Mummy, Don't Throw That Away (No Boo Hoo's)

Kid-Made Kid-Friendly Mummy

Take some of the boo hoo out of the boo! with a sweet-looking and kinda cuddly stuffed mummy to make with your kids. At the workshop we have just about anything you need to make just about anything. To make a wish. To make something. But what if you have no supplies? Do you have printer paper sitting in your recycling bin and a smidge of cello-tape? How about a crayon? We promise this won't be too scary for busy parents, either.

The Supplies

• 2-3 pieces 8.5"x11" used printer paper (printed on one side)
• Cellophane tape
• Colored pencil/crayon/marker/eyeliner....
• Scissors (or not)
• (really, that's all!)

The Operation

(Step 1) Crumpled Paper

1.  Crumple up two pieces of paper. Unfold and crumple them up again. The crumpling step is done when the pieces are soft and pliable. Set one piece aside.  
2.  Fold one crumpled piece of paper in half hamburger style (i.e. cross-wise, or fold the 11" side to make two halves that measure 8.5"x5.5"). On this paper sketch a squared-off oval mummy-like shape. 
3.  With the paper still folded, cut (or rip) out the mummy shape. This will yield two mummy-shaped pieces. Trim one of the pieces so that it is slightly smaller than the other.
4.  Draw a friendly face on the blank side of the larger of the two mummy shapes.

(Step 5) Folding + Taping

5.  With blank sides facing outward (i.e. printed sides touching), fold the edges of the larger shape around the edges of the smaller shape and affix with tape.

(Step 6+7) Stuffing the Mumm6. 

6.  Take the third piece of paper and rip it into smallish pieces. Wad these up into little balls to be used as stuffing.
7.  Stuff the mummy and close the opening with tape.
8.  Remember the remaining soft and pliable piece of paper? Rip that paper lengthwise into slim strips (about .5" wide).

(Step 9) Wrapping the Mummy

9.  Starting on the back-side, tape down the end of a paper-strip and begin wrapping the mummy. Tape strips together to make enough to wrap the mummy to your satisfaction.

Not too scary, right? Please enjoy a safe and silly Halloween.

Have you heard of Craft City, Michigan?

We're sorry. Really we are. We haven't ever intended to make anyone feel awkward, and if you have, please accept our apologies. If your child has refused to come home at their designated pick-up time, we apologize for our inner-smile and freely accept responsibility. We have every intention of helping your child feel readily comfortable in the workshop so that they can get to the work and play of getting to know their own creativity and capabilities. We do it on purpose. Some cry out ("oh, Mom!", "not yet!" or "I told you not to come so early!") and some may actually cry. Some kids feign sleeping from fun-exhaustion on our window seats or in our library. And one recently did an incredible mime-rendition of a baseball umpire's gesture of the safe call through the window to signal their parent that they just weren't ready to go home yet.

It can maybe explained this easily-- it is a second home for many of us. We like working here. We spend a lot of time here, and so it feels like home. We even have some dirty dishes, just like home (or at least like my home.) Be it a class, a camp or our after-school program, the time that we spend together in this colorful and comfortable place that generally smells really great has crafted some great memories and has knit quite a community. So while we really are sorry if it has ever made you uncomfortable, we are really glad that your child has been that comfortable.

Recently a friend in our creative community asked me for the name of the paint color that we used on the first floor of the workshop. A few months later she asked how we keep our table legs so level. The first question I understood (it really is a lovely blue), but the follow-on question not so much.....until she told me about Craft City. Craft City is an art room in her vacation home in Union Pier, MI outfit to replicate our workshop as closely as possible, including the tables, stools and brand of all-purpose cleaner. We knew that her child liked her time with us-- she told us as much in embroidery stitches. But this! Well if that isn't a compliment.

So yes, we humbly and sincerely accept responsibility for our role in this, but you need to own your part. This little house of fun, or Fun House depending on the day, wouldn't be anything, anything at all, without you.

