talking to animals, plants and fey than people. She often unthinkingly starts conversations with the party in Sylvan, only to remember none of them speak it.

The only non-fey people she really interacted with during those eight years were the party ranger (a fellow teifling) and an orc druid. Which means that she’s also very prone to starting conversations in Infernal or Orcish.

Thanks to having only a very rudimentary education, she can read and write, but very slowly. If she ever writes notes-to-self, they’re always in druidic script. (8 Int, baby!)

Fern has poor social skills - eight years in a forest isn’t great for social interaction - but great people skills. Growing up as a tiefling in a superstitious village, she knew even as a child that the wrong word could bring an angry mob to her doorstep. She's a practised expert in reading people and saying the right thing, and has very little issue with lying, if it’s to keep herself safe. 

She can knit and sew, and makes most of her own clothes.

Her infernal lineage comes from Levistus; as such, she has an affinity for ice and likes to use cold and water-based spells. She also barely feels the cold (something I hc as contributing to her high constitution) and is resistant to cold rather than fire damage.

Her healing magic manifests as ethereal, light-green tree bark forming over and around the injury to seal it. 

She often curses in Infernal and Orcish so that the rest of the party doesn’t know what she’s saying. Not Sylvan, though - her adopted baby treant understands that, and she wants to set a good example. (Their name is Twigley.)

[aurtisticmind]

OK, So I’ve been spending all together too much time on social media (TikTok, Instagram, and Tumblr specifically).  I’m starting to feel like I’m severely lacking in talent.  I am pristinely ungifted (that’s a reference).

There are so many amazing content creators out there.  Cosplayers, make-up artists, drag queens/kings, dancers, people who can draw or paint amazing things, people who share funny or heartwarming stories, folks that tell jokes, people sharing knowledge, people who can cook or share helpful tips, skilled crafts-people who are glassblowers or blacksmiths...

It leaves me feeling vastly underqualified for social media in general.  I can’t help but worry that maybe I don’t have anything to share.  I mean, let’s be honest here... I’m struggling.  I have no social outlet - I am terrified of anyone acknowledging me, but at the same time, I would be beyond thrilled if someone reached out and chatted with me.  It’s a weird line... I don’t like in-person interaction (I screw it up every time - thank you Asperger’s), and I’m afraid to make new friends because sometimes I have health issues that keep me down for weeks or months at a time.  It’s hard to maintain any social life.

I don’t know the first thing about make up.  I fail as a girl on this level - I’ve always lived by the mantra “If you don’t like the way I look, then look somewhere else, because I’m not changing for you.” - and yeah, I’m well aware that I’m an overweight 30-something woman... Five high risk pregnancies, decades of misdiagnosed and untreated mental health issues, and the chronic pain thing that can leave me barely able to get out of bed for months on end have left my body... not in the beautiful androgynous muscled form it once was...  I’m suffering from body image issues for the first time in my life, and it’s brutal.  I don’t want to put my ugly face or fat body in front of a camera.  With no make-up skills, I don’t even have a way to attempt to salvage the mess that is my face.

I do not have a deep enough passion for any one specific character to cosplay (to the level I think it should be done).  And again with the make up and body image thing... though I am currently trying to re-invent myself.  Dear daughter has suggested I start with Hange (Hanji) from Attack on Titan - since we have similar personalities and I have brown hair already, so no need for a wig...  Maybe.

I used to be androgynous and I loved it.  LOVED it.  I loved the looks I’d get - all androgynous people know “the look” - where someone stares from your face to your chest, sometimes at your crotch and get that squinty confused look as they try to decide what pronouns to use with you.  I loved that.  I loved it when people thought I was a guy and treated me as “one of the guys” in my friend groups.  Unfortunately, five pregnancies, nursing five babies, and years of mental and physical health issues have left me... definitely not androgynous anymore.  I’m stuck in “fat old mom” look now... (send help).

I sketch, but it usually looks like something a third-grader could come up with.  I’ve tried painting - which I love, but it’s always abstract and honestly, anyone can do it... I have no talent.

