The first Saturday of October is one of my favorite days of the year. It rivals dress like a cow day at Chickfila and Frappe-hour at Starbies in the summer. It is the one day a year where I go to sleep on Friday and overnight all the magical little elves come and set up their very special craft shops. The morning holds a fantastic site as over 300 white tent vendors have made their homes for the next 8 hours in the park across from my apartment.
It is crafting in all it’s glory. I spend hours walking up and down rows of hot glue and serger goodness. I am dazzled by faux fall foliage and Christmas adornments. I am in love with 90% of everything I see. I take notes thinking, surely I could replicate something like that. . .but I never can. So I just buy it. And revel in my crafty purchases.
This year I fell in love with a little stuffed pig. Made from old wool sweaters by the cutest braces wearing 13 year old, it sat perched in a little wheelbarrow waiting for a home. I loved that pig the moment I laid eyes on it’s snout. I spent many of my precious craft fair minutes holding the pig, talking about the pig, embracing the pig, pacing around the pig. But a stuffed animal? Why was this pig so alluring?!
Well, let me just show you. . .
There was no resisting. The 13 year old crafter looked me in the eyes knowing my love for the pig was separated by the price tag and said, “would you like me to sell it to you for less?”
And so the pig came home with me.
And for the baby, my pig will be.
To be continued. . .