Hadley has taken an interest in sewing and asked to bring my sewing machine out of the catacombs. I warned her “that’s fine but you’re on your own,” which is a subtle way of saying I don’t even remember how to thread that thing.
Fortunately, there is a glorious thing called YouTube for tutorials. And her friend Alex who stayed with us a couple of nights while her parents were in Mexico and the girls cranked out this cute skirt our of an old bed skirt.
It’s not that my mom and grandma didn’t try to develop my domestic prowess. When most kids are getting sent to their rooms for bad behavior, this tomboy was sent to the kitchen. Suffice it to say, I spent most of my childhood there. Sewing is out of the question. A wave of nausea still comes over me whenever I get within 20 feet of a fabric store.
The last time I had that sewing machine out was when Hadley was a baby and my friend Sue came for a visit. I knew I had to solicit her help. She has been sewing for more than 20 years and actually enjoys it. Imagine that! One of the few things that helped Haddie jump from 2 hours to a whopping 4-hour stretch of sleep was this little miracle blanket called a sleep sack. A friend gave it to me when Haddie was six months old and it did wonders. The only problem is no one sells this little fleece sleeping bag and Haddie already established there waw NO WAY she is giving up her blankie for some new kid who’s going to draw Grandma’s attentions away from her.
Enter, Sue. I innocently brought up the subject shortly after her arrival and she looked at me suspiciously, “You don’t want me to sew it, do you?” “Ohhhhh no!” I generously told her I just needed “guidance.” Yeah, right.
And so I brought the sewing machine out of the catacombs and plugged it in. And then she warily watched me as I searched for the power button. When I finally located it after about five minutes, I did a victory dance. It was then that she knew just how bad off we were. And how long the process would inevitably take with my pedal to the metal so she reluctantly volunteered. Victory!
But then came regret. That’s all it took? Displaying my utter and complete incompetence upfront?
If only I’d figured out this strategy years ago; it would’ve saved me countless hours of futile Domestic-Diva-in-Training sessions.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 