Guest interview: "My hobby is doing special effects make-up!"

This time I talk to Nicole, 14, as she gets to work on us... 

How did you first get into special effects make-up?

I started doing it last summer after I met a girl at my mum's friend's wedding who did it. We became friends on Facebook and I saw her special effects photos and thought, "Ooh, I could try that".

Some people would say it's a very gruesome hobby! What would you say to them?

It's fun! It's artistic! It's creative! I want to be a paramedic and it's made me much less squeamish. Before, whenever I saw something bloody and horrible, I would have gone, "Oh woh woh", but now I'm like, "Oh...okay". It's good being able to watch a film or programmes like Casualty and think, "Ooh, that's fake". You can spot things straight away. I'd love to do make-up for TV. 

So how did you start?

I just got 99p fake blood and researched what I could make myself, like fake flesh out of flour and water with a bit of vaseline. But the blood was BRIGHT red and it was difficult to blend the edges of the flesh, so it looked a bit like having a dollop of cookie dough on your skin! 

But I did a cut and a bullet hole in my brother's cheek with that. Then I experimented with eye shadow, like browns and blues for wounds and bruises, and then I got this box for my birthday with face paints and latex and lots of sponges and brushes and that changed things quite a bit. *Look away now if you're squeamish!*

How hard is it to learn?

It takes time to work out what works and what doesn't and what colour combinations look realistic. I struggled with the very first ones. Even now, it often goes wrong. There's a lot of of wiping bits away, doing it again, wiping it away, doing it again. It definitely develops skills like perseverance and patience!

Where do you get your ideas?

I google YouTube all the time for inspiration. Sometimes you see something and you want to do it but you haven't got the right products, but you've got to be able to improvise, find something that will get the same effect. And you have to be confident – it won't work if you think it won't work!

How long does it take?

Bruises only take about two minutes. The longest I've ever spent doing something was three hours but that was a full half a face. On myself!

How often do you do it?

It's the thing I look forward to doing the most once I've got studying and stuff out the way. It's quite often what I do in the evenings. I just sit there experimenting on myself! I did my friend for Halloween – I did two bloody holes in her neck – and I did my brother's girlfriend the other day.

So, you've finished doing us now. Can we see the results...?
First, my daughter, who would only allow the merest hint of a bruise to be done on her...

Then me, with a right shiner...

And finally, my daughter's friend...

If you like this (or hate it and want a much lighter and fluffier make-up project!), you might like Unbratting the Bratz: Give a doll a makeunder.

The magic of metamorphosis: ‘Grow your own’ butterflies

Q. What's the best way to catch a butterfly?
A. Get it when it's still a caterpillar!

by Mirai Takahashi/CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

When we saw this kit in the toy shop we couldn’t resist it. It wasn’t the contents of the box itself – just a pop-up mesh enclosure, a feeding pipette and instructions. No, it was the promise of what was to come ...

It would enable us to watch the magic of metamorphosis unfold before our eyes in our very own living room. Yep, in just three to five weeks we’d be nose-to-proboscis with our very own Painted Lady – or five to be precise. 

Step One: Send off the enclosed certificate to claim our caterpillars-by-post! We rushed to the post box.

They arrived a few days later.

Oh, the excitement of receiving real, live, wriggly things in the post!

My daughter tore into the box and ... oh ... was that it? Five tiny black slivers. Utterly still ... or ... erm ... dead? Perhaps the journey by Royal Mail had been a bit rough.

The next day we were relieved to find they looked a bit more bendy and alive, though they only seemed to move when we weren't looking, sneaky devils. But frankly, they weren’t very interesting so we left them on the mantelpiece, mostly ignored.

Two weeks later, my daughter burst into the bathroom and thrust her head round the shower curtain: “Mummy, mummy, the caterpillars have really grown”. They had. Now they were jumbo, juicy, hairy-legged and Very Hungry Caterpillars, doing all kinds of gymnastics.They looked like they'd have no problem munching their way through a salami or a piece of chocolate cake or the entire contents of our fridge if allowed.

