These would stab you in THE BACK.
I have this voice in my head that says that if I make it…it’s cheaper and better and more original and completely unique. The same voice also tells me that anything you cook yourself is better for you than something you could get while eating out and that you’ll never gain weight or get sick from gorging.
That voice doesn’t realize my capacity for complete and utter failure at every stitch.
My mom is the kind of generous person that offers to help with and/or pay for everything you need or might want or might possibly come across at some point in your life.
We’ve actually gotten in fights about it. (I know. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Just take the money Val.)
So when my mom offered to help me make curtains for our new house I took a step back to observe life lessons and quickly accepted her gift.
So this last week we finally got around to making our bedroom curtains. We’ve had something just kind of draped over the top of the window for the last 6 months.
We picked out this really fun paisley print and a silky little number in a cool grey blue.
We were so excited and got started with a bang.
My mom said something about measuring…I figured she was talking to someone else
We then sewed half the curtains inside out.
Yay seam ripper!
Then I tried sewing the slippery grey fabric to the nice sturdy paisley.
Nope. Bumps everywhere.
Then I tried it another way.
Machine spit thread everywhere.
Then the liner wasn’t fitting the rest of the curtain…*cough* should have listened about measurements *cough*
No one will see the back right?
Then I basted everything and then machine stitched everything.
Of course after you machine stitch you have to take the basting stitch out…so…
You guessed it.
Next was the rod pocket which went pretty well except when I made the entire bottle of fray check explode everywhere. That was just the loveliest. I think that was when I stopped swearing and started crying.
But now they are finished.
And though I think I was a terrible person to be around while trying to get this done (a whole week) I must say it was rewarding. The more I do for the house – each little step – makes me feel like I am pouring work into my family and our home. The more I work the more I feel like I am bringing us closer to a peaceful place to live. The more needles I break and tears I pretend are sweat the more I realize what a joy it is to even have this opportunity.
Only 6 months ago we were crammed into a tiny apartment with nothing we could make our own. Now we have this lovely place where I get to mess up the curtains and weed (haven’t done that in a while) and yell at the dog for eating the baby’s basket and make dinner and clean the dishes that follow. I GET to do it all.
Maybe I’m wrong about doing things yourself. Maybe it’s not better. Maybe it’s more of a hassle. Maybe it’s just not worth the time. But I’m not really sure I care.
It doesn’t matter if it kills me…I’m going to make this place our own.
In other parts of my world: I LOVE Tums. Why did I forget this. Oh…maybe it was a suppressed memory from that one time I overdosed on them.