Idle Hands

Last year my mom gave me a really nice sewing machine, after I experienced a strange spurt of craftiness. I discovered hand embroidery after looking for something with which to occupy myself after The Poo went to bed—something besides Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls.

The ease of that type of crafting whetted my appetite for more. Which is really odd, for those who know me. The fact that this surge of creativity came with pregnancy isn’t lost on me. I blame the hormones.

After I took a couple lessons on the machine my mom sent, I spent a Sunday afternoon making these little creatures for The Poo:

Now, she sleeps with them every night. Their names are Big Monster and Little Monster, which aptly sums up our household now.

After Shaggy was born, The Hot Fuss™ drained me of my will to live took up all my spare time, and I stopped sewing altogether. In the fall we did a major purge, and most of my craft materials got stowed in the basement. The sewing machine gathers dust in the guest room closet.

Lately, though, I’m restless. Like I want to make something, the way my mother used to make special things for me. Maybe, just maybe, life is finally slowing down enough to allow my hands—my cooking, cleaning, diapering, hugging and holding hands—to be idle.