True story

This week’s mission is THE DRESS. Prom is coming up, and the youngest has decided that my sleeping sewing talents will be necessary to produce the one-of-a-kind garment she will be wearing in a week and a half.

Mind you, I quit sewing for the youngest when a fate-filled garment elicited a “yuck” from her many years ago.

When the boys were young I made scores of matching shorts and shirts. I have a whole laundry basket of little dresses and jumpers I’d made for the youngest. I pulled one out the other day to remind her that somewhere the skills remained to pull off this latest design. Covered buttons, hand-finished seams, matching fabric patterns – ’tis all been accomplished before.

Except then I had scissors.

I just spent about 40 minutes rearranging the dungeon sewing corner and digging through supplies. Needles, bobbins, pins, but no scissors. No $80 Ginghers, a gift from my grandfather the last year he was alive. No Fiskars soft touch that my sister-in-law gave me one Christmas. I can’t even find my applique scissors that I use to trim one side of a bulky seam to let them press down better. All I see are my pinking shears, and that’s because my neighbor borrowed them and they were returned to a non-scissors location.

Now there’s every chance I put the scissors away in a very logical mommy-only hiding spot that now eludes this aging seamstress. But there’s always the chance they’re under someone’s bed behind a door that stays closed for a reason. All I know is that scissors are half price at Joann Fabrics this week, and I can delay my project another couple of hours if I go pick out a new pair.

After all, why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?