I WANT to sew, truly I do, but I have no patience for it. Especially when my little sewing machine acts up. Even at it's best, it's not much, and tonight the bobbin got all screwy and even my dad couldn't figure it out. I took the entire machine apart, but the bobbin mechanism didn't come apart, so it was time wasted.
I popped the bobbin back in and put the machine back together and it started working. Who knows what happened? But many hours before I got it working again (yes, it took me TWO HOURS, plus I got so irritated that I hand-sewed my mending tasks) Izzy sat down at the table and started the barrage of questions, "What's that? Why?" I snapped at him to stop touching everything and he said, "I just want to help."
"I know that," I said bitterly as I tried to get the thread through that teeny tiny eye for the fifteenth time, "but since there is nothing you can do to help me, then you're just irritating me." There's another glowing mommyism for his scrapbook.
Izzy pushed his chair back from the table and said, "I just want to be big. I just want to grow up." He stormed away from the kitchen and my heart just broke. How in the world can a three year old know exactly what words cut to the core??
"You're right, sweetie," I told him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. Come back and help me?"
"NO. I no want to help you." He stomped away to his room. About 45 second later he ran back through the living room and stood hopefully in front of me, a sweet expression on his face: "I help you now?" He was only mad for a few seconds, but he wanted to make sure that I got the point.
He still drove me nuts. Little spools of thread became finger puppets, while large ones were strung around the chair legs. But that was a small price to pay for redemption in my son's eyes.