Fortunately all the food they needed was already contained in the tub. Apparently, it took the man who invented these kits three years of trial and error to come up with a recipe that would allow caterpillars to survive in a pot! They 'd also been spinning silk and shedding their exoskeletons and everything the instructions said they would.

One more week and they’d climbed to the top, attached themselves to the disc on the underside of the lid and solidified into chrysalises. Well, all except one poor caterpillar who had died and decomposed at the bottom of the tub.

The chrysalises were fascinatingly nervous at first. They quivered violently whenever we went near them – something they do to warn away predators the instructions informed us. "Keep your hair on," my daughter told them. "WE'RE not going to hurt you!" 

The next bit was a very delicate operation: We had to transfer the chrysalises from the tub to the mesh. We attached the disc to the side of it with a safety pin with the care and precision of a brain surgeon. We didn't want to drop them, or even worse, stab them.

The disc already looked like the eye pad of someone who’d been poked repeatedly in the eye with a fork. I guess it takes a lot of blood, sweat and tears to turn yourself into a chrysalis even if they'd made it look easy. 

Then the little b*ggers started playing dead again. "I think they're shrivelling up," said my daughter. “I’ll eat my hat if they’re alive,” said my husband. One even dropped off.

But I insisted we waited. Just in case. 

Then one morning, two weeks later, we noticed the chrysalises had gone dark. Hurray! This was exactly what they were supposed to do. It meant the butterflies would emerge that day! 

But what do you know? S*d's Law. We were going out. All day. We’d miss the moment we'd been waiting for: The 'birth' itself. The best I could do was leave the still-sleeping Teenager a note and the camera: IF THE BUTTERFLIES HATCH OUT, TAKE PHOTOS!!! I felt like a mother leaving her child in childcare for the first time.

They did emerge that day (though the Teenager missed it). We came home to find three exhausted-looking butterflies, wings closed, absolutely still. They looked more like brown moths.

More blood sweat and tears had been involved, it seemed. There was bright red liquid on the side of the mesh. But we'd been warned to expect this: It wasn't actually blood. It was a butterfly's first 'poo'– or meconium.

Now we could get a really good look at the empty chrysalis shell.

So we'd done it! Successfully reared three out of five caterpillar babies to butterflyhood. But I was exhausted myself. Who knew hatching butterflies was such an emotional roller-coaster? The amount of nervous energy I'd expended, you'd think I'd bred several litters of Giant Panda.

We prepared food for the butterflies, as instructed, as if they were real pets: ripe banana, fresh orange and home-made nectar (sugar dissolved in water) soaked into cotton wool with the pipette. We also filled their mesh with greenery and flowers from the garden.

And it wasn't long before the butterflies were tucking into their first meal. 

It was great to be able to see their little furry faces close up and watch their proboscis furling and unfurling. And did you know a butterfly tastes with its feet?

But we were very aware that they were 'borrowed wildlife.' The instructions recommended that we only kept the butterflies for a couple of days before releasing them outside – where they only live for up to five weeks – the same length of time as the process they'd been through to exist. "That's really sad," said my daughter. "It's like if human beings grew in the womb for nine months and lived for nine months."

On the morning of their release, my daughter climbed into bed with me. "I crept downstairs to look at the butterflies really early this morning,” she said."They're fascinating. They're so tiny but there’s so much detail. If there's a god, he must have had to concentrate really hard to make them.”

As we carried them out into the sunshine and fresh air, they immediately perked up, opening their wings wide and going all fidgety. We unzipped the mesh to set them free and ...

Did they go? Did they heck. They behaved like teenagers who liked the idea of leaving home but knew they had it easy having their food put in front of them everyday.

As there was rain forecast that night we rigged up a kind of shelter over the mesh with a chair and raincoat! We didn't want them to drown in their own enclosure!

The next morning still only one had gone. This was getting ridiculous. We tipped the mesh sideways and nudged them gently to the edge. 

And finally, finally they came out. But not with the fanfare we'd imagined, flying off into the sunshine and blue skies in search of pretty flowers. No. They just sat on the gravel like lazy slobs. Strooth.

