Rae Rose

Searching for a giant plush caterpillar with a Jane Austen vibe?  Who isn’t? With feminine details, felt flowers and floral calico prints, this cat helps baby sit up and creates a cute little nook in the garden to read and play in. Make the caterpillar as large or as small as you want depending on the size of your space.

Put two right sides of fabric together and cut a circle. (I traced the biggest platter I own.)

Sew together both pieces of fabric at the edge.

Cut a hole in the middle of one piece of fabric.

Turn the pillow inside out through the hole.

Stuff the pillow to your desired fullness. To give the illusion of a pleats, use strong thread (I used embroidery thread) to make big stitches in a circle — as if you are making a drawstring.

Pull closed and knot.

Add something to the middle of this circle. A button might be a safety hazard, and I wanted a garden-y feel so I chose felt flowers.

Caterpillars don’t really have this many feet! But…they also don’t have flowers on their backs, so cut out 2 feet in the shape of a “u” per pillow.

For the face, make another pillow, but three inches bigger and with the opening to stuff it full of cotton on the side, not the middle, so there will not be pleats. Add antenna by using two tubes of fabric or pipe cleaners. I embroidered the face, and I love a pair of sleepy eyes. Not sure if my dog agrees.

To put Jane (yeah, I just named her Jane Austen) together I sewed the face onto the first pillow at a bit of an angle. I hand sewed each pillow together and hand sewed the feet. Then I put her out in the garden and see if she attracted any attention.

I matched the feet from one pillow to the previous pillow.

Jane has created a lot of silly and happy memories in our garden this year. I love that my dog seems to love it as much as the rest of us.

 

When I was 18 and diagnosed with bipolar disorder, my doctor told me that I needed to be on birth control for the rest of my life because I could not have children.

I believed him.  I can’t believe I wrote and read (at Goddard College) this poem just a few years ago. I was SO wrong about who I am and what I’m capable of. It makes me wonder what I can do next — and it makes me wonder what you can do next.

The first line is “After The Engagement…”

 

Here is the poem:

 

After The Engagement

I am reintroduced to my future in-laws,

with all the facts this time:

I am a natural redhead,

but my brain breaks constantly.

My bipolar disorder has been dampened down

since that dingy hospital room

when I wore white bandages and a paper name tag

around my wrists like matching bracelets.

The PMDD comes most months,

the lithium does not help. My brain

is a fever for 4 – 7 days and somedays

I watch Judge Judy for ten hours

at a time because otherwise I might

plunge off the nearest cliff

or take any opioid I could find,

find it by any means.

Those days I do not know how to love your son.

Or cook Rice-A-Roni for him

or make beds or cheer up
because I am delirium.

The bipolar disorder is hereditary.

And, anyway, carrying a baby is out of the question

because I’d poison the poor thing in the womb,

and even if it lived studies say I might kill it.

I’m sorry. I know you liked me blue eyed and smiling.

“You’d be such a good mother,” you said that day

we played at the park with his nephews.

I love that you said it. Thank you.

It was such a pretty thought.

After the Engagement

She is reintroduced to her future in-laws,

with all the facts this time:

She is a natural redhead,

but her brain breaks constantly.

Her bipolar disorder has been dampened down

since that dingy hospital room

when she wore bandages around her wrist

when she wore her name tag around her wrist

like white bracelets

The PMDD comes most months,

the lithium does not help. Her brain

is a fever for 4 – 7 days and somedays

she watches Judge Judy for ten hours

at a time because otherwise she might

plunge off the nearest cliff

or take any opioid she could find by any means

and those days she does not know how to love your son

or cook Rice-A-Roni for him

or fold napkins or make beds or cheer up.
She is delirium.

Yes. The bipolar disorder is hereditary.

Carrying a baby is out of the question.

I’m sorry. I know you liked me blue eyed and smiling.

“You’d be such a good mother,” you said that day

we played at the park with the nephews and cousins.

I love that you said it. Thank you.

It was such a pretty thought.