My father has a trophy in the sole of his foot. He dared to walk across my room when I was 10 years old. The floor was littered with books, crayons, markers, coloring books, school papers, stuffed animals, and who knows what else...probably parts of my erector set and some broken Pez dispensers. The doomed man came into my room without knocking to holler at me about the state of my room and he stepped on a sharpened pencil. The tip of graphite broke off embedding itself forever into his foot. The grey spot is still there today. His scream is still in my head.
This is a warning tale for all those who must live with me. When I am busy working, things get flying. I sew like I cook, which has been described as a mad mix between Julia Child and The Swedish Chef. My boys seem to be no different. Now, I do schedule regular times to tidy up, folding up yards of fabric and batting that I use to make my little purses, collecting straight pins off the floor, barking at my boys to get those LEGO pieces back in their boxes before I get out the vacuum. I am not a perfectionist though. So be warned: there may be a forgotten pin or two lurking under the kitchen table or behind a house plant.