Putting the "Why?" in DIY

We are four whoppin' weeks into our Summer Camp programs, and I am already blown away by the talent and boundless creativity of our campers. This year has brought with it a new format for us (two floors of fun and two separate camps for ages ranges 5-9 and 9-14 years) and so much more fun as the age range has expanded both to the left and the right of previous years' boundaries. As I reflect on the two previous summers, and all of the classes and camps and parties and workshops and other activities that precede this moment, I struggle, no make that giggle, with a mix of pride and.....perplexity.....at the projects that have passed through these colorful doors.

When we come up with a project that has all of the magic ingredients, we call it a "wow".

Wishcraft's Recipe for a "Wow" Project

• Engages the imagination in an open-ended way
• Teaches or practices a creative skill
• Uses recycled/green/safe materials, or just-enough new materials that have been thoughtfully sourced
• Invents a new technique, or combines existing techniques and ideas in a new way
• Optional Variation- It doesn't have to be useful, but this seems to be an extra bonus with the kids. Like grated parmesan cheese on already delicious pasta.

So the reality is, not every project can be a "wow". We try, for certain. But to try means to test and to experiment, and in any experiment there are fixed variables and, well, variable variables. Wobbly variables. Different-age and different-capability variables. Cruddy-instead-of-sunny-weather variables. I-had-so-much-fun-having-a-spontaneous-dance-party, and want to do it again right now, variables. In the controlled environment of the instructor's prototyping and preparation we can get one result, but in the wild.....anything can happen.

Which is why we have our own virtual version of the book Regretsy. We have our Hall of Fame, including many of the projects we've shared with our Facebook, Twitter and Flickr updates this year. And we have our Hall of Shame, but today we will rename that Hall. Hall of Try. Hall of Why? These non-wow projects need a place of honor, too, as they have helped us to hone our own skills and deliver camper and class experiences that leave our new friends excited to come back for more. Can you help us name the Hall of Misfit Projects? C'mon now, fill in the blank: Hall of ___________.

Communing with the Cardinal and Joe- Life Lessons from a Bird-Feeder

I've always had a special love of birds. Could it be their range of colors? Their delicate music? Or an evolutionary connection? They find their way into my art, my toys and now more than ever into my backyard. We finally installed a decent bird-feeder, a diner of sorts that serves many at a time, and my life as Snow White has become more about my newest haircolor. Every morning before I heigh-ho I look into the yard to see which visitors have joined us for breakfast, and every morning I seem to witness something I've probably always known but for which I am thankful for the reminder.

• Yes, we can all get along. Finches, robins, cardinals, squirrels, a baby bunny and even a deer enjoy the fruits of our feeder, and they might bicker a little every now and then but we have a community of little friends that are practicing their social skills and working toward a common purpose. (I know, right? A deer came to visit our urban yard earlier this week.)
• There is enough for everyone if we work together. Our little feeder is such a microcosm. What would happen to hunger in our city, in our country, in our world, if we actively reminded ourselves that we have the capability to ensure that every person is fed? Would we hoard and waste? Or would we change our own habits? Would we live simply so others might simply live?
• The early bird really gets the (big, juicy) worm. Really. The robins are up at dawn to dig in the moist soil in order to provide for themselves and for their families. Sure sleeping late might feel like a luxury, but why bother? The chirping wakes me anyway. Let's get busy- there's lots to do (see solving world-hunger above) and this mama-bird is awake.
• Slow down and smell the coffee. I sometimes catch myself trying to rush through my morning peek at the feeder and then am reminded that this planet and its flora and fauna are amazing. It deserves my full attention, if even for a moment. And when I slow down enough to hear the individual bird-songs, I find that I can really relish in the aroma of the coffee awaiting me downstairs, all of which reminds me to breathe and to be very, very grateful for every little thing.
• Give a little, get a lot. Sure, refilling the bird-feeder is another task on the to-do list, but it pays us back in so many ways. Every time a cardinal (two mates and their young have moved in) is spotted in the morning, the remainder of the day is stellar. Why? Maybe it's the lucky color red. I don't need to figure it out. It just is.

