Horse With No Name on Shop: The crumbling of the great wall of HWNN

Just months after the birth of my second child, I decided to take on a life-changing challenge. (Because y'know, having kids was old-hat by this time. And sleep is for the weak.)

For too long, I had been a consumer, buying things on impulse. With news flowing in about an impending recession and a rash of toxic toys invading the market, I felt compelled to do something.

Something that would help save money, protect my kids from the Big Toy Companies with no quality control, and free me from the shackles of wanton consumerism.

I was going to teach myself to sew, on a sewing machine.

I was going to make all my kid's toys. Yes. All of them. And maybe a handbag or three.

Well, hello dolly! Ok, she may look like a crazy mistake but she's not. Seriously. Nettlie here, one of the first toys I made, was inspired by my daughter's computer game character. The fuzziness comes from all the love she gets!

I've always loved making stuff with my hands. It's therapy for the frazzled brain. For my junior-college theatre project, I taught myself to work power tools, designing and building an entire convertible stage set with nary more than a couple of theatre-craft books and a lot of foolhardiness to guide me. And I LOVED every insane minute of it.

Hammers? Power saws? Pshaw.

But sewing? Dude, that's just dangerous. You could impale your fingers on fast-moving needles. Lose your hair from ripping it out in frustration. Smash furniture because you cut your last yard of cloth the wrong way.

Despite this inherent threat to life and limb, there I was, the very visage of crazy determination, losing precious nap time wrangling a bub and kid in the day, and losing beauty sleep wrangling my mum's persnickety old Singer machine at night.

But I persevered. All the while, I chanted my mantra: this will help me to live more and consume less.

And before I knew it, I was in complete love with my new hobby. But you know the problem with puppy love...

It's so, so naive.

Look! Soft blocks for baby! Started circa 1911. Will finish them in maybe another 100 years.

Sew long, and thanks for something swish!

The thing about starting a new hobby is that you inevitably end up needing to purchase things - kits, accessories - that would enable said hobby to come to fruition.

I don't have to spell it out for you, but I will: That meant shopping.

Now before you think I'm some sort of raging shopaholic tai-tai, I'm not. I've never bought an article of designer anything ever. I only buy clothes on sale and I still own clothes from when I was 18, which I still wear. I recycle or give away what I don't because it's a total waste to buy what you don't wear and hoard what you don't need. So, not a big shopper, am I.

But hobby shopping... that's a whole new ball game, buddy.

How not to pass the buck – use a credit card instead.

When we moved to America, I discovered The Ultimate, Super, Dee-Duper, Craft Store Of My Dreams, That Also Sells Fabric! That's not what it's called, but it should be.

The best part is, there are two other somewhat Super Dee-Duper competitor stores, all within a quick drive from my home. It was like finding out Willy Wonka opened ten candy stores on my doorstep, and included a winning lotto ticket in every pack of sweets.

And the bester than best part is? The salespeople at above-mentioned understand craft speak and Can. Actually. Help. You. What a concept. (Yes, I'm talking to you, grumpy sales-aunties from Spotlight.)

There are days when I find excuses to visit these craft/fabric havens, like when Sweetpea has after-school classes nearby.

Despite my strict consumer diet, I find myself haplessly immersed in the delicious world of fat-quarters and jelly-rolls. (Curse you, evil fabric-naming people!)

And the toys you can cut these up with! Talk about appealing to my inner Inspector Gadget!

Rusty old scissors from your home-ec days? Gaze, my friends, upon the rotary cutter. It has a blade which protrudes at your command, and glides up and down your cloth, slicing as if by magic! Scratch up your table with that blade? Never again! Behold! Cutting mats that mysteriously heal themselves!

They sound like power tools to me!

Thus, I regularly sail the fabric/craft aisles with the air of a love-struck teenager, my inner monologue practically berserk from fighting the wanton consumerism.

“Oh, I mustn't. I know I mustn't. But it's so pretty! And it'll come in handy if I ever need to sew an invisible zipper into that custom-made diaper bag/make-up pouch/sparkly party clutch. What, it's on clearance? You don't say!”

Next thing I know, I'm at the register, card at the ready, pen in hand, willpower in the toilet.

Yes, it's pink. With flowers. I know. Shut up. It's still a power tool.

And the bester than besterest part? Everything here is heaps cheaper than back home. Which means... I get to stock up on things I don't need and hoard things I will never use! Kidding. I totally use everything I buy. Or I will. Someday.

But for now, I try very hard to ignore my husband's pained looks as my closet steadily fills with box after box of “scissors that cuts pretty patterns!” or “cloth I picked up on sale!” or “ten thousand yards of cotton batting for when I learn to make quilts for our grand kids!”.

Could I be addicted? Well, sewing enthusiasts don't call it a “stash” without reason. And I have American craft stores to thank for enabling, I mean, assisting me in keeping my brain frazzle-free.

Ooo... lookit all the purty colours...

The upside? At least Mr HWNN, darling breadwinner of the family, can sleep easy knowing that his super low-maintenance wife isn't spending that money on a new designer handbag.

I'll just make it myself! Once I master sewing on a curve! Without losing my thumbs!