Friday, January 11, 2008
It seems that Friday is doomed to become Random Day. Quick note to all - there's a Fred and Bessie update further down the page, for those of you who tune in just to check on their bovine status.
I should probably start with my review of a dish detergent. Dawn sent me a full sized bottle of their new foaming detergent in hopes I would like it, use it, encourage others to buy and use it, then buy more myself. I like it. Can I be done now?
Okay, okay, STOP TWISTING MY ARM! Ow. I opened the box and found, along with the bottle of foam, a thin pink piece of cardboard. At least, that's what it looked and felt like. On a chance, I submerged it in a bowl of water and it turned into a big, fat pink sponge. Lovely, absorbent, very pink. So I read the destructions and gave the sponge a SQUIRT with the Dawn. Then washed a few pots (pots are always piled up around here - don't look too closely at the crud on the edge of my stove in the picture below). The concept is that the foam lasts through an entire sink full of dishes without reloading with soap. When the sponge seems to be soap-less, just run a little water over it, give a squeeze and you're back in business. And it really works.
The catch is that it works as long as you wash dishes the way I do. I don't fill the sink with water and soap, then toss in all the dishes and wash. I wash one pot at a time, each time reloading the sponge with a little soap. And this is what the manufacturers of the Dawn Direct Foam recommend. Yay! (Don't scream) So yes, I recommend this dish soap. I have no idea how much it costs. As you can see, my trusty sale priced Palmolive is sitting next to it, jealous and awaiting my affection. A little disgruntled that the new guy is getting so much attention.
I also recommend the fun sponge.
Fred and Bessie, it seems are very happy that Fred is alive and well. This is how I found them this morning. I had to ask them to either knock it off or take it to the bedroom. Bad cows!
While sewing a formal shrug this morning, I was excited to see that the directions said to finish the seams by either trimming with a pinking shear, zig-zagging or a French seam. The French seam, please. I absolutely adore French seams. As a sewist who loves to smock and construct heirloom children's garments, I live by the French seam. The trick was learning to do it RIGHT. Ask me sometime and I'll tell you the secret to a perfect, tiny French seam, 'k?
Why on earth was I making a formal shrug? And in a cranberry bridal satin? Oo! I'm so glad you asked! My hunny works for a local university and tonight is the fancy dress ball they hold every year for graduating students! I get to pretend I'm Cinderella, except my dress is black. I wore it last year with an apple red stole, so this year I wanted to change it up a little without dishing out another $200 for a dress. I had some cranberry satin in the closet, found a pattern for a formal shrug, and went to town. The hunny even picked up a tie to match. Yay!
Then I waited till the last minute to make the shrug. This morning. It's a very simple pattern. What could go wrong? Right? It's just not right. So I'm going to play with it a little more and see if I can't make it work. Pray for me!
What's even more exciting about the dress ball is that today - this very day! - is our 16th anniversary! Sweet sixteen and I'm going to a dance! I hope he kisses me. *blush* How many girls go to fancy dress balls on their anniversary? Me! Me!
So I'm nearly done with this shrug (or so I thought) and am sitting down to slip stitch the cuffs into place. The matching thread was still on the machine. Covered. Put away. In the closet. On the other side of the room. What to do? What to do? I opened my fishing tackle box and dug through to find some fishing line. And a needle. Seriously. All of my immediate sewing supplies - needles, basic thread colors, scissors, measuring tape, etc. - are kept in a tackle box. The Bass Pro Shop sticker is still on the top (it really was once the hunny's tackle box). It's small, compartmentalized, perfect for portable sewing. And in it is a spool of invisible thread, which, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear it was fine gauge fishing line.
The first obstacle was threading the needle. How on earth does one thread a needle with INVISIBLE thread? One pulls out one's bifocals, that's how. Not too far into the operation, the thread knots. Untangling regular thread is one thing, but invisible thread? Ugh. It's a wonder I didn't throw the whole thing away right then and there.
Last, but certainly not least, while reading the lovely Mir's Casual Friday post at Work It Mom!, I clicked on this link: http://www.finslippy.com/finslippy/2008/01/we-are-all-winn.html. After reading through her list of best parenting stories, then running down the comments, I felt SO much better about my own parenting skills. I was reading them aloud to my daughter (who is home sick), saying, Oh, I did this with you guys. Oh! I did this too! Oh. I did this. And this ... oh. How sad.
If you read them, you'll understand the intent of this story a little more:
When my middle, adventurous boy was first learning to ride his bike, he had a difficult time paying attention to where he was going. He's always been a wanderer - physically and mentally. But for a while there he was running into everything on his bike. Mailboxes. Trees. Cars. We'd stand and watch him ride, perplexed by his inability to just stop his bike and get off. We'd yell helpful things, like, "Don't hit that mailbox! "Look out!" "Stay away from that car!"
He finally said, over and over, "I can't stop!" The hunny didn't quite believe him, since he'd one distracted boy. So when he drove up the neighbor's driveway and ran smack into her new garage door, putting a big dent in it, the hunny was a little frustrated and dragged Boy and bike home, swearing he was never going to ride again. While the neighbor stood outside looking at her garage door, laughing hysterically. Upon further inspection, it turned out the bike's brakes were broken. Had been for awhile. Poor kid.
Okay! I'm stopping now! Until I write again ...