I can cook, but it’s more likely that I’m throwing together what I have in the cupboard and I hope it turns out... I have a big family to feed and we rarely eat out (too expensive).  I don’t measure anything, and I never know if it will turn out or not.  Or I’m just modifying a known recipe... like adding some home grown blueberries to pancake batter, or swapping a couple spices to our taste, or changing the protein source.  Nothing worth social media posting.  I am not a gifted chef, nor do I use rare, expensive, or especially tasty ingredients, and my flavors are palatable at best.  At least I rarely burn things, right?

Sure, I make things sometimes... but I am far from skilled.  I can make rudimentary jewelry, cat toys, and the occasional very very basic sewing project.  I can crochet, but I can’t read a pattern, so what I make is always made up... I’ve made pot holders, dish cloths, purses and bags for each of the kids, scarves, hats, even blankets... but I have no way to show someone how I did them, and who wants to watch social media videos of someone crocheting?

I have lots of stories and stuff, but it seems that’s usually best delivered with your face on camera.

My body is not built for dancing... and my singing is probably best left to belting out a favorite song in the car or at home when nobody else is around.

I like to think outside the box, but honestly, I don’t even know now.  I feel like I have no usable skills to be on social media, so I spend my time posting photos of my animals instead.  I mean, they’re a lot cuter than I am anyway.  I am severely lacking in self-confidence.

If you’re still with me - thank you for reading through all of this.  My question to you - Do you have any talents that aren’t really “in demand” for social media?  I can’t be the only one who’s failing at virtually everything, right?  Can someone please send me tips or pointers on how to break out of my shell?  I’m right there, but I can’t seem to take that giant step of pulling off the mask and opening myself up to the hate comments...I need a push to get out of my comfort zone.

[growing-yet-into-magic]

Skills I personally think every witch should have:

(Pic source) Hello. This is an opinion piece. 

I keep seeing a lot of witches- especially younger witches- rely on cheap goods from chain metaphys stores and expensive etsy products in order to maintain their craft. I’m not completely against this idea- where else could I get tacky statuary if not the East Meets West in the mall?? But I do think that such a reliance stifles the creativity that really powers witchcraft as well as limiting a person’s personal investment in their own craft. So. Here are a few skills I think every witch should have at least some mastery of in order to get in touch with their craft and witchcraft’s place in their lives.

 1: Cooking.

You don’t need to be an Iron Chef-level competitor in order to work in a little bit of cooking in your life. Even if it’s only googling diy ramen toppings (I prefer the peanut sauce variant myself), cooking for yourself gives you a) a level of comfort in creating and experimenting with flavor combinations and substitutions, and b) a small expertise in herbs and spices that often make their way into witchcraft. Even if you don’t end up a kitchen whiz witch, you’ll at least have the chance to really think about herbs’ and food’s places in your craft. Oh, and of course, breadmaking is a valuable skill everyone should know. 

2: Sewing.

At the absolute minimum, you will at least know what to do when there’s a rip or a run in that fancy tapestry. Or your tarot mat. Or your cloak. Or your satchel. Or- I could really go on forever at this point. 

I don’t care if you take a local class on a sewing machine down at the rec center or if you buy a sewing kit from the dollar tree: learn how to sew a seam. Any kind of seam. Ugly seams hold things together. If you find out you like to sew, and maybe get into some fancy pinterest embroidery, stitch witchery produces some lovely charms for the house and for clothing. If not, you can at least trust your deck bags and mats to last a little bit longer in your life.

3: Basic Woodworking.

Not going to lie, I got stiffed on this one in high school. The grade above me was the last to receive woodworking lessons. But if you can learn to use a handsaw without chopping off your hand, you’re set in my book. Well, handsaws and the patience to sand things. You deserve a choice in how you get to store your altar supplies, and what to set your altar on, and how to shape your shrine- and that choice should not be limited to Ikea in-store shelving options. Just thinking of the paint options for a handmade spice cabinet is making me giddy.

4: Literally any trade. 

