Fixing things

Words are tumbling out, so bear with me…

Why do we women have such a need to see things whole, or fix them if they’re not?  Or is it just me?  Tell me it’s not just me…

It drives me around the bend when things break.  I always want to fix them.  That’s why I have so many ridiculous piles of parts around here.  Unidentified screws that came out of something they should probably go back into if only I can find out what it is.  A french press frame for which I know I can order a new carafe if I just go online and spend thirty bucks.  Snaps and buttons and beads that maybe could be glued or sewed or restrung.  Broken picture frames I just know I could salvage some part of– or the broken votive candleholder from which I want to at least remove and salvage the silk sleeve the manufacturer hot-glued to the glass.  You get the picture.

Quinn’s new cords got a hole at the knee within the first three wearings, and it has nearly put me in the padded room.  Today I even hauled the sewing machine upstairs, found my good pinking shears (in my underwear drawer, of course!), and cut a patch of denim from an old pair of Q’s jeans.  Denim goes with everything, right?  I figured I’d just zigzag that thing right on and be back in bizniz.  I even found a bobbin with the right color thread and rethreaded the machine up top, too (MATCHING bobbin and top thread– that’s a major achievement for me!).  Then I slipped the pant leg on the arm of the machine and realized I couldn’t turn it to zip around that patch exactly how I thought I could…  But, never underestimate the power of determination.  I kinda stretched and turned and had it almost there.  All that was left was to back-stitch, put the pants on the arm the other way, and finish off a little section at the top of the patch.  Easy-peasy.  Except… with all my stretching and pulling, I had managed to actually stitch the leg closed in one little section…

That was earlier today.  I had to abandon the task for a birthday party, grocery shopping and dinner prep/eating/cleanup.  So now I return to the task.  I’ve removed the bit of stitching that went astray and sealed the leg.  I’ll have to take the rest out I guess, because it really looks like hell, all stretched and twisted.  Plus, denim may go with anything, but it looks stupid as a patch on brown corduroys– even for a little boy.  I could get out that iron-tape stuff (of which I have an abundant supply from my “making curtains without a sewing machine” days).  But the denim patch would still look like a weird denim patch some poor kid’s obsessive mother cut out and stuck on his knee.  And it would come off in the first wash– or even before that.  So I guess the pants are toast.  And that’s no big deal, I guess– $15 will replace them.

So why does my stomach hurt that I can’t fix them?  That I can’t fix all the stuff coming to pieces around me?  Tell me, girlfriends, what’s the matter here?

 

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