On Festering Wounds, A Duck, and Getting Ready for Thanksgiving

I've been wounded! No, really, I've sustained a right-proper injury. And what this means is that I am no longer sewing a thing until I get a nice thimble for my fingers and plenty more antibiotics and ibuprofen into my system.**   

So there I was pinning a pattern to fabric, and I stabbed my thumb so blasted hard and so blasted deep, that I spoke only in French for a few minutes. (By French, I actually mean that I used up every profane word in my vocabulary.) And then a little while later I forgot all about it. And then...

A couple of days later I was doing something or other (which I can't seem to remember) when I thought I got a massive splinter in the same thumb. It felt all itchy and nasty, but I looked and looked and could not find a splinter.  And then I forgot all about it. And then...

Sunday night, the whole house is asleep, and my thumb starts throbbing like crazy. I hopped out of bed, downed ibuprofen, got an ice pack, and went back to bed, grumbling all the while. I debated waking Michael up to have him put a drill bit in my thumb nail, but seriously, even if the man was wide awake I'm not sure I'd trust him to do that. So instead, I vowed to call the doctor first thing in the morning. And then...

I woke up in the morning, thumb throbbing and looking slightly vile, and said, 'I'm not calling the doctor to tell him that my thumb hurts. I've got my pride, I'll just play through.  Besides, it will eventually go away, right?' And that's what I did -- until two days later when I found myself awake until almost four in the morning.  I was miserable and incredibly put-out. Seriously, what the hell? And that's when I called the doctor.

Apparently I have a raving infection in my finger. It looks all warbled and discolored and full of nasty stuff. And you should count yourself lucky that I'm not the sort of person who would take a picture and slap it up here for you to see. Instead, I'll show you pictures of the project I was working on that drove me to such a state.

My friend Jane gave me this British book quite awhile ago called Pretty Little Things to Make. I looked wistfully through it a handful of times, and that was that. And then one day Emilia started looking at it. She could not take her eyes off of the picture of the duck laundry bag, 'maybe we make that, mama?' So we hopped in the car, drove to the fabric store, bought all the necessary things, went home, and got to it. I spent over two hours just trying to make the pattern. Seriously, these little patterns in books that you are supposed to blow up to the right size are a pain in the arse. I did it on our home copier, and finally got the measurements right when I blew the original image up 400% and then that image an extra 150%. Then I taped it all together using regular 8x10 paper. Voilà.

She has been loving her little duck, though. It was very easy to make and I hung it on her door so she could see it first thing in the morning. Her little eyes lit up and she said 'you make the duck for me!' She then proceeded to drag her duck throughout the house, filling it with dirty clothes and stuffed animals. She has even been taking naps with her duck. (The first time she did this I insisted she take out the dirty undies and socks that were residing inside said duck.) Yesterday morning I got her out of her crib and she wanted me to sit down and read books to her duck. But Mama wanted to get breakfast and get moving.

Michael's parents will be here tomorrow and we're trying to spiffy up the house a bit. Months ago we had decided that we would have the other bathroom remodeled by the time they came out, but alas, that has not happened. However, we have started on it.  But, on the bright side, we have painted shelves, moved furniture, and bought a hefty supply of pretzels and potato chips.  So, I suppose all is not lost.

It's going to be a busy week, though, coming up. My dad also comes in town on Monday, and my sister has about twenty people showing up to her house. And because of that, we've decided to do Thanksgiving dinner at our house -- just us, with Michael's parents, and maybe my dad dropping in for a cup of coffee or something. I've never cooked a proper Thanksgiving meal before, which means that I am petrified every time I think about it.  I suppose it will be interesting, if nothing else.

In the meantime, Happy Thanksgiving!

**Although, I've just finished sewing the most fabulous little old-man flannel pajamas for Emilia.  I'll tell you all about them later -- once I get the button holes and such done, anyway.