This is more of a catch all, but really, think about learning any one of these skills. Just one. That’s all you need, really: 

Soapmaking 

Silversmith

Regular smith

Jewelry-making

Crochet

Knitting

Weaving

Machine sewing

Glass blowing

Woodwork

Academic research (yes, this is a skill) 

Candlemaking

Gardening

Traditional Art

Digital art (Why not? it’s the 90s)

Pottery wheel sculpting

Small-scale construction

Broom-making 

Pick one from the list. All of these things, in one way or another, can completely change how you connect with your craft. I, for instance, can sew and crochet. I’m not a star at it, and I won’t be winning any awards for my...creative...approaches to solving problems with my yarn, but I can make any mat I please for my altars and churn out tarot bags in half a day at most. Any sewing ability not only keeps my clothes in good shape for longer, but also helps me make rudimentary jewelry and embroider little charms that decorate my house as well as bless and protect it. 

And honestly? Both I learnt from online tutorials. There’s no need to weep into your bedsheets at your own “ineptitude” and “inability”; if you really want to learn it, it’s the internet age. Even if you can’t get to a class, and your high school killed its own home-ec program, you can get as many forms of tutorials and instructions as your internet provider (or your local library) can provide. Youtube is phenomenal for this. The only exception I can think of are the high-heat trades mentioned above, but hey, you can sign up for classes on groupon nowadays. Learning more than one of these trades would be phenomenal, of course, but they all allow for self efficacy in your creative expression in your craft, which is what I really hope I can drive home in this post. 

Buying cool stuff for your altar is dope as hell, and I think it is safe for us all to indulge in a little hedonism in the crystal shop every now and then. But you should have at least one way for you to let your own creative energy- the symbols you find meaningful and want to incorporate, the gods that you want to represent, the visions that come to you during meditation, the care you want to bring to your altar and your rituals- shine through where it matters. And if that means buying ten bars of Irish Spring from costco in order to learn how to carve soap poppets, so be it. I believe it will give you something, even if that’s only the confidence to achieve you get what you set out to do. 

Blessings! 

Tips, if you like this post or my blog!

[tgoldenart]

That moment when you realize those pillows you saw a small article on were made by the person you followed years ago for excellent link cosplay. Really is a small world! I was looking at the insta and I saw you face and had flashbacks. Opened up the old tumblr to confirm 😂😂😂 ngl the pillows are lit tho

Omg ahaha my rudimentary sewing skills helping me out in multiple projects! 🙏🏻💛 That’s so funny! I’m so glad you like my work!! If you don’t mind me asking, what article did you see? I didn’t know someone wrote something about them!

[imagineclaireandjamie]

After this last episode with the making the 'batsuit' scene you should totally do a story about the first time Claire made some sort of costume for Bree

For the first time in my life, I cursed my juvenile disinterest in sewing. As a child, I’d mended clothes out of sheer necessity, the rigor of constant travel taking its toll on my shirts and trousers. I had cared little for skill back then, regarding the whole affair as a tedious chore that kept me from more important duties—namely, dusting off bones for Lamb.

As an adult, I was a surgeon, but even that seemed to do me no favors. Despite my professional expertise—how many wounds had I stitched with far sharper tools on far more delicate materials? —it seemed I still couldn’t manage a bloody Halloween costume. In previous years, I’d simply bought one or asked Millie, our neighbor, for a helping hand at the cost of a bottle of wine.

My break from tradition was inspired by a recent conversation, whereupon it was revealed—to the horror of several Betty Crocker types—I had no plans to slave over a Singer for the sake of my daughter’s trick-or-treating.

“Oh, but you must,” one woman had said.

“Your child would so appreciate it,” another had chimed in.

“She’ll be the only one whose mother didn’t make her costume.”

I’d rather thought Bree wouldn’t notice either way, she being the sort who’d drape a sheet over her head, stare through two circular cut-outs, and cry “Boo!” as if she were the most convincing ghost in the world. But the women’s scornful expressions had stayed with me, stirring up feelings I hadn’t felt since I’d arrived in America: a nagging self-consciousness; a desperate need to prove myself.

Bree was ecstatic when I informed her that I, not Millie, would be making her costume this Halloween, and what was it she’d like to be? Frank’s incessant prattling about the monarchy had clearly made an impression. Of all things, Bree had chosen Queen Elizabeth II, who’d been crowned the year before.

If I’d known how complicated it would be, I might have scrapped the project altogether and thrust expensive merlot in Millie’s face. Being without such hindsight, I now had a half-constructed dress that looked more like a war casualty than a royal ballgown.