We nudged them a little more and one climbed (clung?) onto my hand. Had being raised in captivity made them too tame?

We gave up and went indoors, hoping they wouldn't be instantly pounced on by a bird. When I came out half an hour later to hang the washing, I spotted them flying around the garden. Ah, thank goodness, they'd found their wings at last. And it was kind of nice that they wanted to hang around.

“It’s amazing," said my daughter."They started life in a tub. And now they’re part of nature.”

Then she remembered there was another certificate in the box we could send off for a caterpillar 'refill'. "Can we do that?" she asked.

"Um, maybe," I said. I needed a little lie-down first.

   GIVEAWAY!

Win a 'grow your own' butterflies kit worth £20 from Insect Lore. To enter, simply Like The Quirky Parent FB page if you haven't already (button below) and email the word butterfly to quirkyparent@gmail.com. Open worldwide. The winner will be chosen randomly and announced here on 10th July.


This competition is now closed. The winner is Kirstin Hutchins.

Guest interview: “A fairy lives in our house!”

I talk to Jasper, 8, about the little being that has taken up residence in his house. His big brother and sister – Isaac, 12, and Daisy, 16 – joined us too.

So how did it all start? I mean, how do you get a fairy to move into your house?

Jasper: My mum ordered a little door and it arrived in the post with a tiny key and fairy dust and you stick it on the wall and put the key there and pour out the fairy dust in front of it – it’s like gold and silver glitter – and if the fairy dust and key are gone in the morning, it means a fairy has moved in.

Isaac: I didn’t think it would work.

Jasper: But it did, didn’t it? [looks at Isaac, grinning and triumphant].

Did you choose the door?
Jasper: Yes, we got an orange one because we wanted to call our fairy Pumpkin.

Why Pumpkin?
Jasper: Because it was just after Halloween. Daisy had the idea.

Where did you put the door?
Isaac: We decided to put it at the top of the landing because we could check it every time we went up and down.
Daisy: But the fairy's worried about the avalanche of dirty washing there, isn't she?

How long was it before the fairy took the key and moved in?

Jasper: When I came out of my bedroom the next morning, about seven o’ clock, the fairy dust and key weren’t there!

Wow ... then what happened?

Jasper: After a few days we got a letter from her.
Daisy: She wrote us a really long one, didn’t she?
Jasper: Yes. On orange paper with swirly patterns all over it.

And we’d already had a tiny note before that with just “Thank you” on it.

Thank you for what?

Jasper: I’d made her breakfast. Tiny bits of toast and marmite and a cup of tea in a tiny lego helmet with playdough all around to stop it spilling out.

And what did she say in her letter?

Jasper: She said her name is [enunciates clearly] Pumpkin Nixie Fireglow. And she’s a Red Knot fairy.

What’s that?

Jasper: I think it’s a fairy with red hair … she said she had flaming red hair. And she said “Nobody likes a fairy with dreadlocks”.

Has she got dreadlocks then?

Jasper: No, but she said she lost her comb and you have to comb your hair, don't you? She asked us to look for it, but we can’t find it ‘cause it’s so tiny.

Do you know how old she is?

Jasper: 16.

That’s pretty young to leave home, isn't it?

Jasper: She said she’s 16 in human years, but in fairy years she’s 620. It’s the age fairies have to leave home. She’s got a place at tooth fairy training college.

Daisy: She said she’s going to practise on you, didn’t she, Jasp?

Jasper: Yes, [slightly concerned] but I haven’t got any wobbly teeth, have I? She said her mum collected Roald Dahl’s son’s teeth!

Have you written back to her?

Jasper: I’ve written about 15 letters. We have to communicate in letters. I usually write one and she writes back or she writes one and I reply. Like on the 1^st of December she wrote, “Time for you humanlings to eat some chocolate!”

Have you made or given her anything ?

Jasper: She asked me to ask Daisy to knit her a blanket for the winter. But she does have a fire in her house. And I put two lego figures for guards by her door and a flower – not a real one. 

Daisy: You can get stuff on the website too, like stepping stones and things, but we haven’t.

