Winter Pinecone Birdfeeder Craft

As a stay-at-home mom, keeping my four and half year old son, Nate, entertained is a challenge.  Unless I allow him to play computer games or Wii, he looks to me to be his playmate every minute of the day.  I have to admit I was a bit anxious when I thought of what we could do over Christmas break while he was home from school until we received a package with gifts from my sister-in-law.  Since she lives in the mountains of Arizona, she went green and used pinecones instead of bubblewrap for filler.  When I saw the pinecones, I immediately had an idea how to repurpose them.

Last year, Nate's preschool teachers had the kids make pinecone birdfeeders.  With minimal cost, this craft project kept him occupied for over an hour.  I liked that Nate had fun while doing it, nothing electronic was involved and I believe it helped build some self confidence in him.

Here's what you'll need:  6 medium sized pinecones, 2 cups of crisco, small bag of birdseed mix, 2 small bowls (1 each for crisco & seed), 6 pieces of yarn/string about a foot long, spatula and newspaper.   

Lay a few layers of newspaper over a flat workspace.  Take each piece of yarn/string and tie to the tips of the pinecones.

Using a spatula, scoop the crisco and spread onto the pinecone.  Gently push the crisco in between the leaves of the pinecone.  If using your fingers, be careful as the pinecones can be sharp. 

Here's what the pinecone will look like when done with the crisco.

Roll the pinecone in the birdseed.  Use hands to press the seed well into the crisco.

Here's the finished product!

Hang the birdfeeders outside, preferably within a view from inside so you can enjoy the birds who come to visit!

A Basic Instinct

Here it is only a few days after Christmas and we got our first snow storm of the season.  I like snow simply because outside looks like a giant sugar bowl has been overturned and poured its contents over all of nature.  If the weather is going to be cold, there may as well be visual interest. 

Another thing that amuses me at least once every winter season is how people invade grocery stores and gas stations as if an apocalypse is impending.  It only takes one confident announcement from the news media that snow is on the way and as if on cue, an ancient genetic switch is flipped within people.  They become filled with a nervous energy instructing them to buy large quantities of food and a readiness to bunker down in their homes for days as if a disabling storm rages outside.  It is for this very reason that I don’t venture out a day or two before an announced storm.  The grocery store environment is similar to a boiling pot of water where the people are like erratic molecules bumping into each other.  Just like a boiling pot of water if I get bumped too much, I will blow my lid off.

Why do we humans still have that overwhelming instinct to stock up and lock down when we hear snow is coming?  Perhaps evolution hasn't caught up yet.  In the area where I live, there is a grocery store within every ten miles.  That convenience offers to always have in our homes the essentials such as milk, eggs and bread.  Also, with the technology in our cell phones alone, we can get email, watch movies and maybe even reposition a few satellites.  So knowing the weather forecast for the week isn’t at all difficult, making planning very easy.

I’ve noticed a trend year after year that weather forecasters predict snow for Christmas.  Most times they’re wrong.  Out of habit, I check the weather daily to see what the high temperatures will be as well as if there are any storms in the near future.  All week long, there was a prediction for some snow on Christmas weekend.  Then on Christmas Eve while watching tv, the weather lady on the news station reported that the computer models showed the snow storm was not going to affect our area at all.  Computers are not infallible, right?

On the morning of the day after Christmas, I did my usual routine of checking email, reading some news and of course, perusing the weather forecast for the week.  To my surprise, there was a small link on the side that read, “Winter Storm Warning”.  I was even more surprised after clicking on the link that it said our area was going to get eight to ten inches.  Within minutes I get a text from my brother, Matt, who happens to share my slightly obsessive need to know the weather.  “I’m heading to the grocery store.  We’re going to get a storm.”  I get that sinking feeling that I should probably go to the store too.  Being that my sister hosted Christmas day brunch and I was sick with the flu just days before that, I didn’t have much food.  I didn’t want to endure the chaos I knew was ensuing at the grocery store.  I convinced myself that although I didn’t have the usual supply of food goods I like to have on hand on any given day, I had enough to get me through to the next day.  I would have to get very creative culinary style.   Hmm, how about canned beans casserole?

