A Place Of My Own

A couple years ago we moved into this house, which is much bigger than the house we lived in before. But even with more rooms and more space, I couldn't figure out a place to set up an area of my own. A place to sew and keep my stuff and just do whatever. I'm pretty easy going and mostly I got over it, but sometimes when I started thinking about it a lot I got pretty annoyed. Every time I wanted to sew it was such an ordeal because the dining room table was it. Chris and I would talk about it once in awhile and try to figure something out, but nothing ever came of it.


Well I'm happy to report that finally we figured out where I can have a work space in the family room. Chris rearranged some stuff and started setting it up for me, and even though there's still a lot to do, my area is now usable. Hooray!


I already made my first project. I wanted a little pouch to keep my sewing scissors in and other little things that I use often. I found directions online for exactly what I had in mind, made a pattern, and got down to business. I'm pretty much a learn as I go kind of girl when it comes to sewing, and my technique has a lot of room for improvement. I somehow missed an important step in the directions (duh! moment) and had to remove some stitches, but I still finished in one night. I'm really happy with how it came out. I can't wait to try something else! Now we're in the midst of re-arranging kid bedrooms and trying to get some things organized, but I'll be thinking of what my next project will be...

Life Doesn't Always Have to Be Scary

I was raised, with the best of intentions, in fear. The purpose was to keep me safe, but at times the over-protectiveness was a bit stifling.

Cooking, for example, is a mystery to me that I just sort of stumble through because, well, we George's like to eat. But my mom never taught me to cook since she was absolutely certain I would burn the house down if I got near the stove. Luckily I can read and more or less follow a recipe, but there are times I think to myself, "shouldn't I have learned how to do this like 20 years ago?"

And I suppose my mom never taught me to sew because then I would have, you know, pricked my finger and fallen into the inevitable sleep of 100 years. Because that is what always happens when you mess with dangerous sewing needles. My aunt gave me a sewing machine a few years ago, by the way, and I've pretty much taught myself how to use it (and lived to tell!). However, the truth is I don't exactly know what I'm doing. Which is kind of sad since my mom and her sisters can sew like nobody's business. 

I don't mean to pick on my mom. I was an only child. So I naturally lived in a parallel universe where danger lurked around every corner. Particularly perilous were the unassuming, "safe" seeming things; you know, like puppy dogs and parked cars. Anyone who knows my mom will be nodding in acknowledgment right about now, because I am not exaggerating. At all.

Now that I'm a parent myself, I know how absolutely terrifying it sometimes feels to let go and give my children opportunities to explore and learn, and how unnerving it can be to stand back even though they might get hurt. Last summer when Bethany wanted to ride her bike around the block, I hyperventilated a little but I let her do it. Okay, it took some convincing, but I let her do it. And I didn't follow her. (I did make her take her brother). When she asks to cook scrambled eggs or grilled cheese sandwiches, I panic slightly on the inside, but I agree - with only a minimal number of reminders to be careful. I may have been known to say something like "don't catch your hair on fire" once or twice, but geeze, that could happen.

But the thing is, I don't want my kids to live in a world of "what if?". I want them to take chances and push themselves out of their comfort zones and do things they never thought they were capable of. 

I don't want them to be afraid to LIVE. 

I don't want them to wait until they're living in a dorm with no clean underwear to learn how to use a washing machine. Although where's the danger there? Maybe that one had more to do with fear of material damage. Or else the drowning thing. Because you know a 2x4 could randomly fall from the ceiling, hit you in the head and knock you out cold, thereby causing you to fall head first into the washing machine, left to drown with no one around to help you. It could happen.  

A little bit of fear is a good thing. If fear keeps my kids from doing drugs or drinking and driving or going to bed without brushing their teeth, well I'm totally okay with that. Yes! Be afraid! But I guess I want them to save the fear for the big stuff. And I'll try to do the same.

(even though it's really, really hard).