What does torture look like to me?

No, I'm not talking bamboo shoots under the fingernails.

It's sewing on Girl Scout patches. 18 of them to be exact. The girls got them all at once.

I own a sewing machine. It's 10 years old, but in remarkably good condition. I wonder why that is? Maybe because I haven't figured out how to use it yet?

It was a subtle hint from my husband. Maybe he thought that if he bought me a sewing machine, I would start making my own curtains and designing clothes for our children? Just a guess.

Or maybe he bought it because deep down he wanted one for himself but he didn't want to admit it to anyone. Sorry honey, but we know that is the truth. It was a cover-up.

Not that he sews quilts or anything foo-foo like that. I don't want to completely ruin his reputation on this blog. I have to say that he is surprisingly proficient though. It's all of those years in the Army - sewing on his own patches.

So back to why I can't sew. I started taking a class when Ellie was a few months old. It didn't last. She was way to attached to me in the evenings (literally) and it was too hard for Andy to try to watch her for 4 hours at a time when all she wanted to do was power nurse.

Let's just say that I came home with 1/4 of a baby dress. That's where my career as a seamstress ended.

I have used it once or twice when I was feeling especially domestic (and when Andy was here to help). The problem is that I'm mechanically challenged. The whole threading the bobbin thing just shuts my brain down. (That is the correct word, isn't it? Bobbin. That just sounds weird.) Anyway, brain turns to mush and it takes me so long that I might as well just sew it by hand.

So that's what I do. I sew by hand. But I don't even want to guess how long it's going to take me to do it, because truthfully I'm not very good at that either.

Yet another reason I wish that Andy was here. He would have all 18 of them sewn on before I got one done. Not much of an exaggeration.