Scrap Therapy

I finally finished quilting Phoebe's quilt. I'm trying not to have guilty mother syndrome. Hers ended up with two puckers on the back. Two tiny, little puckers. Eowyn's was pucker-free. Hopefully she won't compare and add the two wrinkles to her second-child syndrome. Now for my favorite, favorite part: binding. All that I need is a good movie and it will make for one snuggly evening.


I pulled out all the stops today and organized my fabric stash. I've heard interior decorators say that if you're not sure what colors you really like, you should look at what colors you tend to wear. Once I brought home a sea green sweater from the thrift store and happily proceeded to hang it in the closet. Husband looked at my recent purchase and said, "Don't you already own two sweaters that color?" Well, yes, but this one is different, dear.

My fabric stash is as severely lopsided as my clothing: Tons of greens, blues, pinks and reds. A handful of purple. And about six pieces of orange. Apparently I am not a fan of orange. When we moved in to our current home, the dining room was pumpkin orange. "Good," I thought to myself, "I'd never pick it. I'm broadening my horizons." But the orange and I just couldn't handle each other and I ended up painting it.

While I was folding and refolding, Husband was standing over me asking me the whys and wherefores of the collection. Finally it was, "Which do you like better? Fabric or books?"

I told him that was like asking me to choose between my children.