Nestled all snug in their beds

I like winter because during the winter I am not a gardening maniac.   That will come in April when I begin coaxing 50 heirloom tomato seedlings to thrive in my basement.    Winter means that I am trapped inside because I cannot breathe in the cold air outside.  Winter means that I can sew my heart out without feeling too guilty about it.

Unfortunately, winter also brings about a struggle against hibernation.   My four year old still wants me to sit next to him on his bed until he falls asleep.   In the summer, this poses no threat.  Now, however, the house is quite chilly and I find myself sticking my legs under his big blue comforter.  After the compulsory reading of at least two picture books, I settle down with a book or my iPhone and wait for the little wiggily one next to me to doze off.   If I get up too soon, he will startle awake, and I will be required to stay put for at least another twenty minutes.   During the summer, I am itching to get up.   Tonight...oh, what agony to get my legs out from under the warm comforter and into the cold air of our house.   I am still shivering and shaking!   

I long to stay under that cover and just drift off.  I won't give up my nighttime hours though.  These few hours between the boys' bedtime and my bedtime is uninterrupted time.  A hard-earned time.  After having a few years dealing with infant colic, toddler sleep apnea, and night terrors, this time is very precious indeed!   A couple of hours to actually piece one thought after another.  To actually be able to finish washing up the dishes in one go.  To get through a few chapters in a book.  To be able to sew until I want to stop.

 

Ouch!

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.

I am no stranger to the full circle of karma.   A one stud LEGO brick is a very sharp little thing indeed.  I have learned that slippers are a very useful thing to wear around my house.