Freshly Pressed

I just poked my head out my door (too much quiet can be suspicious) and Raymond was quietly pushing the iron around the living room. Ironing the carpet. A boy after my own heart.

Then he staggeringly brought it to me. I think it took all the muscles he has to lift that sucker. Good thing he doesn't have enough strength to unplug this here computer (much to his consternation). Isn't it funny what will entertain a one-year-old?

On a side note, the iron was sitting in our living room because yesterday and today I've volunteered to teach a beginning sewing class through our local 4-H chapter (which happens to be in the office where Jeremy works).  That would be a group of 8-10 year olds and me. Teaching them how to sew.

(Yes, I do still consider myself a beginner. I just might have a hard time saying no. I can sew straight lines though. Right? And I can turn the thing on. Right? I can do this. Right?)

Yesterday we (thankfully) only had five of the nine(!) kiddos show up. It didn't go half bad despite my sleepless anxiety. And four out of five even finished their very basic drawstring bag. That was a relief.

Today I'm gearing myself up for a full class though. But I know a little better what I'm doing. The trick, I think, is getting them to thread their own machines. We spent at least a half hour loading bobbins and threading machines. I made them each do each process five + times. Today it might be ten.

But I must say, there are few things happier than a little girl (with a darling blonde bob) skipping around the room declaring her love for the little bag she made all herself. Saying over and over, "it's all mine; I did all the sewing myself!"