“You sodding bastard,” I barked at the sewing machine.

My daughter, sitting not five feet away, looked up from her book with a delighted smirk. I groaned, already envisioning the moment Frank would walk through the door, greeted by an oral report of the day’s linguistic infractions (most of them mine). Though Bree shared her biological father’s penchant for mischief, she’d adopted the English reserve of the man who raised her. With frequent lapses, of course—she, after all, was my child too.

“Mama,” she tsked now, “you know what that means…” Smiling, she pointed towards the table beneath the window, which sat littered with the odds and ends of our daily life. The dried stems of pressed flowers sprouted from a medical textbook. A dog toy, practically chewed into oblivion, sat beside Frank’s corn cob pipe—a habit he’d taken up as a way of ingratiating himself to Harvard’s social circles. At the center of it all, however, stood the glass jar whose cheery label, “SWEAR BANK,” had become the bane of my existence.

Two weeks ago, Frank and I had been called to Bree’s school on the grounds of discussing a recent misbehavior. Our daughter, it seemed, had a fondness for words that were unsuitable to a woman of 35, much less a girl of 6. The principal’s meaningful looks had plainly indicated he knew where—or from whom—Brianna had received her vocabulary lessons.

“Children, you know,” he’d said, leaning forwards. “They don’t just learn these things by themselves. I think some disciplinary action could be taken at home…”

And so it was by Principal Gellar’s suggestion that we—the Randalls of ill repute—came to use a swear jar. For every curse, the delinquent had to add two quarters, with each subsequent offense requiring double that amount. A mild punishment, I’d thought, until it was obvious that losing pocket change wasn’t sufficient inducement to watch my own mouth.

Because of this, it was agreed that I prepare a proper dinner—from scratch, not frozen—if I exceeded my daily max of five swear words. Frank promised to exchange his loose leaf tea for Lipton’s, should he do the same, though this was more a demonstration of his superiority than his solidarity. Unless provoked, he rarely said more than the occasional “damn” in Bree’s presence.

Rummaging through the purse at my feet, I extracted money from my wallet.

“There,” I said, giving it to Bree. “Happy?”

Bills in one hand, Bree counted her fingers on the other, “That’s six today, Mama,” she said, still smirking. “So what’s for dinner?”

I snorted and motioned her towards me. “Well, if you want this costume finished, I’ll have to take a rain check.” I looked at the chaos strewn about my work table. “A two-week rain check.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Bree said, skipping over to my side. “Daddy and I will have meatloaf tonight, and you can have soap.”

I laughed. It always baffled me how my child—once a gurgling thing with an untamable cowlick—had transformed into a human capable of swear words and jokes.

As they always did when Bree came close, one of her hands automatically rested on my head, tiny fingers submerging themselves in a tousle of curls. They found the tender patch behind my ears, beginning an idle massage that expelled all tension from my body.

She’d done this as a baby—then, with a naïve curiosity; now, by the simple force of habit. It reminded me of someone else, though I knew it was merely coincidence and not some genetic trait passed down through the centuries. Still, the small fingers always grew larger in my mind—pads turned to callous and nails made blunt—as they moved in slow, gentle circles towards my temples. I could hear Gaelic, spoken softly, and see a calmness wash over a startled horse, as it now washed over me.

I shook the memory away, and returned to the disaster cascading into my lap.

Really, there was no hope for it. Uneven hems. Too-large and crooked stitches. The circumference of one shirtsleeve would fit someone’s thigh, not Bree’s skinny arm.

“Smudge,” I sighed, “perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I mean—” I gestured at the clumsy mess before me, and Bree removed her hand.

She leaned closer, head tilted to examine the work I’d done until her expression turned into one of obvious resolve. “I could always be a hobo,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or a garbage man.”

In that moment, I swear I had never loved her more.

Clearly unconcerned, Bree flopped down on the couch, and asked, “What’d you dress up as when you were a kid, Mama?”

“Come to think of it, I can only remember one Halloween,” I said, sitting back. “I was a little older than you, and my outfit was a hodge-podge of things. Somewhere between Indiana Jones and a girl who raided a closet, blindfolded.”

