I’m making a skirt out of old tshirts.
“It’ll be so cute!” I said.
“If it turns out well I can make one for Creativity!” I said.
“It’ll be easy! Just a few layers of ruffles and I’m done!” I said.
And then my sewing machine started barfing about every 6 inches.
I’m not even exaggerating! At least, not much. I guess sewing machines can’t *really* barf, but they can sure try.
For those of you who don’t sew, or can’t imagine why restarting every 5 inches would be a problem, picture yourself trying to sprint a 10 yard dash. No sweat, right? 10 yards is hardly anything!
Well, for people who like to run it might not be. It would probably do me in. But I figure if you really can’t understand what a massive annoyance it would be to restart sewing every 4 inches, you might be one of those outdoorsy, running sorts of people, so this analogy might work for you.
Anyway. You’re trying to sprint 10 yards… with your shoelaces tied together.
Mm-hm. Now tell me how much fun you’re having? How long will that little 10 yard sprint take you?
Yeah. That’s me. Cursing, threatening, pleading, begging, whining, vowing never ever ever to sew anything with gathers. Ever. Again.
Then vowing never to sew anything ever again!
Giving Mr. Smith irrational instructions that he probably won’t remember – though it might not be a bad idea.
“John, if I ever say something like, ‘Oh, I know! I’ll make _______!’ PLEASE, just order if off etsy, ebay, amazon, wherever, and hang the cost. Then come back the next day and say, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait to see that fantastic idea in person so I went ahead and bought it. Hope you don’t mind. It’ll be here the day after tomorrow.
“Make it look like you are confident I could actually follow through with said idea. You just – y’know- got excited and clicked buy on accident. Or something. That would work, too.”
Because the punchline is, I am never sewing anything ever again!
That’s what I think while I’m sewing, at any rate. Then I finish yet another row on this [exercise in patience] skirt, and it actually turns out like I’m envisioning, and I get irrationally happy. “Look! It’s working! I’m a genius! $52 on etsy? HA! I love this!!!”
No. Hate it.
No, love it.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
And then I think to myself — Hm. There is in this tirade a likeness to parenting sometimes. With certain stages. (Theirs or mine, I’m not sure.)
In the trenches I think, “What am I doing?!” or the forbidden “I just can’t do this. Can’t can’t can’t!” or the honest, “Okay, I *can* do this, I just really really want to be doing something else right now.”
Or any some such phrase when the going gets tough.
Then there’s a break in the fog for a moment or two, and I can see that they are turning out to be pretty decent people. Oh, look! They can share! They do look out for others! The can speak to adults without whining!
It’s a miracle!
And, actually, it really is.
Now.
Off to go finish that skirt…
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