I’m in the middle of making octopuses for my grandchildren, and I underestimated one small detail: the legs.
All 48 of them.
Stuffing the legs turned out to be a much bigger project than I expected, not because it’s difficult, but because it’s slow. Each leg needs time. Each one asks for patience.
This weekend was unusual. My husband was traveling for work and, for once, he was gone over the weekend. The house was quiet in a way I don’t often experience. All of my time was my own.
I noticed myself reaching for my phone when I felt bored, slipping into doom scrolling without thinking. I also caught myself thinking about baking. A lot. I did make cookies, which felt like a reasonable compromise.
Most of my time, though, was spent stuffing octopus legs. Sitting with the repetition. Letting my hands stay busy while my mind wandered.
That kind of work creates space. As I worked, I found myself reflecting on being a mom, and on being a grandma. I’ve only been a grandmother for six years, and every year my grandchildren teach me something new about myself. They slow me down. They soften the edges. They remind me why making things by hand still matters.
I love those little buggers so much.
These octopuses aren’t finished yet, but they’re getting there. I’ll share more as they come together. If you follow along on Instagram or TikTok, you may have already seen a glimpse of them taking shape.
For now, it’s just me, a pile of legs, a quiet house, and a project that’s teaching me as much as I’m making.