As a vagabond who drifted from continent and continent, Halloween never seemed to cross Lamb’s mind. A brief lecture, perhaps, about its pagan origins—but there was none of the pomp and circumstance one would see today. Being only vaguely aware of the holiday’s existence myself, I had never found us lacking for it. Our days were already filled with adventures, strange characters, and the spirits of years past.

It was one of Lamb’s colleagues—a charismatic American named Tom—who put forth the notion we hold a celebration of our own. Even I, who by this time was more adult than child, couldn’t resist the idea of being someone else, swapping ghost stories under a full moon, and gorging myself on sweets.

Lamb, bless his soul, was more than happy to oblige me. It was a belated birthday present of sorts, as October 20th, 1926 had passed in whirlwind of sand and dirt. The more immediate concerns of suffocation and hazardous winds had taken precedence over cake and candles that day.

Lamb and Tom took me to the market one morning, each of us bouncing from stall to stall to inspect the wares. After hours of browsing, we’d managed to scrape together a rudimentary costume, though it had none of the frills, silks, or skirts Tom had assumed I’d want.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a princess?” he’d said, regarding me sideways. At the insistent (and fiftieth) shake of my head, Lamb had clapped Tom on the back with a jovial smile, reminding him that I was a girl who preferred slouch hats to tiaras. I recall grinning up at him, then, and taking his hand as we walked back to camp. In truth, I think I’d just wanted to be Lamb for a night.

And so there I was days later: a poor man’s cowgirl astride an invisible horse, galloping through the nearby village in search of treats. Naturally, few people were prepared for the presence of my wild-eyed, boyish self at their door. But most smiled at my requests—all spoken with a pitiful Southern twang—and indulged me with whatever they could spare. Lamb, meanwhile, stood at my side—an elderly pirate-guard who assured them we were not, in fact, bandits.

We returned to camp at sundown with a sack full of furry, odorous, and glittering miscellany slung across my shoulder. Against all sense, someone had given me a pack of cigars, and I placed one between my lips. Knees braced and arranging my hands into a finger gun, I did my best Butch Cassidy impression as Lamb inspected the bag for other inappropriate goods.

“That stuff ain’t yours, old man,” I’d said, words mumbled by the cigar. “Stick ‘em up.”

Lamb had hooted, crying, “Excellent, my dear! Just marvelous!” and took a seat across the fire. His head bent before a lit match, the flame lighting the end of one of the contraband cigars.

What I remember most, though, was his face when he looked up at me. My cheeks were flushed beneath a layer of grime. My too-long pants were pooled around my feet, while my dark hair was pulled into a bushy ponytail. I imagine I’d been the image of freedom and recklessness—a person who appreciated the simplest of joys, like dress-up and too much sugar.

“You’ve always favored your mother, Claire. But I daresay that right now…” And here, Lamb’s eyes had shimmered, his expression grown suddenly soft. “Right now I see so much of your father in you.”

“Mama?” A voice broke through the haze of my memory. “Mama, were you listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I said distractedly, slowly returning to the present. Shaking her head, Bree said, “Maybe next year I could be a cowgirl too?” before launching onto an entirely different topic.

Seeing my daughter chatting confidently away, her hands fluttering with the excitement of conversation, of being with someone…Seeing her hair catch the sinking sun and the mischief inside her curving mouth—a mouth that would never cease to amaze me with its jokes and its compliments and its observations. Seeing these things, and how her slanted blue eyes took in her shabby costume—unbothered by its inelegance but appreciative of the work I’d put into it—I thought I saw so much of her father in her too.

[anniemar]

2, 5, 28 for the heathen army asks

2. Weapon of choice?

Knife. I feel like I’d be best with a knife IRL, but I’d love to get better with shooting a crossbow. In case of a zombie apocalypse. 

5. Revenge of satisfaction?

What kind of revenge I prefer? They say it should be living well, but if someone pisses me off I usually get my revenge by using sarcasm in such a way that I’m pretty much making fun of a person to their face but they can’t really tell. I can be a real bitch sometimes in that regard. Usually in the kitchen. Or in political discussions. 