If you need me this fine morning, on World Environment Day, it will have to wait just a bit as I'll be communing with the cardinal and joe.

Professorial Musing on Motherhood

By guest blogger Rob Cummins, 17-year-husband of one, father of two and walker of one other one (dog, that is.) Rob, MA English and M Ed. (Secondary Education), certified teacher (Type 09) and Adjunct Professor of English Literature is looking with hope for that perfect Middle-School or High-School teaching position. This gentleman knows more about just about everything than anyone I know. Just don't accept an invitation from him to play Trivial Pursuit or Scrabble. Really.

To be and to do. That’s the definition of what a mother, a mom, is. A noun and a verb (and a superlative adjective.) What we are talking about, then, is that mothering a child isn’t simply a physical, emotional, or psychological action. It’s all of these things, a process of incredible difficulty and complexity and just when you feel like you’ve got this whole thing wired, then something new and unexpected occurs which can change your perspective completely--in ways transcendent and, well, not-so-transcendent, but always, always, totally and utterly humbling.

I’ve had the great fortune to be blessed with a bevy of brilliant mothers in my life: my wife, my own mother and grandmothers, aunts, in-laws, friends who each bring their own uniquely powerful parental practices into my societal mix, protecting, nurturing and caring for their children, showing us, again (I can’t reiterate this enough) that mothering is a process. My own wife,who was nice enough to let me encroach on her blog space--a good example, by the way, albeit a small one, but not one of small consequence, of a nurturing and caring person--is a prime example of everything I’ve been talking about. Now don’t get me wrong, I like to think I’m a good father, but, my wife was born to be a great mother (I don’t mean this in some old-fashioned, anti-feminist way--barefoot and pregnant, and all that). She is, I’m not even going out on a limb, here, remarkable at mothering.The dictionary doesn’t even come close (and how could they really define any mom in two hundred and fifty words, or so?) to getting at my wife’s parenting essence. Being a mother is her raison d etre, and it’s not only being a brilliant mother to our own children, but through her business and other efforts, nurturing other children and adults, as well. Nurturing and caring, helping them through the process of becoming great. This is not hyperbole.

Know that what all great mothers do is not hyperbole. It is greatness, pure and simple. The process of creating good citizens isn’t an easy one, but it’s a necessary one if we want our kids to grow and develop into thinkers, artists, designers, big dreamers. Mothers who want their children, all children, really, to move forward in so many different ways, reinterpret the basic ideas that surround and inform us, not looking to conserve their energies or visions for a later date, fighting the fights that need to be fought, so other mothers and mothers-to-be become empowered and feel like they’re part of a spectacular process which will transform and transcend. A process of nurturing, caring, protecting: mothers. Don’t forget to call yours on Sunday.

Switcheroo Woohoo

I sit in the same chair every day, for a good part of the day. It gives me a full view of the first floor of the workshop, as well as a window to the world. Or at least Roscoe Village.

When I sit down to one of the work tables to lead a class, a magical shift happens in more than my lower-back. The simple act of switching seats turns on a creative place in me that can easily get sleepy in the comfort of my every-day spot. Earlier this week we had a camp with multiple students that didn't know one another beforehand. When the first 3 students arrived, they sat elbow-to-elbow along one side of the table. The instructor sat on the other side of the table to begin the class, and the students listened quietly and began a project in similar fashion. I waited for the right time to try an experiment with a powerful technique that I have used previously in my corporate career-- change seats to change perspective.

Think about the last meeting you attended (groan) where contention grew between two or more people that sat next to one another. How much more difficult is it to be difficult when you sit across from someone? Sure, the table between us gives a little buffer, but being able to read the other person's expression and grab, or try uncomfortably to avoid, their eye contact creates an entirely different playground. To stoke creativity and foster teamwork, I would ask meeting participants to choose a chair that they hadn't inhabited for a while. Even the simple consideration of "why is Candice always asking us to do silly things" was enough to lighten the mood and prepare everyone for something better than the dreaded meeting.

