Confessions of a Yarnoholic

Last weekend the oldest daughter-child requested the use of my sewing machine.  She’s going to teach herself to sew, and make clothes for her family.

I haven’t used my sewing machine since 2005, but it was new then so I knew it’d be fine for my budding pioneer woman – no lie, she’s turned from a rampant woman’s rights activist into the model of 1950’s domesticity.  She bakes her own bread, grows her own food, raises chickens, and keeps a spotless house.

Not sure if a string of pearls is involved, but her hair is always perfect because when she’s not playing June Cleaver she’s a hairstylist by trade.

But, what does this have to do with the title to this post you ask?

I’m getting there.

The sewing machine is waaaaaaaaaay back in the corner of a closet.  We have some very large and deep closets in my house, a fact that may be heartening to those who are organized, but to those of us who are “just going to put this in the closet and deal with it later” it’s a nightmare.

I dove into the chasm Saturday morning, and an hour and a half later my hubby walks into a room knee-deep (I am not exaggerating) in clothing, shoes, what-the-hell-is-this, and so-there’s-where-that-went.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, staring wide-eyed at the mess.

“K wants to borrow the sewing machine and I had to unbury it.” I said, breathless and sweaty.

“Oh”, he replied and scampered out of the room before I put him to work.  He can always tell by that look in my eye when I’m about to pounce, and suddenly he has to go clean the andirons on the fireplace. And we don’t even have any andirons, and we don’t use the fireplace much anymore. It was a selling point when we bought the house, but that was before the reality of a wood burning fireplace set in.  It’s messy, kids.

FASCINATING, SAUCY, BUT WHAT ABOUT THE POST TITLE??

You are an impatient crowd-of-two aren’t you?

I dragged the sewing machine out and put it in the hallway so we’d remember to take it the next day to the birthday party we would all be attending.

I then grabbed three ginormous trash bags – I’m talking the heavy duty contractor bags, made for clean-up of construction sites and disposal of compact cars here – and proceeded to fill three of them with items for Goodwill, and one smaller bag was filled with trash.

I was left with a gloriously organized closet – the rod had all the clothes I do wear hanging on it, and the floor contained shoes lined up in a row not piled willy-nilly.

More than that, I had room, empty space, a place to put something.

I proudly showed hubby, who asked, “So, what are you going to put in there now that you have all that room?”

My eyes glazed over as I smiled wistfully while visions of crochet projects yet-to-be danced in my head.  “Yarn.”

“Yarn? What yarn?”

“I have to go shopping, of course.”, l replied looking at him like he should know better than to ask. I swear, sometimes it’s like he doesn’t know me at all.

He walked away mumbling something about my “problem” as I stared into the closet’s abyss and imagined blues and greens, tans and yellows, bulky, baby fine, heavy-duty and threadlike..yarn…

This is the stuff dreams are made of.

And that’s why I’m a yarnoholic.  I don’t need any more yarn, kids, but I have a void.

In a closet.

I have space.

For yarn.

And, I have a 40% coupon for Hobby Lobby.

BRB!