28. Are you good at any type of craft?

Hm. If I have any skills that would be of use in the Viking Age, I suppose it would be cooking and knife work. I can take very simple ingredients and turn them into tasty art on a plate. I can also butcher meat. It’s not my favorite thing to do in the world, and I’m not the best at it, but I can get the job done. It used to be a fascination of mine to think about ingredients from different time periods and figure out dishes to make out of them. I’ve read a lot of books about the subject. I’m also pretty good at sharpening knives and chopping and carving and anything having to do with that. I have the knife skillz. 

I think i’d be pretty bad at weaving and sewing and that kinda thing, but I was pretty good in my pottery class in college ;-) I could probably make some cool ceramic shit. I could probably get down with anything requiring painting or drawing with pigments or rudimentary inks and shit like that. 

[chuckhistory]

I replaced the broken zipper on my jeans with a button fly. You can too if you have 3 buttons, a strip of fabric, needle, thread, scissors, and rudimentary sewing skills. Now that I know I can do this, I might go buy a new pair of jeans and convert them. Since Gap decided to charge $50 extra for button fly jeans, this could really be worth the time and effort. #jeans #fashion #buttonfly #doityourself #sewing (at Hollywood Hills)

[kidslovetoys]

A guide to toys for the first five years: a complete list

Do you ever feel like your home is full-to-bursting with toys that you don’t want and didn’t ask for? The children in the 100 Toys house are 6, 5, 4 and 2 years old. That’s 17 Christmasses and 17 birthdays in total. Gifts from parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, plus stocking fillers. It’s not unusual for a child’s Christmas haul to come to at least 10 presents. (17 + 17) x 10 = 340…

Now add in gifts throughout the year - something from the museum shop, a toy to keep them occupied on a flight, something at Easter, and at Halloween. That’s all before they start school and have parties to which the whole class is invited and you can reasonably expect to receive 30 presents for one child in a single day...

Children need fewer toys

When I launched the website my initial idea for The 100 was to create a list of 100 essential toys for every under-five. There would be more than 100 physical toys for sale on the site of course, but The 100 would be the guide to the essentials every child needed. But seeing it written down, it felt too focused on the acquisition and consumption of products. One hundred toys? From birth to five? It sounded too decadent. 

It felt more in-keeping with our ethos to make The 100 about activities and experiences for the under-fives, whether or not that involved toys. After some trial and error, adding new things and taking others away, there were eventually only 10 or so physical toys on The 100 list, alongside all our ideas, knowledge and inspiration.

But now, five years since we launched,  I’m revisiting the concept because here’s the thing: the idea of any under-five-year-old I know owning 100 toys or more no longer seems so preposterous.

Even 100 is an outrageous number

You don’t have to look far on the blog to see that I think that children can thrive with far fewer than one hundred toys. In fact it’s good for them. Blocks, figures, fabric, a few everyday household objects, some art materials and access to outdoor space. That’s it. 

So why am I creating a list like this?

Because people are going to buy your children toys anyway. Kindly relatives will happily ignore your requests to give them tickets to a show, or a castle instead. Friends don’t want to arrive empty handed at the party. People want to put something under the tree.

If your family are like this (and mine are), what I’ve found works is to politely give them a list of toys that you’re OK with and, more importantly, are developmentally appropriate for your child. 

Toys are going to arrive in your house whether you like it or not. You might as well try to ensure that what your child receives is going to challenge and absorb them, not just amuse them for half an hour, before it goes in the bag for that furtive trip to the charity shop.

Not all children like all toys

You can get years of play value out of a toy kitchen or doll’s house. Even babies who can’t yet stand unaided will pull themselves up and enjoy a rudimentary version of this sort of toy.

But use of the doll’s house divides along gender lines in the 100 Toys house. The girls are happy to sit there for hours, setting the table and tucking the figures into bed; the boys use it for target practice. 

The boys do love small world play, it’s just that they’d rather build a castle or recreate battles from the Hundred Years War. And that’s OK.

In this case, the important thing is that the doll’s house provides them all with opportunities for imaginative play. The context is irrelevant. This is why The 100 list exists - to show you the kinds of activities that you could and should offer. 

A path from birth to five in toys:

So here it is, the list of one hundred toys for the first five years.

