When I was young, I always assumed that once I became a grown-up, I would automatically acquire all of the necessary domestic skills that many adults have. I'm not sure why this is, since my own mother (though possessing many domestic talents in the cooking and cleaning areas) struggled with crafts like sewing and knitting. But now I know better.
Oh, how I know.
Tonight, Mr. Husband had a post-work social event, so I took advantage of my post-bedtime solitude to pull out the sewing machine. (Lady Infant's need to be. held. every. minute. of. wakefulness, and Sir Toddler's fascination with the plug and the foot pedal make sewing a rare event around here.) My plan was to start three projects and hopefully finish two of them. I started with a binky leash, since some of the ones I used with Sir Toddler magically disappeared.
This may have partly been a move of desperation since I recently evaluated my closet and realized that I have ONE pair of skinny jeans that fit my postpartum body and doesn't have holes in the knees. However, in my eagerness to have TWO pairs of skinny jeans that (sort of) fit my postpartum body and don't have holes in the knees, I completely bungled the measuring and marking step, so I made them way too narrow, even for skinny jeans. So we're back to the drawing board, fig and lit.
My plans to make a nursing cover should go swimmingly.
My sewing skills may not have progressed from my fifth-grade introduction-to-sewing pillow project, but I do pride myself in my cooking skills (even if I mostly just follow instructions from my mother, my grandmother, or Christopher Kimball). However, I struggled for years to master pancakes...
Oh, how I know.
Tonight, Mr. Husband had a post-work social event, so I took advantage of my post-bedtime solitude to pull out the sewing machine. (Lady Infant's need to be. held. every. minute. of. wakefulness, and Sir Toddler's fascination with the plug and the foot pedal make sewing a rare event around here.) My plan was to start three projects and hopefully finish two of them. I started with a binky leash, since some of the ones I used with Sir Toddler magically disappeared.
If you know how to put pictures side by side, post a comment on this webzone.
It came out ok from this distance, but if you look closely the thread tension is hoooorribly off. And the bobbin jammed about 1076 times before I realized I had threaded the top thread incorrectly. On a Brother machine, which is 9846 times more user-friendly than the 1970 Sears Kenmore I was rocking (not rocking at all) for a few years.
The fact that this project took almost an hour didn't discourage me from moving on to my next project...
Converting a pair of hand-me-down flares to skinny jeans.
This may have partly been a move of desperation since I recently evaluated my closet and realized that I have ONE pair of skinny jeans that fit my postpartum body and doesn't have holes in the knees. However, in my eagerness to have TWO pairs of skinny jeans that (sort of) fit my postpartum body and don't have holes in the knees, I completely bungled the measuring and marking step, so I made them way too narrow, even for skinny jeans. So we're back to the drawing board, fig and lit.
My plans to make a nursing cover should go swimmingly.
My sewing skills may not have progressed from my fifth-grade introduction-to-sewing pillow project, but I do pride myself in my cooking skills (even if I mostly just follow instructions from my mother, my grandmother, or Christopher Kimball). However, I struggled for years to master pancakes...
This is considered a successful attempt. And in case you're pinning me as a domestic breakfast diva, this was dinner.
yes, pancakes.
I also love having a systematic approach to storing and preparing ingredients. I occasionally buy whole chickens on sale, butcher them at home, freeze the parts, make stock from the carcass, and then make a meal from the carcass meat...and so on. Since I usually drive 20 minutes over two town lines to shop at the most magical place on earth every other week, the freezer figures heavily into my system. So you'd think that I would know better than to thoughtlessly shove a 3-lb package of ground beef into the freezer without first portioning it.
Apparently not. Again, in case you were pinning me a domestic diva from my chicken story...
However, there is a happy ending to this story.
I got a fever. And the only cure is more meatballs.
Maybe I'll have all this down by the time my children are old enough to remember their childhood?
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