crumbs, family, quilting

At least he wasn’t running with scissors.

A few weeks ago, while I was busy cooking and Brett was busy on his computer, our little boy snuck into my sewing room. The consequence of our busywork? This:

Topsy_turvy_quilt
________________________________________

Topsy_turvy_quiltcut

(I pinned the cuts open to show the injuries in all their gruesome detail.)

When you have a little one in your house, you develop a sixth sense for possible trouble, danger, disasters, and catastrophes. You know this special sense has kicked in when you suddenly stop and think

it’s just a little too quiet for something good to be going on.

As soon as I heard the too-too-quiet quiet, I went to check on Jack.  As I walked into my sewing room, Jack’s eyes met mine. Maintaining a serious stare, he quickly walked to the side of the sewing room opposite the quilt, which was neatly folded over a chair. My sharpest pair of scissors lay on the floor. Four short thoughts smacked together inside my head. They looked like this:

Quilt + Scissors + Jack = NO NO NO!

"Oh man, oh man, Jacky, what did you DO?" I asked, almost whispering. I sat on the floor, took the wounded quilt in my lap, and ran my fingers over each slash.

Jack still wore his serious stare. "I cut your quilt. Sorry, mom." He knew he had done wrong.

I said nothing for a few moments. Then I realized I was holding my breath. I breathed out a big sigh, one of sadness and defeat. There was nothing else to be done. "Never again. Never again, Jack," I said.

"I won’t mom. I won’t."

That was the end of our conversation. (Reminder to self–pat self on back for keeping cool.)

The cuts Jack made are quite tidy. He’s been using children’s paper scissors since he was around two years old, and he’s very deft. I’ll give him that. It’s WHAT to cut where I obviously need to provide a little more instruction.

Since then, I’ve been instigating a quick conversation between Jack and me about that day, during relaxed moments. I’m repeating it about every three days. Goes like this:

Me: "Jack, I still can’t believe you cut my quilt."

Jack: "Yeah. I cut your quilt. Sorry, mom."

I’m not sure when I’ll stop starting that conversation. But Jack’s part of the chat is always the same. Polite and apologetic. Thanks, Jacky. That helps.

5 thoughts on “At least he wasn’t running with scissors.”

  1. Oh no! Poor Jenny. Poor quilt. But you did a good job not flipping out. At least…not on the outside.
    But it does sound like an important lesson was learned, which will likely translate to all kinds of things, not just quilts. But still!

    Like

  2. Oh no! Poor Jenny. Poor quilt. But you did a good job not flipping out. At least…not on the outside.
    But it does sound like an important lesson was learned, which will likely translate to all kinds of things, not just quilts. But still!

    Like

  3. Oh no! Poor Jenny. Poor quilt. But you did a good job not flipping out. At least…not on the outside.
    But it does sound like an important lesson was learned, which will likely translate to all kinds of things, not just quilts. But still!

    Like

  4. Too too quiet time for me still means Willa is sleeping. I wonder what kinds of things she will get into when she is able.
    The fun that awaits me!!

    Like

  5. OUCH!!! And what a great quilt!! Turn that lemon into lemonade. Libby Lehman used to cut up perfectly good quilt tops into squares, trianges, and other odd shapes, and applique them onto other pieced quilt tops. A little zigzag stitch around the exposed edges, and voila, a new top. You just need to make sure that Jack doesn’t think that he’s hit on a new way to make a really cool quilt.

    Like

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