The confessions of a cobbler

 

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My name is Catherine and I'm a cobbler...

The mojo went. I don't know where to, but it definitely left the building. My best bet is that the baby stole it. Wherever it went, I can see it on the horizon and I'm trying to persuade to come back and stay a while. 

I thought that a special project for my own children might entice it back, so I'm experimenting; I've ordered the materials, and I almost have a pattern I can use. It's an idea I've been contemplating for a while and one I know that Beatrix and Jasper will love if I can get it all to come together, so why didn't I make it sooner? The truth is, makes for my poor babies have been repeatedly put on the back burner since I started Hop Stitch Jump, and even more so since I've been juggling the baby in the equation. I rarely seem to be able to coincide the time and the inclination to make for pleasure.

The irony is that I started making children's gifts as thrift measure, but now I spend my time at the sewing machine making for paying customers because they put food on my table, and I end up buying presents for my own little guys!

A beautiful castle on a sunny day - not embroidered by Mummy.

It seems I'm not on my own. I'm part of a couple of small business networks, one of which is Yorkshire-based and bursting at the seems with crafters of all disciplines, from metal workers to ceramicists, and fine artists to cake decorators. The members all say the same thing: once your hobby becomes your work, it's no longer your hobby! There's a wonderful landscaper and garden designer in the group who's embarrassed by the state of her own lawn and flower beds. There's a lady who makes the most beautiful cushions for children and who, thanks to an order book that's full until next summer, hasn't had time to make one for her own son. How about the fashion designer who spent the day before her holiday frantically sewing to make clothes for her own suitcase? And here I am, with a boy without a superhero cape, a girl who needs a new hairclip holder and a giant pile of their drawings that I keep putting to one side ready to create my own gallery of Doodlebroidery.

Little notes everywhere!

It really is true: the cobbler's children go barefoot!

So here I declare, publicly, that I will make my children a mail centre in time for Christmas. I will, honest! It will have a beautiful post bag, a plethora of letters and more than one place to deliver to. I will do it because they adore playing postie and I adore them. I'll do it because they love writing notes and drawing pictures for us and finding places to leave them. I will do it because it's the game that they play most nicely together and it will make them so happy. I'll make it because I owe it to my children. You know why I'll really be making the cobbler's children some shoes though, don't you? Yup, because I've told you I will, and I know you'll crack the whip!

If Daddy were a dinosaur. Again, not transformed
into Doodlebroidery by the cobbler!