If you get all of these, you’ve covered a lot of the bases, developmentally. The gaps are filled in by all that time you spend outdoors, going to museums, reading stories and singing nursery rhymes

Take this list with a pinch of salt. None of it is truly necessary. I’m not saying you should buy it all, simply that if you’re going to buy something, this list is a good place to start. The toys are, for the most part, open-ended and all are age-appropriate.

From birth

Play mat and baby gym

Activity toy

From 6 months

Treasure basket 

First set of blocks

Wobbly tower

Puzzles: circular peg puzzles (easiest), four-way rotational symmetry, three-way, one-way (hardest, suitable from 10-12 months) 

Shape sorter: shapes, animals (harder)

Bowls (simple, for sorting, or nested) (or look in the kitchen)

Balls (wooden, for rolling; fabric, for catching)

Focus on: puzzles

In many ways puzzles contradict the open-ended play ethos. Most puzzles can only be completed one way and can be outgrown quite quickly as your child's skill grows. And yet puzzles are still so vital. Why? Because they foster and develop so many crucial skills. Whether it’s a simple wooden tray-puzzle with little handles on the pieces, or more complex jigsaws, sorting and matching games, children need fine-motor precision, focus and determination to succeed with their puzzling projects. They need to think logically and find strategies to succeed. A one-year-old learns that pieces must be rotated to fit while an older child discovers that it's best to start with the corner pieces and edges and to sort by colour. These are essential skills that, once mastered, can be applied to more creative endeavours.

Focus on: a treasure basket

A treasure basket is a free and simple way to stimulate your child’s innate sense of curiosity and wonder. At this age your child is discovering new textures, smells, sounds and sensations as they try to understand the world around them. A treasure basket is simply a way of giving your baby a selection of things to play with and investigate. They can follow their curiosity, grasping, banging and mouthing anything of interest whilst discarding everything else. It’s especially fun for babies who can sit up, supported by a cushion or ring if necessary, but aren’t yet mobile. You can use everyday objects, such as wooden spoons, an old bracelet or a silicon ice-cube tray. The trick is to offer a wide selection that appeals to all the senses. And make sure the objects are safe. No choke hazards or toxic paints. But don’t stress if your treasure doesn’t isn’t all entirely homespun - you can mix it up with the toys you already have like balls, rattles or dolls. The important thing is to keep it fun.

From 1 year

Vehicles

Peg people and other figures

Rattle (or make a discovery bottle)

Conical tower

If you only buy one thing: figures

In play figures, children recognise themselves and their families, friends and pets. Playing with them helps them consolidate their understanding of the world, from driving a car to cooking in the kitchen. If your child is already confidently playing with blocks, adding a few figures to their play will also encourage them to bring dialogue and stories into their play. When animals join the cast, children can explore characteristics and habits: the sly fox, the cheeky monkey, the fierce lion. When choosing play figures, there's an argument to be made for favouring those that are pared back, without too many facial features or clothes that overtly genderise or otherwise pre-determine the game. But having said that, my 25-month-old daughter will happily pretend that the two potatoes on her plate are old friends and the four-year-old suspends her disbelief sufficiently to imagine that her Maileg mouse is really Elsa from Frozen. Children love to have just the right figure for their small world play, but it's not essential. Their imaginations will fill in the gaps.

From 2 years

Doll’s house and people

Trolley

Basket

Fabric

Soft toy

Bucket and spade

Ball track

2-piece puzzles

Nested and stacking toys

Sorting boxes and bowls

Focus on: fabric

Not just for girls! Pieces of fabric, and ideally play silks in a range of colours, can be a surprisingly useful and popular addition to the toy box. That’s because fabric is so versatile; it’s one of the most open-ended toys you can get. Your child can use fabric to create scenery in their imaginative and small-world play (a blue silk is a river or the sky, a green one a mountain etc.) They can sling pieces of fabric over a table or a washing line to make a tent for their dolls or a den for themselves. Fabric wrapped around a head becomes a nomad’s scarf and tied around a waist a bride’s train. Tie it to your wrists and it’s a fairy’s wings, wrap it around your legs and it’s bandages at the hospital. Silks or ribbons tied to the end of stick make beautiful, free streamers, which also lay the foundation for the up and down strokes your child learns when they begin to write. 

