Karmatic Retribution...and Bragging

 Karma's a bitch. She really is. I can't tell you how many times I showed up at home and sprang a last minute project on my parents who would then have to rush off to Wal-Mart and stay up until the wee hours to help me finish something I should have been working on for weeks. Now, Bella has daily homework, and I have to say, I tend to ignore it unless there is something she is required to turn in. I am a little miffed at the idea of her having homework every day, because she can't read yet, so it's up to me to keep track of it for her and number one, I am not reliable when it comes to that kind of stuff and number two, I think this teaches the kids that their parents will help them get their homework done. So obviously, this has finally come back to bite me in the ass.

A couple of weeks ago the entire kindergarten had what they referred to as "The Kindergarten Rodeo" which included a parade of children riding stick horses they'd made. You were supposed to do the stick horse over spring break, but I totally forgot about it. The rodeo loomed and one day Bella came home and announced the stick horse was due the next morning.

Eric wanted to use a left over clothing rod we had from when I redid my closet, but first of all, those things are stupidly expensive so I didn't want to chop it down for use as a homework project, and secondly, it was like 2 inches in diameter and heavy, and I doubted Bella could carry it. So off to Home Depot I went at 6 pm. I bought a dowel rod and brought it home, we had some leftover paint from when we painted Bella's room, so I had her help me paint the stick, and that was pretty much all she got to do. I usually have her make her own projects by herself as much as possible, but this time I knew there wasn't time.

Everyone else ate dinner and got ready for bed, and I sat there, cutting up material originally meant for use as a dress for Bella (I bought it when she was 2 and I was determined I was going to start sewing). I was pretty sure this thing was going to turn out looking like something Thanatos would ride into Hades, but I persevered nonetheless. No daughter of mine was going to school in some stick horse made from a curtain rod and an old sock.

Eric got the girls ready for bed as I cursed at my sewing machine, in the grand tradition started by my mother. Now, my mom is basically the living embodiment of Betty Crocker. I swear she exudes sunshine from all her pores, she has endless patience and a kind word and a baked good for everyone. That being said, she's got a bit of a temper on her, and though she was raised in a strict Southern Baptist home, she has a string of curse words she reserves solely for her sewing machine. As a kid, the infernal machine in question was a Kenmore, but now she has a Brother, which I can only assume has been subjected to equal amounts of verbal abuse.

I am certain I exacerbated her complicated relationship with her Kenmore as a kid when I would constantly come home expecting her to work miracles on it. One such time I came home and announced that she needed to make not one but two Indian costumes for "Indian Day" (I went to elementary school before political correctness). I said I needed one, and I had promised my best friend my super talented mom would make her one too. Oh, and I need them tomorrow, mom. My mom worked a full-time job, so she didn't even hear about this until after 5 pm. That blessed woman stayed up until after 2 am finishing those costumes, and when I skipped off to school with them after a good night's rest I discovered my friend had gotten someone else to make one for her already. Oh well, mom didn't need that sleep, right?

I'm proud of the half-assed outfit too. The shirt and hat are from Wal-Mart
and cost a total of $11. The cowboy hat is actually a woman's sized hat,
I had to use my awful, broken Spanish to communicate with a
Wal-Mart employee to find it. The boots would be more appropriate for
"Eskimo day" if that were even a thing.

I have felt bad about that for twenty years now, but karma got me back with this damned stick horse. As he was turning off lights and heading to bed my husband said, "I feel bad going to sleep," and I said, "Don't, this is my punishment. I've been waiting for it for twenty years now." and with that baffling statement he shuffled off to bed to leave me to it. I have never been good with a sewing machine, the main issues I have are threading the damn thing, and maintaining a good speed with the foot pedal. My sewing machine is a Singer, and it seems to have two speeds: almost not moving, and oops, you've sewn your hand to the fabric.

Finally I gave up and started hand sewing it. It took me three hours but I finally finished the stick horse head, and shoved it barbarically onto its pike, presumably as an example to other arrogant stick horses. WARNING: Here's where the bragging comes in: As difficult as it was, I am somewhat amazed that it turned out so well, considering how harried the project was. I can only say that it's a good thing I have my secret hoard of craft supplies, or Bella'd have been riding a stick horse that looked like it came from a dumpster. But now that my kid knows I can work miracles, I'll be required to do this again one day. Until then, I will live in fear of my just deserts.