Rescue Me!

Dave has a stomach flu. It's a gorgeous 70 degrees outside. Someone, please, rescue me!

Since no one heard my silent plea, we spent the day primarily trapped inside with Sicky McSickerton. Praise GOD I have yet to get what he has because that would absolutely suck. I mean, being stuck with him like this is torture enough.

And he is SO SAD. Where is my happy, smiley baby? He left and got replaced by a sullen, crying one who just wants to snuggle (and that is the only plus here. I love snuggling! So, bonus for me) and can't eat food (I guess we are saving money ... hm ... yeah, not worth it).

So, while Dave took five (rather short) naps, I played with my sewing machine. It's amazing the effect sleep can have on your ability to figure out confusing conundrums involving things falling off and I was able to fix it this morning within two minutes of sitting down. Awesome.

So I tackled the rest of the baby wipes (read: things on which to practice straight stitching) and took on a burp cloth. Finished one without toooo much drama (yeah I only wound one bobbin and then had to PULL THE ENTIRE THING APART because it didn't wind right. But I'm cool with wasting stuff and spending money unnecessarily, right? Bah) and started on the next one.

And that, my friends, is where it ended. Because, like a moron, I didn't know that you aren't supposed to sew over pins. And I did. And the needle broke.

Darn it.

After escaping for a tiny bit to the on post thrift store with the lovely Alisha (I have a story to tell about her in a second that I forgot to tell before but seriously ... hilarious) to get some air ... I decided it would be good for air, thrift stores of course not having any sort of weird smell and being sparkling clean All The Time ... we logged more time Trapped Inside and then headed to Joanns for new needles.

I am now on a first name basis with every single helper person in that store. That is how much helped I needed.

I couldn't figure out where ANYTHING was ... needles, chalk, glue gun, whatever. It was terrible. And then .. and this is the clincher, folks ... I caught myself TALKING OUT LOUD to MYSELF about FABRIC choices when I realized that is exactly what my mother does. And so I said out loud "holy crap I am becoming my mother" (out loud seemed appropriate all things considered).

Not cool. Not cool at all.

My mother, of course, is a perfectly awesome person who is very crafty and made my wedding dress in like two days ... but NO ONE wants to become their mother. Especially when it involves picking up the weird talking-to-yourself-while-shopping-at-craft-stores habit. THAT is just TOO MUCH.

I did end up buying supplies to make Dave the CUTEST first birthday hat ever (inspired by something like this ... except mine will not have chenille because that stuff is PRICEY) and a bib to go with it. It's going to be awesome. And leave ... oh ... about $20 for me to buy food for the party. So we'll be eating light. But Dave is going to look AWESOME.

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Now, the very crafty Alisha (who is in the process of refinishing a $1.50 chair found at the thrift store today. ... keep an eye on her blog for updates because it's going to be awesome). I promised her I was going to post this because it was THAT funny.

I picked her up from the airport Saturday (after rescuing my Mac from yet ANOTHER trip to the Mac Doctor and eating a so-so subway sandwich) and on our way home she informed that on the plane she had sat next to someone who was very likely a terrorist.

Her basis for this assessment? A combination of slight racial profiling, arm rest hogging, incredibly bad body odor and -- wait for it -- the wearing of a fanny pack.

And there you have it, folks. Fanny pack = suspicious person. Make a note.

(I love you, Alisha).