So, I posted a few pictures of the bags that I made on Facebook. Now? I have four orders. Um, people, you know that three weeks ago I was cursing at my machine because I couldn't thread it, right? And now people want to pay for something I made? I won't complain, but feeling a little overwhelmed already. It is a good overwhelming feeling, but scary nonetheless.
So, my hubby got me a sewing machine (10 years ago, shut up). And I decided to dust it off (which took a great deal of effort, again, shut up) and teach myself how to sew. It started off rough, but once I cried, drank some wine, and called my beloved aunt to help me, I found the instruction manual and begrudgingly decided to use it. Here is the funny part, as anti-instruction manual as I am, guess my profession? Go ahead. I'm a technical writer who WRITES instruction manuals. I know, I am rebelling against the one thing that pays bills. And please do not comment or make mental note of any grammar, punctuation, or spelling errors you see here. I'm not getting paid for this, so my level of concern for that stuff is, well, let's just say "non-existent".
Okay, so I got my machine threaded, my fabric purchased, my "pattern" figured out, I was ready to rock! And break a needle. And cry more into my glass of Stella Rosa. Note to all that are new to sewing, READ YOUR MANUAL! You can thank me for learning that hard lesson for you. Yes, yes, you are welcome. There are terms in online tutorials that are not intuitive (not to me at least).
Okay, so I'd go into more details on the process, but I'm not here to teach. I'm just here to complain and show off my projects.
I was making ice cream sundaes for us the other, I asked him what he wanted on his. He said, "ketchup". Um, gross, kid.
While changing his diaper, he looked down and said, "Mommy, my pee pee is big and strong!" I initially laughed (doomed now, I know). Then I recoiled at the thought of him telling that to one of his many girls in his daycare harem. I said, "We don't talk like that!" His response? "But it IS big and strong." So not looking forward to the inevitable call from daycare.
In Target, E decided that my boobs were squeaky. He started grabbing both of them while shrieking "SQUEAKY!". Since he was riding in the cart, I couldn't escape and any efforts to thwart his behavior resulted in louder proclamations that my boobs were squeaky. Thanks kid, that sweet looking grandma-type person is blushing in our general direction and mommy wants to die after downing an entire industrial-sized bottle of moscato.
Last night, E tooted and I replied with an exuberant "Gross!" He said, "No! It's so good!" No, kid, it really isn't.
It was raining and E said, "Mommy, it is raining. How do we make the sun come back?" Good question little buddy.
"Mommy, what is this?"
"A baby apple."
"Mommy, where do babies come from?"
Whenever he is in trouble, he says, "Mommy, you are my best friend." Well played my child, well played.