Do you think the fairy’s most interested in you, maybe because you’re the youngest?

Jasper: [Thinks] Maybe, ‘cause she says things like “What’s your sister’s name again?”. And she spelt Isaac’s name wrong.

Isaac: With two s’s instead of two a’s.

And have you ever seen her, Jasper?
Jasper: Well, she does come out but you can’t see her because she said it’s really only between night and morning ... like when the sun’s just come up ... you can get just a glimpse ... like a dot in the air.

And have you?
Jasper: No.

I hear you might get a neighbour for her?

Jasper: Not a neighbour, but we might get a green door and put it in our grandparent’s lodge in Cornwall. It’d be a Cornish pixie and we’d call it Jem.

Why Jem?

Daisy: Jem from Jamaica Inn, the book and the film, because it was filmed in Bodmin.

Have you told your friends at school about her?

Jasper: Yes, I told everybody but everyone else doesn’t believe it.
Isaac: [looking at Jasper]: It’s kind of like Santa. You have to believe in it for it to be true.

Do you believe in it, Daisy and Isaac?

Daisy: [Nods]

Isaac: Well, I wrote one letter and she wrote back to me, so I’m just gonna go with the magic!

Would your children like their own resident fairy? Jasper’s mum got the idea from My Own Fairy website and then bought a fairy door and a tiny key from ebay. See her insightful and wryly written blog Daisysmum.

Magical, mystery bathtime: Surprise them with an Underwater Light Show

Tomorrow we are off on a Very Big Trip. We are taking our daughter back to China, her country of origin, for the first time. It is an important and emotionally-charged journey with a visit to her “hometown” and the institute where she spent the first 10 ½ months of her life.

At the same time, we plan to have a big, fat, water-buffalo load of fun. We will visit Shanghai, and Yangshuo in the mountains, where one evening we hope to see the Liu Sanjie light Show on the waters of the Li River.

by mR.Son.Photo/CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 (adapted)

So before we go, I thought I’d share with you a nifty little gadget that creates a light show on the waters of Your Own Bath Tub. 

Doesn’t look like much, does it? But this 8cm chunk of plastic transforms the ordinary, everydayness of children's bathtime into something magical. It’s been lying dormant here on the side of the bath here for many months. But now that Autumn is here and it’s dark by 6.30 pm, we've got it doing its funky thing again.

It floats on the water, creating a myriad of multi-coloured, mesmerising effects under, on and over the bathwater – and any body in it! It’s a bit like Northern Lights for the indoors. Dancing rainbows in the dark. The kid’s version of a grown-up’s candle-lit bath – but funner.

We got ours about three years ago. I used it to surprise my son and daughter, separately (unsurprisingly, the Big One wasn’t so keen on shared baths past 11 years old!). I ran the bath, turned it on, popped it in, turned the light off, left the bathroom, pulled the door to, and shouted, “Bath’s ready!” in the most ordinary, everyday voice I could muster.

“Wow!” said my daughter, walking into the psychedelic world that was now our bathroom.

“What is that?” said my son, cool but curious, disappearing into the bathroom for a lot longer than is normal.

There are five different settings from Quick flashing (frankly, this one gives me a headache but the kids don’t seem to mind) to Morphing (one soothing colour at a time. I like this one best).

Yes, okay, I've used it in my own bath a couple of times. 

Of course, the kids naturally experiment with all the settings frantically at first, as well as turning it, spinning it and submerging it to explore all the different ways the water distorts and magnifies the light.

“If I do this, it looks like the pattern on peacock feathers,” said my daughter just the other night. “Look, now my arm's gone like that lady we saw at Giffords Circus, the one with fake tattoos all over her body.”

I have given these Underwater Light Shows (£7.99) as birthday presents for my daughter's school chums (By the way, I have nothing whatsoever to do with the company that sells them – just in case you were wondering!). Ours has also doubled as a disco light in my daughter's bedroom, lodged inside the bottom of her lampshade.

Yep, this little thing is definitely more than the sum of its parts.

Back in a couple of weeks!