A few hours later my phone rang.  It was Matt telling me how obnoxiously crowded the grocery store was.  He also told me how he had seen a car flipped on its roof on the highway even though there was very little snow on the ground.  I told him to be careful and get home quickly.  “I’m just going to make a quick stop at the gas station and then head home,” he replied.  As we continued to talk about other things, suddenly his tone changed to frustration.  Apparently, there were long lines at the gas pumps. People were filling up gas cans for their snow blowers and possibly generators since this was the first storm of the season.  Matt is not one to be slowed down when he’s on a mission of any kind so he drove by and headed to the next gas station only to find the same crowded situation.

Irony and the atypical blizzard had played a good trick on both Matt and I.  We are the armchair mockers who ridicule others for their last minute rush for gas and food while we champion ourselves for preparing accordingly.  We muse that survival instinct wins over common sense of living in a suburban area where convenience abounds and chances of being snowed in for days on end is extremely small.  After all, we don’t live in the mountains of Montana.  However this time, poor weather forecasting combined with wind whipped snow after a wonderfully relaxing holiday was the best recipe for duping us; making us the same people we laugh at.  Nature got the best of us this time and I’m sure she got a laugh from it.

Not So Nice Fitting Genes

This will sound like bragging but it is simply the truth.  Before I was pregnant, I never had a problem finding clothes that fit me.  My shape had essentially stayed the same since high school up until pregnancy.  I knew what styles flattered me and clothing shopping was quite easy.  For years I tried to put a few pounds on to look a little less scrawny but my metabolism remained in overdrive, efficiently burning calories.  Then I turned thirty.  The extra helpings of desserts and the afternoon snacks at the vending machine began to hug my hips with everlasting love.  I didn’t take too much notice because I still fit in my clothes just fine.

I could not ignore the extra weight gain after the sixth month into my pregnancy.  This was more than just baby weight.  My baby made me crave ice cream like never before.  The consistent volume of a few half gallons I was ingesting weekly started to accumulate everywhere on my body.  I was jolted into reality when the doctor started to express concern for my rapid weight gain.  One even told me outright that I wasn’t going to be happy with how I looked after my baby was born.  Sure enough, she was right.

Unfortunately, I was not one of those women who have a baby and then within a few weeks get the pre-pregnancy body back.  I was surprised to find that I had to wear two sizes larger than before baby.  I know that doesn’t seem like a lot but that equated to about twenty pounds extra.  For someone who couldn't even gain two pounds when trying, this was astounding.  I thought surely after six months I’d start to slim down.  I waited expectantly but the number on the scale didn’t budge. 

Depression hovered over me so I tried to look at the positive side of the situation.  My new size demanded a new wardrobe but when I got to the store and tried clothes on, my positive attitude went out the door quicker than cashmere cardigans on clearance at TJ Maxx.  Absolutely everything I tried on didn’t fit.  I was so used to everything fitting and looking nice and here I was finding nothing that fit correctly.  Those full length mirrors were no help either.  They revealed a view I found quite repulsive.  My former six pack abs looked more like the Michelin tire man’s and my thighs revealed icky caches of lumpy cellulite.  My body had begun to transform into looking like my grandmother’s!

The most frustrating part of this transformation was trying to find pants or jeans that fit.  I must have an old fashioned body shape because the so called modern fit jeans style does not fit me.  I have tried on all brands from $99 to $13.99 and they all have waistbands that hang four inches below my bellybutton, creating the dreaded muffin top, and show more crack than a sidewalk.  Is it too much to ask for a pair of pants that camouflage unwanted curves and cover that junk in my trunk?

This past summer I triumphed over my lack of love for myself by losing a total ten pounds and reassessing my life.  I thought about what was important to me before my physical metamorphosis and what has become important to me since.  Certainly family and friends top the list.  Most importantly, I rediscovered that I am a creation of God.  Psalm 139:14 says, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made…”  I believe my soul is eternal even after this body, whatever shape it is, dies.  It is how I live my life, not my looks that make me who I am.  Previously I relied on my looks to open doors for me, literally and figuratively.  When I look back to that time in my life, I sheepishly realize how shallow and self-centered I was.  Now instead of hoping someone will hold doors open for me, I am quick and glad to open doors for those who need it.  The more I do for others with a glad heart, the better I feel.  Learning that key lesson has been a true blessing in my life.

So, you may be wondering if I ever found pants that fit.  Yes, I did!  The “at waist” fit pant is a very rare find in clothing stores but I did find one affordable store that carries them.  It’s ironic that fashionistas sourly refer to this style as “mom pants” but rather than take offense to that labeling, I wear them with pride.