My time is our family's most prized commodity, and I sit here at exactly 9:44pm, unshowered still, having just barely finished eating my dinner because so many things came before cleanliness and food today. Or, I should rephrase that: so many things came before MY cleanliness and MY food today. Everyone else was full of grilled cheese and freshly bathed by seven.
I feel run ragged-- I don't sit still at all during my day, but there is no proof of this. The Christmas tree is still brazen in a bay window, the stockings are only stacked somewhere for me to trip over tomorrow, the mantle still gleams like Christmas morning. The family room taunts with the scattered litter of the day: trains and thread and helmets and homework and orange peels and books. I ache to hurry and pick it all up (I am too tired to pick it all up), but I promised myself: I will do this. I will write.
So back to the beginning. My time. Hot commodity.
Part of the day was framed around getting Cub Scout uniforms in working order and so there was no choice... out came the sewing machine. I wish I was a seamstress. I wish i was a budding seamstress. I wish piecing things together didn't frustrate me so. But the time taken on applying the patches was so precious and the reward only mildly satisfying.
There was a day (almost 11 years ago, exactly), as I awaited my first baby and busily sewed her a layette. More than a layette. A wardrobe of dresses with Peter Pan collars and pearl buttons up the back-- dresses ridiculously frivolous for a baby. (Dresses that, once baby made her debut, mostly hung on hooks in her room as decoration.) I remember walking into the fabric store wearing my trusty Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls, and the side buttons were unbuttoned and stretched wide to accommodate my nine pound baby girth and I purchased yard upon yard of unbabyish fabrics-- sophisticated miniature prints and matelasse for a totally useless coat-- and the woman at the cutting table asked what I was up to, and I replied, "I don't know."
I still don't know. Back then the process of tossing caution to the wind, and an entire afternoon too, and eventually ending up with something fit to adorn (baby or wall) was fun. Now it's just too time consuming.
So there it is. Maybe I just don't like sewing right now because it's simply a luxury of time that I cannot afford.
Or maybe it's all just the interrupting kitty's fault.