Yesterday I was making more fabric covered notebooks for yet more teachers--I forgot about those lovely and patient women who strive to teach my small children ballet--when it hit me hard that if I do actually work on sewing projects the trade off is that my kids trash the house. Gone is the notion of cleaning up one thing before dragging out ten more. The family room becomes a tornado of toys, most of them in various animal forms. I get the most peace when they sneak into my bedroom. The trade-off there is that all the sheets and blankets get stripped from the California King bed. The one with the cool Danish bed frame that requires heaving up the enormously heavy latex mattress to tuck the sheets back under. It's at times like those that I think to myself, "Wow, I could get a lot more done if these kids weren't around!" Which is quickly followed by the realization that if the kids weren't around I'd probably be at a job that I detested on some level. And after all the only reason I started sewing again was to make Halloween costumes the year before last. (Ella wanted to be a ghost, which seems simple until you realize that you don't actually want your [then] four year old to have a sheet over her head).
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