Before I write tonight, let me be absolutely clear, so neither of my daughters sends me angry texts over the next 48 hours: I am aware that neither of my children is in any place in her life to reproduce at this time. With that caveat in mind...
I was having a lot of fun this afternoon, imagining what sort of grandma I'm going to be. I suspect it might involve a lot of pointless Christmas crafting. After endless years intentionally avoiding sewing machines (following burning out completely from running a costume design business two decades ago), I am finally finding myself occasionally pulling out the new machine for little projects. Today, I got around to designing attempt number two at doggie hot pants (diaper wraps). The first set from last month was too small to cover what it needed to in order to protect my floors. The second one today is probably too big, and sort of resembles brown twill lederhosen with gingerbread men accents. Or at least it will once I add in some sort of suspenders to hold them up by his ribs where I want and need them. Poor dog. He has no idea what he's in for. I had too much fun putting decorative stitches on his little holiday outfit (the first machine I've had with cute stitches since I used the one my own grandmother had in the 1970s), and as I sewed, I realized I can't wait to make little kid clothes for real. Murray is the closest thing I have right now to a child who can wear any clothes that I make. Both of my grandmothers were brilliant seamstresses, and my mother was pretty fabulous as well at that sort of thing. When I was a little girl, I had gorgeous clothes, tailored specifically for me, and I can't wait to pass along that tradition to my own grandkids. Until the day comes that I have the next generation of humans running around, I'm going to transfer my attentions to the dogs. Murray is the youngest of all the animals in the house, and I'm telling myself it's not that far of a stretch when I associate him with little kid attributes. Hence, his holiday clothes will have gingerbread men, penguins in scarves, and Scottie dogs on them. Yes. I hear it too. I do sound like a crazy woman. What, did you think it was all about the cats? This is what happens when you spend years trying to quash your creative side. Eventually that dam bursts open, and no one is safe, especially not a dog who can't outrun me.
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