F The Machine

I'm wandering around the living room, staring at the baby quilt spread out on the floor. I'm just about to start sticking safety pins in it to get it ready for machine-quilting.

I say to my Sidekick, who is innocently sitting on the couch, "Hey, honey. I think I'm gonna hand-quilt the baby quilt." (Yes. You read that right. Hand-quilt.)

My Sidekick looks up from what he's doing, thinks for a moment, then responds in a tone that I'd describe as concerned, yet intrigued. Kind of how I imagine he'd react if I told him I was going to tile our kitchen with diamonds. "Why? "

"I think it'll look better than if I machine-quilt it."

"Sure." This he says in a very supportive, but still concerned way.

"It will. I can't hand-tie it like Ashley said to do. I'm too scared the baby will choke on the ties."

"We don't want that."

"And I think I want to quilt it with circles or swirlies like I did with my SIL's heating pad cover."

"That did look good."

"So, good idea, right?"

He nods silently and looks off into space for a moment. I figure he's probably thinking about all the good ideas I've ever had, how amazing they've all been, and how in awe he is of me and my good ideas. Then, he looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and asks, "When's the baby due?"

He was thinking of all my good ideas, alright -- every last one that took every last minute of exactly twelve hundred years.

And with that, the deal was sealed.


I am a multi-problemed individual.


Since the baby is due well before February of 3208, I'd ask that you wish me luck in this endeavor.

Note: For those not familiar, the (cleaned-up) title of this post comes from this movie, the source of about half of what we say on any given day around here. The title is not, as it might appear, a direct attack on my fancy sewing machine. I love you, fancy sewing machine.