Note: this post was written in 2013. I’m glad to say that my boys have outgrown (most of) this behavior in public 🙂
Hey all, I’m in the midst of a ton of pattern stuff that I can’t wait to share with you next week. So there’s not a project based post today, but instead I want to share a couple sewing horror stories with you, because now they’re funny. And I’m hoping you’ll share some with me as well, because I could use the laughter to de-stress!
Before those two trouble plotters above came along, the worst thing I had ever done sewing was put a needle through my finger. Zipper foot, trying to shove fabric through (curtains, I think) and I sewed right through my nail. Then I sat there stupidly staring at it while I wondered what to do next.
Have I ever mentioned I’m not the best in an emergency? Side story: once, when we were first married, I set fire to dinner and the kitchen. And then stood there staring and pointing, saying, “Fire. Fire.” And then gave the wrong address to 911. Luckily Hubby is cool-headed in an emergency, and he put the fire out, got the cat out of the smoke-filled apartment, and singed all the hair off his arms.
So, back to the sewing needle. Hubby to the rescue again. He unscrewed the needle so I could remove my hand from the machine, then cut the end of the needle off with wire cutters and pulled the rest out so we didn’t have to go to the ER.
Unfortunately, even Super Hubby couldn’t save me from the next two trouble-plotted incidents. Which are really more of fabric store horror stories than sewing stories, but here we go…
A major chain fabric store was on the way home from my last teaching job. So one day I pop in after school with Tater and Bean to pick up who knows what. I can’t remember because of the horror that ensued. I do remember that this was the store that at the time had grumpy employees, and that I was in the upholstery aisle. And out of the blue, with no warning, Bean starts projectile vomiting everywhere. I was two steps away from the cart looking at fabric, so it didn’t get on me, but I heard the splat and resorted to my typical emergency mode: I froze and stared at him while he continued to projectile vomit like the Poltergeist kid.
When I finally recovered my senses, he had stopped, and I wheeled him and the vomit cart to the restroom, shouting something at the cutting table ladies on my way. Luckily, there were paper towels and those anti-bacterial cart wipes, so I stripped the kid to his diaper and commenced wiping him and the cart.
The grumpy lady at the front looked at me strangely wheeling my almost naked baby to the front of the store, where I stopped and asked for a plastic bag to put his vomit clothes in. She handed it to me with a sniff of her nose and two finger tips. Thank goodness this was before Austin passed the plastic bag ban we have now, or I don’t know what I’d have done. Thrown his clothes away? It’s not like I had a diaper bag or someplace in the car to put them; this was supposed to be a short trip on the way home. And for all I knew, the kid wasn’t even sick. He was fine, and then boom! Vomit city.
Are you enjoying the horror? Well, then I have one more for you. It takes place at a different (usually friendlier) location of the same chain store. I had a ton of fabric to buy, the cutting line was long, and we were finally, finally in line for the register. The boys were starting to get on each other’s nerves and mine.
A long line starts forming behind me (I was second in line) and I look up to realize there is only one cashier. Minutes tick by. It’s my turn, and there are now no less than 10 people behind me. I have my coupons out, ready to go, and the end is in sight. We roll up to the register, she rings my stuff, I’m about to swipe my card and all the sudden, with no warning, Tater hauls back and cold-cock punches Bean in the face.
Yes, that was me. Holding up the now 12 person line while my 2 year old cried because his 4 year old brother had inexplicably PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE. Let me just say, Tater is lucky that I freeze in an emergency, because another mom might have punched him in the face after that stunt. I kid. Of course you shouldn’t punch a kid in the face. Ever. But as a mom I also know that sometimes the impulse to do exactly that is pretty strong. Especially when said 4 year old has just punched his baby brother dead in the face for no reason. And Bean is not usually a passive kid – he’ll give as good as he gets, and the only thing that prevented this from turning into mini Fight Club at the fabric store is that he was as shocked as I was.
So I put Tater in the cart, picked up Bean, swiped my card and keyed in my pin three times because I was so flustered, and got the heck out of there, while trying not to notice the stares and, yes, laughter (there were a couple of dads in line) of the customers behind me.
Now please, I hope you’ve had some laughter at my expense, but do me a favor and share your sewing or fabric shopping horror story. I’d like to know I’m not the only mom in the world that has this kind of stuff happen.