So when the moment was right this week, I asked some of the campers to try a new seat. Woohoo! Moments later the giggle factor went through the roof. That's right. The Chief Giggle Officer's job here was done.

Now it's your turn. Give it a try. At work, at the dinner table, or in the next class that you take. See what a change in view will do. We can't wait to hear how it works.

"REAL" ART? Really?

My eleven-teen daughter has taken to repeating my seemingly unbelievable statements and then appending them with the rhetorical "really, Mom?" I found myself using the same when recently looking for an art class to give her as a birthday gift. (Ironic, I know, but I teach many a little person to sew that come from a family of seamstresses- who wants to learn from their own family of experts? Remember learning to drive a car and how many familial arguments that would spur?) I found what I thought was the perfect class- curriculum looked right, time fit the schedule and the location was an easy walk. And I almost went through with it, when the online description of the class began to loop in my mind: "REAL" ART. Philosophers have been debating this forever- we're still doing it. Defining it seems to almost always require a circular reference. "REAL" ART. Really?

Kids like to make stuff. They naturally know it's good for them. There are times when parents might feel obligated to resort to something easy to help them along- there's an entire aisle of easy at big supply stores. But part of what is so amazing about the creative process is the problem-solving skills that it fosters...when we thought we were only playing. I know that my kids will tire of me being a constant coach for building their creative muscle, so I've looked around town for places and things that, in my humble process-over-result opinion, are open-ended fun for kids of all ages without presuming we need to be told how to be creative or when our art is, ugh, real.

-Pick a warm indoor space, like one of our many museums offering free-admission for the rest of January. People-watch but only from the knees down. Take turns crafting stories about the people you see. Where do they work? Are they friends or sisters? Where else have they been today, or where are they going next?

-Pick up a book to bridge the busy-parent gap: Green Genes in Andersonville also stocks the planet- and thereby kid-friendly art supplies you need to go with it. (And if you forget the book in the diaper bag by the front door, there is always napkin-doodling: take turns making a small scribble and ask your playmates to describe what they see by having them add to the drawing.)

-Pick a really packed vintage store, like Hoard in Ravenswood. Browse every corner of the shop and find one little intriguing thing. Don't hoard, just pick one thing (this will help focus your energy.) Now do something with it. It can be as simple as creating a small still-life sanctuary in your home or a complete photo-essay of your thing enjoying your favorite places around town. Or turn it into a lamp or a journal cover or a fascinator hat! Let the thing and your new perspective be the clues to its new life as a __________.

-Watching clouds can be endless fun. What do you see? It's a fluffy Rorschach game for family and friends, which can be a cool way to get to know a little more about each other's point of view. To keep warm, drive to the top of a parking garage and peep from a car (free is best, and these are two of my favorites: 2939 W Addison St & 1550 N. Kingsbury St.) or pick your favorite skyscraper. If we weren't in our 2nd of 3 annual winter seasons, I'd recommend a different location conducive to prone viewing, but the activity is the same, just at a different angle.

-Dramatic play is as creative as it gets. And highly-entertaining improv comedy, too, for anyone eavesdropping. Say goodbye to clunky-germy plastic-play and say hello to Little Beans Cafe in Bucktown. The playspace is a storekeeper/mechanic/fireman/pretend-mommy haven, and parents can stay comfortably close by while sipping or noshing. Eavesdropping on the grown-ups might be as entertaining and creative while the eavesdropper crafts assumptions about the context of the conversation. (Did I just write that?)

Bored in the winter? Hardly. Real creative fun? Really. (For more about art from the mouths of babes, see this short-film created by a tween.)

Unwrapolution (aka Cummins on Ice, the show)

We know it's seachange when I can use Facebook to mea culpa about not sending holiday cards this year. And get a roar of support. It's not that I don't enjoy sending out the annual missive. Or making them! But this year has been quite a ride in the Cummins household....now known as Cummins on Ice, the show. So I'll say it one more time and then not again: if you expected a holiday card from us and then didn't receive one, we're sorry and please just understand.

