This last Christmas, Santa brought my eldest the gift of her dreams; a children's sewing machine. She adores the incredibly badly made pile of junk. I adore it! It makes her feel active without her little fingers getting into my big machine. We go down together to "sew" which really includes her liberally distributing needles, material scraps and other fru fru around the sewing room, while I try and ward the cat off the material I am cutting.
Today we went down for some shared sewing time. After removing my foot from the pedal of my serger, I stepped on a needle. I did a good job of stepping on the needle. As I lifted my foot, non-child freindly words pouring from my mouth, I found only about half an inch of the barb sticking out of the pad. The other inch or so was wedged straight in. It hurt!
"Are you okay?" Cora asked.
"Damn!" I said to myself, realizing I was going to have to pull the needle out myself. "yes sweety!" I said to cora. "I just stepped on a needle and it hurts." My "nnnnn" as I removed it was not nearly as elegant, but at least Cora would not recieve a second litany of bad words. Maybe, I thought to myself, she was not paying attention and did not hear the first installment.
"I could tell it hurt." Cora said sagely. "Because you said all sorts of unfriendly words."
So much for that.