I am a stay-at-home mom, but that doesn’t mean I’ve mastered every domestic skill out there. Far from it. If you come into my house, you’ll see what I mean. I do like to cook, and I don’t hate cleaning. I have even come to a ceasefire agreement with the laundry. One thing I can’t do? Sew.
I remember my first sewing project (and not coincidentally my last), that was outside of school. I worked on a simple shirt and basic elastic waist skirt with my mom. My mother is very patient. Good thing, too. I had to unpick many stitches, re-cut, etc. By the end of the project, my mom looked at me and said, “You know, not everyone has to sew. Maybe this just isn’t your thing. You have lots of other wonderful talents.”
She was right, on all accounts.
Enter children. Now I have to sew upon occasion. I don’t own a sewing machine, but I’ve gotten passable at hand stitching. Sort of. Okay, not really, but my kids can’t tell the difference. The only hand stitching I’ve had to do is stuffed animal surgery and button reattachment. And the buttons mostly line up when I’m done. They’re only half an inch off or so. No one will notice, right?
Now, enter Boy Scouts. Ahh! The bane of every non-sewing mother’s existence is the scout uniform. All those patches. Mocking me in their looseness, waiting for a sewing session by a sewing genius that will never happen. With cub scouts, I simply used Badge Magic, a sticky substance that got all the patches on the shirt. But with Boy Scouts, patches have to be removed. Like the patrol leader patch my son came home with.
Eleven-year-old was so excited to be patrol leader and couldn’t wait to show me his patch. Of course, he wanted it on his uniform. I knew, though, that he will be moving up to a different patrol in about six weeks. So he’ll no longer be the patrol leader. I asked my good friend, who is an expert seamstress, what to do with dreaded patch. “Just sew it on with big, hand stitched stitches. It will come right off.”
I chose my thread, threaded my needle and started. It wasn’t going too badly. “Hey,” I thought, “that’s almost completely straight! Maybe you’re getting this sewing thing after all!” I was done admiring my handiwork and turned the shirt over to finish what was a better than normal sewing job, or so I thought.
When I turned the shirt over, I noticed one tiny problem. My son would not actually be able to wear the shirt anymore. I had sewn the sleeve shut in the process of sewing the badge on.
On the bright side, I did just have to find the end of the thread and tug, and the patch came right off. I did eventually get the patch on, but I wasn’t as straight as the first time I tried. Oh well. We can’t all be domestic divas. I’m OK with my dud status.