Our kids have been incredibly flexible with changes in our holiday traditions. We've tried to be greener. We've tried to be simpler. We no longer wrap presents but instead use one giant felt bag per child. It's almost more fun to "unwrap" because the bag is like a giant stocking. Put your hand in, guess what it is by touch, and then pull it out. I'm calling this our unwrapolution, a revolution in the way we do things. Not just change. Big change.

Our kids have also embraced the handmade gift as just-as-good or better than the things they put on their wish lists. My kids would never have thought to list custom hooded-snuggies, an owl hat or a crochet Club Penguin figurine to their lists, but I can rest tonight (because the gifts are done!) knowing that these will be their favorites. Not just when they're adults looking back on their childhood holiday memories, but in just a few days when they pull them out of the giant felt bags.

It's been hard work to make these shifts, and undoubtedly more so for previously-consumerist me than for our resilient and amazing kids. I no longer have to ask myself "how much is too much?" because I've developed a sixth sense that now knows better. I'll always love cashmere. And gift certificates to the spa. But the next massage I get will be guilt-free, a true reward and very relaxing. Here's to an amazing 2011.

Hostess-Mostess-Goddess

We were recently fortunate to be chosen as the venue for one of our frequent-flyer's daughter's birthday parties. I seem to remember learning that this party at Wishcraft would be the first birthday party that would have ever been hosted outside of their own home (they throw amazing parties for lots of other festive occasions.) The party finally came- the family and friends were delightful and the event felt truly effortless. The icing on this birthday cake though was the thank you note that we received a few days later: "amazing party", "project was adored by all", "exceeded the expectations of the (very picky) birthday girl", "leaving me nothing to do but revel in being the birthday girl's mom", "I couldn't have done better myself and I must also admit that my standards are ridiculously high", and "I'm at the very tip-top of the Wishcraft fan club." Wow. The mutual-admiration must have run high that evening as I recall making notes-to-self the entire evening about how special the Host-Mom made every child guest (and staff-member) feel and how much energy she put into greeting every parent as if they were a long-lost friend; a Hostess-Mostess-Godess. It reminded me of the immediate impact of being a good host and how lucky we are to be in the business of making memories.

Of course we want everyone to have a Wishcraft party- kids, grown-ups, moms-to-be, seniors. But until we're lucky enough to hear from you that it's time to start planning your first Wishcraft party, I share here some of details that are important to us and that we think make for a fabulous function.

• Consider every sense as you prepare the party space. Go further than decoration and food and consider the lighting and how the room smells. Our workshop is a colorful feast by its nature, but the scent draws people in completely.
• Include an activity that taps into every guest's individual creativity and point-of-view. Something magical happens when the right-brains are turned on; even the conversation seems to be easier.
• Plan the activities such that every guest has an opportunity to be readily successful and comfortable. And planning really does take planning. Think through every step and have everything that a guest would need within quick reach. Sewing by hand? Pre-thread the needles. Using messy stuff? Have (sensitive-skin) hand-wipes to save guests extra trips to the sink.
• If you plan on making a mess (fun!), also plan on using natural, gentle and fragrant cleaning supplies. And if using a spray cleaner, spray into the towel rather than onto the surface to avoid over-spray making its way into innocent nostrils.
• Know your guests' needs and sensitivities and take precautions that allow your guests to enjoy every part of the activities without worry. Offer allergen-free treats and if necessary, know the ingredients of every art material.
• If your guests are small, have an emergency contact number on hand for each guest. The excitement, noise, sugar....there's no way to know when a little tummy-ache is going to turn into something more.
• Treat your guests as guests the entire time. Welcome them in and help them get settled or to make a new friend. Near the end, help pack-up their belongings and send them on their way without a care.

We think our parties are just right and hosting them is as much fun as coming to them. Come together in a wonderful space, enjoy being creative and being with friends, and leave feeling like the artist you are.