Focus on: doll's house

In a doll’s house children recreate scenes from everyday life and try to understand their position in the family and the world. Observing their doll's house play allows you to see what your child understands of power dynamics and gender. Who takes out the bins? Who does the cooking? Whose house is it? It's also a chance for children to enjoy role-playing situations not normally open to them: answering the door to the postman (or a tiger!); going to work; cooking dinner. Go for a gender-neutral doll’s house, with natural colours and without too much elaborate detail, and you can also use it for other small-world settings. Something plain that provides a setting without dictating it, can be a doll’s house one day or an astronauts’ space station the next. Bring blocks, figures, fabrics and other items to your doll’s house and you can extend the play in almost any direction. 

From 3 years

Threading buttons (or use the sewing kit)

Second set of blocks (more varied shapes)

Dressing up clothes, or hats and tails (or use silks or fabric you find at home). Box of props.

Play food

Play kitchen

Loose parts (or use dried beans and pasta)

Wooden railway

Toys for early maths: geometrical shapes, pattern-making

If you only buy one thing: blocks

There simply isn't a more versatile or durable toy than a good set of wooden blocks. With blocks your child has the scope to build, sort, carry, count, create and imagine. Starting from that very first attempt to place one block on top of another,  through to complex imaginative play where blocks represent something entirely different, blocks are the definition of open-ended play. There are many different types of wooden blocks for children, from colourful or natural wood to perfectly square or irregular shapes. The key things to look out for when choosing blocks are the trueness of the cut (wonky blocks make for wobbly towers) and chew-friendly non-toxic stains that allow your child to feel the warmth and texture of natural wood in their hands. Natural-finish blocks can also make building more successful. Glossy paints look bright but can make the surfaces slippier and give less purchase. 

From 4 years

Card games

Board games

Art materials

Puppets

Tools

(Toys for investigating nature - magnifying glass)

Marble run

Numbers and letters

Focus on: art materials

Before they learn to write at school, your child will more than likely sit at the kitchen table, scribbling and drawing and cutting-out and sticking. This vital foundation work stimulates and hones their fine-motor skills and hand-eye co-ordination, focus, determination and creativity. Providing them with the best quality materials will help them achieve effective and pleasing results, teaching them early on, to associate time spent at the drawing board with pleasure and success. Go for good quality paper that doesn’t tear or disintegrate. Use high quality wax crayons with profiles that are made for the smallest hands to hold, in colours that glide and stay on the page. And provide scissors that little fingers can manoeuvre around a line without too much difficulty. Using scissors is an excellent work out for pincer grip and can help them with everything from holding cups to doing up shoe-laces later on. If you have space, painting and drawing at an easel is an excellent way to develop wrist strength and the hand-eye co-ordination required for handwriting when they get to it. 

You can see how you might be able to have multiples of some of these without your house feeling overwhelmed with toys. You’ll want more than one board game and several different kinds of art materials (which will also need to be replenished). A four- or five-year-old is very happy to receive a nice set of pencils or paints as a gift.

Extras

I used to object to things like scratch papers, colouring books, stickers and other activities you could only do once, on the grounds that I had all the art materials at home and you never seemed to get much in the packet anyway. You generally got one use, and the outcome was often prescriptive, with little scope for the child’s imagination. But having seen my own children be inspired by such products, to tackle a skill they’ve hitherto been reluctant to take on, I’ve softened a bit. I still think your first step should be the craft box, but these sets have their place, if only as a low-priced gift. And being disposable in nature, they're not a source of clutter once they’ve been used - a big selling point in our house!

Final word

This is a list of toys you really don’t need.

But, with luck - and help from friends and family - it may help you escape the fate-worse-than-death that is a house full of noisy, irritating one-trick ponies that are destined for the dump via an extended stay on your living room floor.

Instead of fuming quietly about another pointless birthday gift, you can ask your well-meaning friends and family to refer to this list when they ask you what they should give. It’s more toys, yes, but toys that make a difference to the quality and impact of their play. And that’s surely a gift we’re all happy with.

Happy playing!

P.S. If you've been counting, yes, it wasn't 100 toys. I couldn't bring myself to stretch it that far. But I hope it's long enough to have given you some inspiration.

  from One Hundred Toys - The Blog https://ift.tt/2Vfk19W