A friend walked into our house the other day and said, 'Whenever I come here, there's always stuff being made.' I must confess I have become so used to being surrounded by works-in-progress, scraps of fabric, glue and craft sticks that I hadn't really thought about it, apart from tearing my hair out at the perpetual mess.
But it's true. At the moment we have crystals growing on saucers on the floor in front of the TV, seedlings sprouting in jars in Rex's tank, and a half-finished zoo enclosure on the coffee table. Recently Alice made and furnished a 'burrow' for some of her smaller toys, including tiny handmade books, sheets and curtains dyed with food dye, clothes for the toys and an elaborate water-tank and dipper system.
Last night Evie made a bird feeder from a toilet roll covered in silver foil, and a birdhouse from a box that had contained grapes, which she then rushed out to hang from the trees. Meanwhile, Alice was making bread, joyfully thumping the dough - but plain bread is boring, so this became nutmeg, lime and orange bread. (Which, I must say, is actually bloody delicious - sort of hot-cross-bunnish, but without the sultanas.) The 'sauce' which was to accompany the bread was less successful (flour, sugar, nutmeg, lime juice), but hey, for every hit, there'll be a few misses.
I just have to keep reminding myself that the flour on the floor, the newspapers all over the table, rag box spilling in the corner -- in short, the general chaos of our living space -- really is worthwhile. Who knows, maybe that's the thing I'll miss the most when they're all grown up.