The Invasion Of The Trust Snatchers

My colleague Kristina is one hearty soul. Hardy, too. Following an intense morning, Kristina and I ventured out on our weekly errands. I was in a so-so mood. I've spent the weekday mornings shuttling back and forth between Children's Memorial Hospital and have a lot on my mind. Kristina was all sunshine. Bouncy pigtails, rosy cheeks and a contagious smile. At every destination she used the name of the staff-person helping us in an affirming sentence about the positive impact they were making on her morning. Who was impacting whose morning? After leaving our third destination, I joked that a little bluebird was going to come land on her shoulder and whistle her a tune. Funny- a man wandered, meandered really, through the parking lot at just that moment whistling like Thelonious Monk was present in his head. We laughed - she thought that I was trying to tell her that the man whistling was going to land on her shoulder, which would squish her, but she really enjoyed the promise of perhaps becoming a Snow, Cinderella, Aurora or even Ariel.

For the rest of the day I let her morning influence my outlook on everything and everyone. It was a glorious day. I had an afternoon date planned with my adorably entertaining son. I picked him up and went to Trader Joe's for a few dinner necessities and was enthralled with his tales of his analysis of the age of the Joker in the last Batman film (which he has not seen) based on overhearing the Joker's voice. (For the curious: he assessed the Joker as being 36 years old and thinks that if he had been 40 like, gasp, me, his voice would have been significantly deeper. His words.) On the way out of the store, not quite through the exit, the woman in front of me abruptly bent over. Rapt with my son's big brown eyes and curious tales, I waited politely for her to pick up or do whatever it was that brought her to the ground. But then I was pinned from behind by a very tall and, let's say thick, male...while she simultaneously stumbled back toward me. Again, trying to set a good example, I sweetly explained to the man behind me that there was a log-jam at the exit and that I was sorry for blocking his way. Hmm. No expression. Funny too that, for being Chicago, this guy wasn't irritated at all that the woman in front of me was still fumbling around for who knows what.

The fumble was mine. Oldest scam in the book, says my husband. My wallet was gone, and thanks to email and text alerts from one of my banks, I was able to instantaneously begin the anguishing process of figuring out what exactly they had made away with and locking down the flood gates that were apparently flowing freely around the Target on Peterson Ave. within 30 minutes of the squeeze-play. Hindsight, right? I knew at my core that something was off about the entire moment at store's exit, but I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, take my attention off of the little guy that needed it most.

So back to Princess Kristina. She shoulders every ounce of everything else that needed my attention that afternoon- including having take-out dinner delivered to my house- and leaves me to make a zillion phone calls and start begging Driver's Services to believe that I am me so that I could make my rounds of the local banks and set everything right again with my identity. Which I think is now secure once again. And all of this is in the last 25.3 hours.

I know our heroine whistled while she worked. I didn't. I'm mad and sad and glad. I'm mad at myself for being so lazy with the location of my wallet. I'm sad that my son was exposed to a violating experience in a place that has become so familiar. I'm glad that it's been just a day and it's just about behind me. And I would whistle but I might get more wrinkles. I bounce between a calm recognition that no one can steal my happiness by lifting my wallet, and a commando consideration of busting into Target and demanding to see the security camera footage of this couple spending thousands of dollars in the matter of minutes and, damn it, why wasn't identification requested or the signatures compared when the total of each transaction was over $300 a pop?

Sigh. I am home safe. My family is about the house having their own fun. My family further afar was there for me when I needed to cry in private (in my car, via cell phone.) I have friends on their way over. It's all good.

But Dear Thieves- I hope you slept well last night on the high of your score. And I hope you sleep well tonight absolved of any guilt you have over making my son feel nervous about criminals out among us (no honey, they don't all look like cartoon criminals with a 5 o'clock shadow and a bag of cash.) And I hope you dance joyously to the 3 songs you were able to buy online. And I hope the screen on the TV you bought is really big and that you can afford the cable bill to go with it. Maybe you have kids and you brought a smile to their faces. Have a good night, Thieves. I'd say I'll see you around but I suspect we may not be headed for the same place. I'll be over here doing the best work I can for my family, my friends and my community. Maybe I'll even be able to help you someday.