Morning time for me is a timed event.
I feel like I should probably get a medal for achieving each task and the grand prize of defeating the mini Boss at the end of the day. Only, we all know that once you defeat the mini Boss in one level, you have to go to the next level, continuing the madness. That damn Princess, moving castles. Ugh. With the husband traveling this week, things have an added extra hectic feel to it. MD and I manage to whip it all into gear and thankfully, it all falls together nicely.
This morning, I was packing my lunch and handing over breakfast for MD.
My dress felt wet, so I looked down to confirm that I had indeed, leaned up against something. Damn. This is my favorite grey dress too. So I run upstairs, yank out the hair dryer and cut it on. Only the stain doesn’t dry. This is when I slap my forehead and say, “Oh no. No, no NO.”
So I dab it with water. Which dries, but the grease remains.
I walk downstairs and start rummaging through the junk drawer. MD is all, “Mom, we gotta go, what are you doing?” I glance at the oven stove, 6:24. “I got time! I gotta find needles. Have you seen my sewing kit?”
“Sewing kit- has thread, needles…” by this point I’m wandering from room to room.
I let out a sigh. “Yes!”
Locating a pack of needles, I grab a spool of lavender thread. “This will have to do,” I say. Grabbing lunch bags, purse, a hot tea, a set of car keys and smiling at my boy, we walk downstairs.
“What are you doing with the needle and thread Mom?”
It is then that I have to explain office life.
“Look, if I don’t fix this stain, 40 people will ask me ‘What’s on your dress?’ or ‘Hey! You have a stain on your dress,’ or you know, general pointing. It gets pretty old by lunch time. It’s like in that movie Officespace, where the receptionist constantly says, “Looks like somebody has a case of the Munnnnn-days.” EVERY MONDAY. So I’m going to stitch the fabric over the stain, like so (I do a quick demonstration). No one will know! EPIC WIN!”
We high five.
After I drop him off at school, I drive into work, carry all my shit inside and then promptly get out my needle and thread. Have any of you gone to extreme lengths to avoid repetitive conversation? When MD was little and would continue to ask me, “Why? But why? Why Mommy? Why? What then? Why’s that?” I’d get a little creative in my answers or figure out a way to divert attention, “Look! Cookies!”
Same thing, only with a stain.
Except when I punched the needle through my dress, I realized the err of my ways.
I had grabbed a quilting needle. QUILTING you guys. UGH. That’s like shoving a toothpick through your favorite cotton t-shirt over and over again.
Furious, I ripped the stitch out and left the stain.
So to sum up the entire fiasco and wrap it up in a neat little package, the majority of my day has felt like this