Baby registry: tie-dye!

There’s no way out of this one. Our baby is going to be a hippie.

And what better accessory for a future pants-are-optional, the-forest-is-my-playground, hula hoop-spinning child than a quilt like this one?

Actually, I didn’t plan this. I’ve been carting around this fabric for about seven years. I don’t remember what my original intentions were, but as the old saying goes, when life gives you tie-dye and batik fabric, sew a baby blanket!

I used a disappearing 9-block technique, which was surprisingly easy. The quick turnaround was refreshing after I recently finished a full-sized and somewhat complicated quilt for my sister’s undergrad graduation. (That quilt took me, ah, five years to complete—including a very, very, very long hiatus that spanned her graduation from a master’s program and her wedding. Oops! Sorry, Aims.)

I didn’t use a pattern but rather just sewed pieces together, so the quilt turned out quite a bit bigger than I expected. But as Eric pointed out, newborns turn into toddlers, so Peeper will grow into the larger blanket size.

I grew up eyeballs-deep in tie-dye in Eugene, where hippies go to die, as my dad likes to say. It’s a place where you can dance in a drum circle after ordering a vegan burrito made with a sprouted wheat tortilla or chat up the local head shop owner about the comparative merits of Grateful Dead bootleg tapes. Eugene’s counterculture charm is all its own.

I wasn’t born there, though, and so had to learn the ways of this former Ken Kesey haunt. My family moved to Eugene from South Dakota when I was about two and a half. As family lore now recounts, we visited the Saturday Market not long after we arrived. My mom, grandma and I were in the food pavilion when I tapped my mom on the hip. In the whisper-shout famous to toddlers, I asked, “Mom, why does that man have cat barf on his head?”

I’d never seen dreadlocks, so little wonder I mistook them for hairballs, which I was much more familiar with. (We had a lot of cats.)

I’m guessing that Peeper will know the difference between vomit and dreadlocks from a young age. (In fact, our dog Finn’s tail is full of dreads—a combination of his long fancy-prancy hair and his tendency to snap whenever a brush nears his pride and joy.) I hope, too, he or she grows up with the carefree spirit found in dance circles and tofu pate food carts. What’s to dislike about the ideals of peace and love?